Cokehead of the Week: James Brown

There is no one who enjoyed themselves more white in the 1980s than Mr. James Brown (RIP).James Brown

And even though he was a wife-beater and probably pretty despicable person IRL, in my favorite interview of all time , James celebrates all the fun of cocaine: being so spacey that you can’t listen / answer questions, not understanding the concept of an ‘inside voice’, and singing obnoxiously like there’s no tomorrow. Which for a lot of people there isn’t. So why not forget the horrors of life and blow some coke?

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This Week’s Cokehead of Yore: Elton John

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I came across this Elton John quote in a Vanity Fair article about John Galliano (after Galliano said a bunch of awful slurs while drunk and pilled out.. or something) that made me think ELTON JOHN deserved his own Cokehead Moment of Remembrance.

The writer says, “I was talking to Elton John, who has been sober for 23 years, about Galliano, and he said, “I still hear stories from the people who had to put up with me when I was an addict. I’d been up for days on a bender in a London hotel during the worst of my days. I was trying to get some sleep, but couldn’t because it was so windy outside. I phoned my office and told them to call the meteorological office to demand they turn the wind down now! And I was serious.”

This just proves that too much coke AND too much Elton John can make you crazy. I don’t want to even think about getting zooted and having Rocket Man come on since that song unfortunately makes me think of dogs ‘red rockets’ for some reason and also it’s really fucking annoying.

Though I did like when Elton told Lily Allen “I could snort you under the table” so I  wish he wasn’t such a stuffy old bitch when it comes to drugs — I’m guessing he kicks out openly drugged up guests at his infamous parties but maybe that’s not true???

Nitrous ROCKSide!

dog-teethLike any “normal person” I dread going to the dentist and avoid it for, uh, YEARS – going only when I have to have three fucking cavities filled like this past Tuesday.

And even though the beginning was shitty- I had the only good idea of my entire life and decide to ask my dentist outright for laughing gas since it always helps with the pain. She was happy to oblige (which I always think is funny – like ‘Sure, hold still while I silently gas you for three hours as you start to wiggle like an earthworm under our creepy fluorescent lights”) but then things got goooood.

HOOO BUDDY all of a sudden I was so relaxed that I did not give a single fuck that people were drilling into my face and it made the rest of those hours actually, like, fun! And the best part was that this was nothing like my last time huffin’ some nitrous when I had my wisdom teeth out and everyone’s voices turned into Alvin and the Chipmunks while I spun into the center of the universe and watched the beginning of time. This might sound fun but was too freaky to be enjoyable (and I’ve done acid loads of times and never really had a bad trip so I am not prone to that nonsense) – but was still a fascinating experience.

Anyway, this recent dental trip restored my appreciation for gas so much that I sat in the chair thinking about suffering through a Phish concert just so I could find nitrous balloons….

 

 

 

Nose Goes

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I am trying to distract from an impending amphetamine come-down by googling pictures of Stevie Nicks’ nostrils: the two most career-defining features on a lady since Dolly Parton’s Grand Tetons.

Stevie may have always had ‘wide receivers’ (according to my photographic research), but her famous coke addiction can best be chronicled by the ever-widening nostrils, that, if not clogged by mountains of Colombian currency, could have been used to sniff out any and all victims of a potential “Landslide.”

Unfortunately for Stevie, though, she chose to ingest her coca the ‘natural’ way (i.e. – refusing to switch to Fleetwood CRACK) and decades of abuse burned a hole in those legendary caverns that only surgery could repair.

You might think that’s sad, but fuck you: I think it’s kind of cool. Her face has its own roadmap of wear-and-tear from going BUCK(ingham) WILD in the 1970s, when she earned her reputation as the Bad Bitch With The Best Blow.

She fearlessly kept jars around her neck, baggies in her shoe, and the rest in her nasal storage lockers, but if there’s one thing to mimic from Stevie Nicks’ adventures in the snow, it is her philosophy that one needs to simply drink more when they get too coked up, or snort more when they get too drunk.

I’m also down to continue the nose-gap trend, because I’d rather my face have black holes than blackheads, and that way no one can ever pressure you into getting a septum ring.

 

sPILLing my thoughts

pill-candyA random page from my notebook tells me (and now you) the following:

  • Adderall tastes sweet like the powder of broken candy hearts
  • Klonopin has a slight burn like your nose sipped its tea when it was too hot
  • Percs are a green sand, crushed finely from a razor-cut mountain or stuffed into a straw and gnawed on by teeth sharpened by the knives of addiction
  • Ritalin is bitter. Like it is Adderall’s kid brother that is overshadowed and underrated and is the actual powder of Old Spice deodorant.

Today* (yesterday) I believe we did all of these in the course of a LONG day/night – like a salad of mixed greens… and whites.. and whatever other colors

*Today meaning about a month ago, cuz DAMN if I don’t wish I had all these right now, too

 

 

Up Up and … OK

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I used to do uppers a lot at my last job – not even because I was tired but because I was really, really bored. I would sit in the office and (usually) wait for people to leave before hoovering lines of coke at my desk, but once or twice did it in front of my co-worker because I knew he wasn’t a snitch. I also offered him a line, though, so it wasn’t rude, and even though he said no and that he “took work seriously” (…you’re a maintenance man, but whatever) it never occurred to me that the REAL reason I was nervous at work was not because of his or anyone’s opinion, but because being on coke didn’t/doesn’t make me want to talk to people.

Eventually I realized that playing in the snow puts me into my own head too much – like being stuck inside a snow globe that never stops shaking – and it’s really hard to talk to people when they want you to do fill out paperwork while you’re orbiting Mars.

The point is that whenever I would take Adderall to achieve a similar high, I was chatty like a lonely housewife telling a telemarketer all about that night’s lasagna, and I never dreaded answering the phone, seeing people walk into the office- or, you know, working.

This whole ramble of a post is mostly just for me to remember that a little coke sometimes is fun but relying on a bag of white nose clams is NOT going to make me productive or social. In conclusion: Adderall is magic.

Heroin : It’s What’s For Dinner

Sitting here in a Xanax haze, I’m randomly thinking of my most ‘extreme’ flirtations with heroin – because I’ve done it enough times that I have to categorize my junkie moments by “extreme” (see: having it shot into my fucking VEIN) and “not so extreme” (snorting little lines in my bed and drifting away dreamily like Dorothy in the poppies).

And I realize that, even though I don’t get hungry on dope, and would puke up anything I did eat – a lot of these heroin memories bizarrely involve food and/or restaurants. The time that EMO-REDNECK shot me up when I was 18 and somehow crazier than I am now, I tried to put something in my stomach to avoid the unavoidable nausea, and ate a few pretzels. Then hours later, as I still felt the heroin high melt through my body, I met his sister for dinner at Red Robin…. and felt, well, AMAZING. (I have never since experienced such a delicious burger, but no- Californians, I have never been to “In N Out”)

And the LAST time I did heroin – this past April or May (I honestly can’t remember) – I threw up five times, one of which was at my work desk in front of the Jimmy Johns delivery lady and my coworker (who both sweetly pretended not to notice). I grabbed the trash bag of my vomit and ran out of there like Usain Bolt, deposited it into the bathroom trash and then purged whatever heroin* toxins were still left in my body.

*OR Fentanyl , since the shit I had smoked off tin foil that morning was a bad fucking batch… and everything is a ‘bad batch’ these days… Remember- HEROIN CHIC IS NOW FENTANYL FINE