Ha Ha Ha

So much for crushing up that lobster in the basement, it was no use sifting the morphine out of that fucking crustacean. “Look at his eyes; he’s staring at us. Put the cuffs on his damn claws, he’s likely to cut a limb off.” The room was filled with all kinds of chemicals and equipment designed for extracting morphine. Jars of calicium hydroxide, ammonium chloride, hydrochloric acid.

It was too late for Pablo, the claw reached up and severed his arm at the shoulder. The man sat there and bled to death. As he was dying he kept screaming for a gun to shoot himself with. I took the machete off the floor and forced the lobster backwards. With one leap I knocked it into the boiling bath of water. Nothing but an orgy of hisses and pops as gas escaped it’s exoskeleton. But we have no time for boiling lobsters for their morphine, too complicated.

The lobster was a much harder game to catch than the wild man-eating papaver carnivorum. It evolved a mouth on the head of the pod. Many a skilled Asian poppy cultivator was harmed when the first of the terrifying new breed appeared in Myanmar. I suspect the DEA had a hand in the whole thing, genetically engineering the man-eating poppy and then spread them in Asian poppy fields. Just another attempt to hurt the heroin trade. Problem was the plants were like vampires, one bite from Papaver Carnivorum and you are hooked for life, or so the press would have you believe. Hard up junkys would grow the plant and sit down allowing the tiny pod to chew on a finger or toe, stinging the person with a potent injection of opium alkaloids. This would be a problem as when the plant matured it grew legs and could bite the head off an adult human.

Circular Living

“Hey I finally found some codeine for you.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yeah, I got 10 tylenol 4’s and 25 bottles of codeine syrup.”

I actually got a little excited about getting a hook up for a small supply of codeine when just a few months ago dealers were asking Krist and I if we had any more cash on us to buy more oxy 80s, methadone, morphine, or fentanyl patches. Sure I had my semi-steady supply of methadone but that was not enough to keep me loaded 24-7.

The next day Jim came over and sold me some oxys. I took a 40 but I lost the other half of a 40 in some kids car. Have to search it with him tomorrow for it. It feels like $10 down the fucking drain. Started out with 440mg of codeine and after it kicked in took the oxy 40 and an oxy 20 and 40mg of methadone.

Jim found a connection for oxycodone from someone he used to work with but the prices were outrageous. Donny found a connection for fentanyl patches and the occasional vicodin script. He was always searching for goodies and never asking for more than a couple of bucks. Other friends hooked me up with a handful of their parents’ methadone for a dime bag. Things weren’t so bad but I could tell I was going to run out of money soon. I was so sick of being on for a few days and then off. I can’t tell if I’ve got a physical addiction or not but soon I will drift to a methadone clinic.

Krist and me scored some ritalin, first time in a while. Last time I had speed I traded it all for methadone and gave half a tablet to Krist. The bitch Donny got the patches from wanted a ridiculous price for the patches and she really was a bitch. We agreed on $10 per patch and some adderall. Oh well, the bitch will learn that she would have done more business selling them to a professional junky for 10 a pop instead of selling them to some retard for $35 once and then he overdoses. Jim’s oxy connection wanted a ridiculous price as well, but I would put up with it once in a while.

Krist and I sat in the alley snorting ritalin after ritalin, and then he was off to visit Heather at college. I haven’t seen Heather in about a month but I bet she is majoring in failure. As for me I have no desire to meet any females, Krist goes down and gets his lay of the week and I stay here nodding out in my chair. An eviction notice came in a sly way at 4:30am the morning before we went out for ritalin. The argument made no sense but it got ugly. This is typical and I wouldn’t be surprised if I am sitting here 8 days from now doing the same thing. My life seems to have a circular pattern of going nowhere and doing the same things over and over.

The Coke Fiends

Over the weekend Krist and me went up to NYC to see a really good punk rock show at CBGB. The club is probably closing soon because the commie organization that owns the building wants them out. I’m friends with a band that plays there so I got in free as I usually do. “Why are you stumbling around?” Was I? The 70mg didn’t really do anything, except on the ride home I was feeling alright. Mixing methadone and alcohol is always shitty because I get a terrible headache at the end of the night.

Jim sent some friends and me on a goose-chase for fentanyl, maybe oxys. Surprise! There was only coke to be found. I don’t buy coke (unless it’s good and cheap) for a few reasons: 1) it’s too expensive 2) it’s cut too much 3) when was the last time anyone ever did coke and said, “wow that was great!” It’s all cut too much and costs too much and I’d rather IV it or smoke crack. $80 for a g, fuck no. No thanks, I don’t need 50 people asking if they can do a line or have a small bump. I buy drugs for ME. I’m not some kind of charitable organization. Altruism is the ultimate evil in my book. Now if I have a large amount of something and a friend wants to get hooked up, sure I’ll share, but coke seems to attract the nose of every freeloading fiend.

The good old days when 4 methadone made me feel better than I will ever feel again in my life are long over. My growing tolerance came to my attention when 4-7 methadone didn’t cut it anymore. Tolerance, it’s a bitch. I used to give them out practically for free. How many years ago? 4, 5? Jane is stuck back in those days. “Why don’t you give me methadone for free anymore?” “Because the trees methadone used to grow on went extinct.” I remember only a year or two ago when I could get the opiated waking dreams, now I try and try and try and it’s never as good as it used to be, but it’s still damn good with a high dose.