"I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs, or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me."
- Hunter S. Thompson
- Hunter S. Thompson
My favorite simile: Listening to Reggae is like popping a Xanax. My second favorite simile: Listening to the song "Lolipop" by Weezy is like reading erotic fiction. I spent the last five minutes trying to properly distinguish between a metaphor and simile, because it is so much easier to live your life by the motto: spelling is sexy.
Xanax (Alprazolam): is a short-acting drug of the benzodiazepine class used to treat moderate to severe anxiety disorders, panic attacks, and as an adjunctive treatment for anxiety associated with clinical depression.
Wik-a, wik-a, wikipediaaaa.
For those who have never experienced the effects of Xanax: please do so only under the supervision of me -- sharing is caring. I do not advocate the improper use of prescription drugs, and I will not be held liable for the future addicts reading my blogs.
Fine Print: Although I do not have a prescription for Xanax myself, and I choose to steal from the family medicine cabinet, does not mean that you should as well. Prescriptions are for pansies. Actually, I am only kidding. Do not steal or buy off market Xanax, and if you choose to sue me, I will sick my team of lawyers on your sedated ass.
I have taken this drug a total of twice, and both times were for legitimate reasons (legit). They were used to treat the F5 of freak outs. Levels 1-3 can be treated with masturbation or alcohol, level 4 requires a significantly higher amount of alcohol, and masturbation, but level 5 requires Xanax theft from the medicine cabinet.
I discovered yesterday (Sunday) while experiencing a level 4 freak out, with no open liquor stores, a dry downstairs bar, empty Xanax bottle, and an occupied boyfriend, that in times of drought reggae can be used in place of alcohol and Xanax. I should note that I had not yet reached level 5, which in that case would have required frantic phone calls to all known drug dealers ( unfortunately there are not many). I sat atop an orange pillow, legs crossed, facing the window -- in full freak out mode (it is not as Shining-esque as it may seem). In my desperation for sedation I skipped down the stairs wild eyed and frizzy haired, and combed through the family music collection for a Black Uhuru album. I looked around suspiciously, and finding no one in sight ran, and subsequently fell, the flight of stairs to my bedroom, locked the door, and put the album in my cd player (what the hell is that?). The muscles in my arms and legs began to relax, and my head filled with mini David's to stone the bastard Goliath on the war path (thank you Catholicism). Once the album had finished I was horizontal, calm, and far removed from the danger zone. In a state of tranquility I floated to my desk bobbing my head and swaying my hips, and found Lil Wayne's Myspace page present amongst the numerous Internet Explorer windows still open. What I thought: what harm could a sample of "lolipop" do?
What I learned: plenty. My head bobs and hips sways mutated into a heavy panting and frantic heartbeating monster. Damn Weezy and his dirty descriptions of fornication. I was at first ashamed to admit my absurd obsession with the song, but then I realized that on a primitive level, escaped from the inhibitive ego, we all desire for it to be sex, and not love or baby making. I spent the next thirty minutes scrolling through my itunes for auditory porn.
I awoke this morning (after ten hours of sleep) groggy, but relatively mellow. I say relatively because after ten hours of limited bodily functioning, what more can one feel? I like to use the excuse: "gosh, my body must have really needed that," when I have slept for more than the usual eight hours. I poked my braided head out the window to gather the morning Tamarisk (parent's housing development) news, and who did I see? No, not Jose the gardener, or Jennifer the cleaning lady, but Fred the dog poop scoop man.
I took the time to look up this Colorado Company in case you should need the valuable service, or as an amusing way in which you too can combat your own Monday blues, sans Xanax. They have a very user friendly chart that displays their prices, and I must say that they are very reasonable. I always thought I was too selfish and irresponsible for a pet, but now with poop services offered, training classes available – your presence not required – and dog psychologists, there is no way for me to screw up my dog, that is unless I forget to feed it. PETA has me on their blacklist.Xanax (Alprazolam): is a short-acting drug of the benzodiazepine class used to treat moderate to severe anxiety disorders, panic attacks, and as an adjunctive treatment for anxiety associated with clinical depression.
Wik-a, wik-a, wikipediaaaa.
For those who have never experienced the effects of Xanax: please do so only under the supervision of me -- sharing is caring. I do not advocate the improper use of prescription drugs, and I will not be held liable for the future addicts reading my blogs.
Fine Print: Although I do not have a prescription for Xanax myself, and I choose to steal from the family medicine cabinet, does not mean that you should as well. Prescriptions are for pansies. Actually, I am only kidding. Do not steal or buy off market Xanax, and if you choose to sue me, I will sick my team of lawyers on your sedated ass.
I have taken this drug a total of twice, and both times were for legitimate reasons (legit). They were used to treat the F5 of freak outs. Levels 1-3 can be treated with masturbation or alcohol, level 4 requires a significantly higher amount of alcohol, and masturbation, but level 5 requires Xanax theft from the medicine cabinet.
I discovered yesterday (Sunday) while experiencing a level 4 freak out, with no open liquor stores, a dry downstairs bar, empty Xanax bottle, and an occupied boyfriend, that in times of drought reggae can be used in place of alcohol and Xanax. I should note that I had not yet reached level 5, which in that case would have required frantic phone calls to all known drug dealers ( unfortunately there are not many). I sat atop an orange pillow, legs crossed, facing the window -- in full freak out mode (it is not as Shining-esque as it may seem). In my desperation for sedation I skipped down the stairs wild eyed and frizzy haired, and combed through the family music collection for a Black Uhuru album. I looked around suspiciously, and finding no one in sight ran, and subsequently fell, the flight of stairs to my bedroom, locked the door, and put the album in my cd player (what the hell is that?). The muscles in my arms and legs began to relax, and my head filled with mini David's to stone the bastard Goliath on the war path (thank you Catholicism). Once the album had finished I was horizontal, calm, and far removed from the danger zone. In a state of tranquility I floated to my desk bobbing my head and swaying my hips, and found Lil Wayne's Myspace page present amongst the numerous Internet Explorer windows still open. What I thought: what harm could a sample of "lolipop" do?
What I learned: plenty. My head bobs and hips sways mutated into a heavy panting and frantic heartbeating monster. Damn Weezy and his dirty descriptions of fornication. I was at first ashamed to admit my absurd obsession with the song, but then I realized that on a primitive level, escaped from the inhibitive ego, we all desire for it to be sex, and not love or baby making. I spent the next thirty minutes scrolling through my itunes for auditory porn.
I awoke this morning (after ten hours of sleep) groggy, but relatively mellow. I say relatively because after ten hours of limited bodily functioning, what more can one feel? I like to use the excuse: "gosh, my body must have really needed that," when I have slept for more than the usual eight hours. I poked my braided head out the window to gather the morning Tamarisk (parent's housing development) news, and who did I see? No, not Jose the gardener, or Jennifer the cleaning lady, but Fred the dog poop scoop man.
And in closing I would like to share a dream I had last night, as I find it pertinent to online junkies such as ourselves, and to the new breed of online language evolving. In the dream I made a list of online lingo and their equivalent punishments if they should be used. I will now replicate the list for you.
LOL = two sucker punches
OMG = three kicks to both shins
OMFG = only two kicks to both shins
TTYL = one raspberry on each forearm
*All punishment to be dispensed by me.*
There are more that make up this e-language, but they hide from my rod of punishment behind the curtains of social networks. Would you be as kind to share the ones of which you know?
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