Caltrops - Cabaret Voltron - Drugs are bad, mm'kay.

Forum Overview :: Cabaret Voltron

by Bill Dungsroman 07/14/2003, 6:03pm PDT

When I was in college, I occasionally dabbled in illicit pharmaceuticals. No big deal, all the cool kids were doing it. Working in a Vegas hotel and going to college simultaneously virtually guaranteed exposure to the drug culture, as some hack termed it. Anyway, I was. Exposed, that is, and not in my cute hallway manner. There was plenty of this and that in my recreational drug use resume, but one incident in particular stood out.

I had snorted cocaine on more than a few occasions over the past year or so prior to this event. Whatever, get a few drinkies in me and Iâ€™m game for anything that doesnâ€™t involve a needle or glass pipe. So somebody offers up crystal meth, speed, tweek, whatfucking ever, Oh you snort it? Just like coke! Why the hell not? Snnerrrrrrrrkkchâ€¦

Too bad I didnâ€™t read the warning label or directions on the cute liâ€™l baggie the shit came in, the one that said CAUTION: DO NOT SNORT AS MUCH OR AS OFTEN AS COKE YOU FUCKING BUBBLEGUMMER because I laid out two thick rails and horked â€˜em straight up my greedy nostrils. Thereâ€™s always those urban myths floating about regarding The Dude Who Snorted Ajax or whathaveyou and I thought of that more than briefly as my nose exploded in flames. Then it went numb. Then I was, as you may surmise, high as fucking hell.

Yeah yeah, sure sure, it felt great. I was The Man, King of All I Surveyed, No Wonder People Do This Shit, Hell Yeah Itâ€™s Cheaper Than Coke and every other clichÃ©d thought that barrels through a drug addictâ€™s mind when itâ€™s in that in-then-right-out-of-bullet-time rollercoaster-first-drop First High, the one they all chase forever. Just thinking about that shit gets me speedy. Anyway, I sure as hell wasnâ€™t drunk anymore. Then, hours later, I was pretty much alone, the dude who sold me the stuff went wherever and where the fuck was everyone else? So I went home to my apartment. It was 4 or 5 AM, and I was wide awake, if you can stop for a second and imagine a dude blowing two lines of Crank up his hoohaw might be a little insomniac post-exposure.

My roomie and I had a sort of odd arrangement re: our TV sets. He had a little shitty one that he seemed happy with in his room, I put my bigger one in the living room, but had none for my own in my bedroom. Well, I wanted to watch TV, which was fine at first until I saw part of a Skinemax late night feature and realized that I wanted to jerk off. BADLY. I assume itâ€™s a side effect of the shit. So, what to do?

Solution: unplug the TV, VCR, and stereo from the wall and drag the whole fucker (miracle of miracles, it was all on a small entertainment stand on wheels) into my bedroom,. Re-plug in the TV and VCR and raid my sizable porn collection that hadnâ€™t seen much use since I moved in with the roomie.

I jerked off for several hours. Like, 18 or so. Straight. Well, periodically stopping to wash myself and piss occasionally and to finish off the meth, because There it was, donâ€™t you know? And that would be a pathetic enough ending to any story, even one of mine. But it isnâ€™t, itâ€™s just the set-up.

Now for the story.

I was ridiculously fucking high. I was straight zoominâ€™ the Trophosphere. I was talkinâ€™ to polar bears, conversinâ€™ with Paramecium; hell, I was fuckinâ€™ nuclear waste, man. After all that Me Time with my penis, which was now begging me to fuck off and leave it alone, I tried to just lie there and HAHAHAHAHA go to sleep. So I lay there, staring at the fucking walls in the dark. And I listened.

Itâ€™s either or both, but I could swear I had a heightened sense of hearing, and was also hearing shit that obviously wasnâ€™t there. I could hear porno chicks moaning in faux ecstasy like echoes in a long hallway. I could hear clicks and whirrs and the TV set of my next door neighbor, which I had never before been able to hear. It sure as hell wasnâ€™t my TV, since it was still at the foot of my bed from when I had dragged it into my room earlier that morning. Hmm, wonder what my roomie was thinking?

Well, I imagined that I could hear him, talking to who fucking ever in the living room. About the TV, how fucked up it was to take it into my room and keep it all goddamn day and night. So what if itâ€™s mine, it supposed to be ours as long as itâ€™s out there, what a selfish bastard. And then I was sure I heard him say

â€œI ought to just go in there and take it from him.â€

What? Really? Fuck, now what? I surveyed my room. It had grown to easily twice its normal size in the dark. My door was about 8 to 10 feet away and up on a lifted part, partly around a corner. My bed sat about 5 feet from the wall to the right, with ten more feet to the right. Also, in reality, it was maybe ten foot and completely fucking square, with my bed in the goddamn corner. Thatâ€™s how fucked I was.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Then, I heard movement outside my door. I heard the doorknob turn slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb me if I was asleep. I opened my eyes and could see the outline of light around my door, and I watched it intently. Slowly, the outline widened, and a figure moved in silently. Then, another. Into my fucking room. To get my TV set. One moved to the TV stand, the other dropped out of view, probably to diddle with the cords.

I was petrified. Why? Because I was fucking high, is my assumption at this point in time. I wanted to say something, scream HEY! loudly and sharply, to let them know I knew what the hell was going on, and that I didnâ€™t approve and furthermore was having none of it. Several reaction scenarios raced (and I mean raced) through my head. One involved pulling my gun and waving it about menacingly, hollering something along the lines of WHO THE FUCK IS IT OR Iâ€™LL BLOW YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF DONâ€T TEST or the like, just to scare â€˜em. Teach â€˜em what happens when you try to reclaim my TV for the living room. That would have been funny. Instead, I sat bolt upright and reached out at the nearest figure.

I caught air. Did he move? I turned on the light.

There was nobody there, of course.

There never was. Hell, there wasnâ€™t even anyone home. I think maybe there was earlier, but my roomie obviously went out at some point, leaving me to my meth-addled paranoid delusions. Good on him. I called off work, ditched class the next day, and wandered about in a fucking daze for a few days.

The moral: jerking off on drugs is fun â€“ if you have your own TV set, anyway.

BDR