Jason Bourne

More bullshit about drugs

You know, there’s a certain appeal to life-destroying alcoholism. Every morning you wake up in a strange new place, with all your memories suspiciously missing. It’s like you’re f*****g Jason Bourne. Although in contravention of Movie Law, which states that every amnesiac should expect to eventually discover himself either a spy or a government trained assassin “gone rogue,” the biggest conspiracy your drunk a*s is going to be unraveling is the mystery of “Who did all the cocaine?” In confirmation of movie law, however, the shadowy culprit is time and time again revealed to be, in a shocking twist, the protagonist, yourself.

       Not that you won’t be in good company during your travels. Stay fucked up long enough, and you will find all manner of delightful individuals have become your compatriots�"with or without your consent�"though “compatriot” may be too strong a term for the kind of person who will steal your s**t then help you look for it. But the point still stands that if you like to get high enough, you’re going to have run into some colorful m***********s.  Once, when buying an ounce that was totally going to get me out of debt once and for all and not at all going to be completely smoked in one weekend, I became acquainted with an individual who claimed to have shot and killed a bald eagle. I have neither reason nor desire to doubt this claim. In this case, my love for animals seems to have been trumped by my hatred for jingoistic symbology, because I find this to be simply hilarious.

      Killing a bald eagle is�"I’m quite certain�"a classic case of the “Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.” Anyone who’s been wasted even a handful of times will know what I’m talking about. Certain actions which with a clear head resemble what one may psychically conjure when asked to provide an example of a hyperbolically, absurdly poor decision, will appear to the inebriant not only a wise choice, but in fact a divinely revealed course of action. Exempli gratia: I know I’m coming down off molly, but right now I really, really need to drink half a box of Chillable Red and tell that cute girl whom I don’t want to blow it with�"in nine, separate, vignette-length Facebook messages�"precisely and graphically how suicidally depressed and unstable I really am. Or more simply: I know I’m completely wasted on Old Crow and Robitussin DM, but I think I could give myself a pretty decent haircut right now. The latter happened to me at least four times in college. I wore a lot of hats.

       Comically stupid decisions are par-for-the-course in addiction, and the seasoned drinker soon learns to avoid such pitfalls, or more likely, just stops caring. The real problems start when stimulants are thrown into the mix. Once one is drunk enough to start entertaining seriously, feloniously bad ideas, one is usually also too sedated to carry them to fruition. A line of speed sorts this right out, and is how not one, but two addicts I have known ended up with large tattoos of the Cookie Monster. I suppose he is a fellow addict after all.

Author's Note

i don't mean to glorify my drug use, i mean to ridicule it. does that get across right?

Reviews

[Tony Z Sienzant]

I don't know but it's effing GREAT ! I loved it ! But it's way too short... this sounds like a great beginning for a chapter of all the things one has done drunk/on speed. It's funny & wise & smart-a*s at the same time. Teens (if they're up to this reading level) would like it. I think it's a good 'cautionary' tale. More Please ! ! !

[Tony Z Sienzant]

I want to post this on facebook or link to it, cool with you?