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TreSwank -> Crack: Why Not? (1/23/2007 4:06:54 PM)
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(This is a summarized true-story that I entered into my blog a little while ago, but I thought that you guys might get a kick out of it.)
Until the quasi-youthful age of twenty-one, I'd never had the oppurtunity to watch anyone smoke that delightful cocaine/baking-soda concoction that the ol' U.S. of A has dubbed "CRACK". Now, I don't know about it's effects from personal use, but my empirical observations divine that the government ads preaching a fiery "Crack is Whack" sermon from the pulpit of D.C. are only speaking in half-truths. Now, crack-cocaine may have deleterious effects on one's personal-life, career-goals, and dental hygiene, but watching other folks indulge in some pretty-heavy rock-smoking leads me to believe that it MUST be one hell of a good time. What about that, Mr. Smarty-Pants D.A.R.E progam advocate? What about: "CRACK - FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FUN!!!!!!!" ? Let the kids weigh out the pros and cons for themselves, however; make sure you give them the straight facts.
I had been hanging out with a (now) ex-girlfriend, and an eclectic group of "peeps" from the New London area - and like most of my good nights out, "last call" spelled the end of our fun. My buddy, "Wayne" (Not his real name), was a smooth-talking, middle-aged, gay white guy, with a mellifluous jazzy quality to his voice. He'd been living in the "hood" and screwing black "thug" types since his teenage years, and had developed an irresistible "melting-pot" charisma. Good ol' Wayne was NOT ready to let this party die, as was a transsexual "lady"-friend named "Janice" (once again, a fake name), and a half-crazy Army veteran, with enough "fruitcake" benefit money to support the occasional good time. We all headed to Wayne's apartment on the promise of free pot and beer, with a little "extra" fun arriving, if the jive-sta could make contact with his connection.
Let me tell you about the "extra-fun", Ladies and Gents. I watched Wayne, Janice, and the Fruitcake smoke crack for SIX HOURS!!!!!! Before my enlightenment, I would have told you that six-hours of crack-smoking was impossible, based on health-risks and affordability...................I was SOOOOO wrong. The fruitcake had a face that resembled a strange genetic-hybrid of Chris Farley, and Clifford, the Big Red Dog. Imagine a visage like that, with the facial pores dilated wide-open, to release what seemed like gallons of maladorous sweat. He wouldn't shut the fuck up to save his life. The quality of this man's conversation was seriously equivalent to six-hours spent trying to converse with an industrial-sized bag of french-ticklers. His father had apparently raped him as a child, but, in my opinion, (Edited, out of respect for the virginal eyes of Collarme members)
Even after the crack was all gone (disappointed sighs), Fruitcake and Janice examined and picked away at the mattress for any pieces of rock that might have dropped - all to no avail, of course. It was a sad and reluctant parting of ways for us (except for myself, who had stayed at the "party" out of morbid fascination, but been thoroughly let down). The morning sun was relentlessy beating our sleeped-deprived bodies the moment we stepped outside to return to society.
I've seen alot of crack being smoked since then, but, not necessarily of my own volition. Crack is as popular in New London as British Knights were amongst children in the eighties. The New London PD won't ever extinguish the "fun" from this town. There's no purgation when the town doesn't want to be clean. Crack is where the party's at in this dilapidated locale, and the people are having enough fun to keep it goin' all year round.
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