I must apologize for failing to write anything for a couple of weeks, I was in rehab. At the recommendation of a discouraged reader, I took drugs and various combinations thereof so that I might improve on my grammar. My life spun out of control, I was stealing from my parents wallets and having arguments with worms. All this lasted two weeks but I’m fine now. But I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to binge on several drugs at once for the sake of writing and self improvement.
There is one exception, I allow myself to take Flexeril in the evenings to mitigate the violent spasms and muffle the screaming shrills of the evil witch in my head, who torments me on a nightly basis. Flexeril I’m afraid does nothing for my writing since I just fall asleep.
On the brighter side of things, Why Folsom Sucks has reached new heights in the virtual world. To compliment the WFS blog is a Facebook page and a Twitter feed. Unimaginable levels of accomplishment are pushing me both physically and mentally, like taking copious drugs and then going through rehab to please an upset reader. Pleasing an ever increasing number of readers doesn’t get any easier. So, I’m open to more suggestions as well.
When I started this project as a counter to everything Folsom stands for and has become, I never imagined that it would reach the kind of popularity it has. According to the WFS Facebook page, there are about 30 fans, and Twitter boasts of about 12 followers. Thank you, all of you (tear of joy drips down my cheek).
With this new found fame, I am receiving many hate emails, monogamous relationship offers from women of the Baltic, death threats, and fans have taken to mailing me some of my favorite drugs (pills of all kinds). Ladies, by the way, I am a one man pharm party, so let’s get into fruit bowls. One thing I am not getting is money, so please be so kind as to donate a few Euros into my paypal account as soon as possible.
Enough of my bragging about fame and women, let’s get on with my current dismay.
One of the many comments I received was from Geoff Niswander, some scroungey looking dipshit that wears the oh-so original Ray-Ban aviators. This chap is steamed over my double plus ungood grammar, and erroneously thinks I was raised in Folsom. This is the guy who suggested I take drugs to improve my grammar. Done and done. Sounds like good advice none the less and an admirable challenge to boot.
My assumption is, judging from his arrogance and reactionary tone, he’s probably the kind of guy who has at least a couple of failed GHB rape attempts under his belt, and used to hit his mother as a child. He also looks like Justin Bieber trying to grow facial hair. So you guessed it, he basically looks like a high school kid who wants to look like a girl who wants to look like a guy. He also looks like a chronic masturbator. But I took his advice anyway.
Did the drugs ever help?
I decided it would be best if I eased into this thing by using just the basic drugs, ones I’m familiar with. Then move onto the weirder and harder shit later on.
The night started off as normal as ever, I was at my friend Sean’s apartment and we drank a six pack of High Life and smoked a fat number, then we hit the streets looking for some no-no. Like usual, women shriveled in fear at our lurid behavior. I texted Sean’s old girlfriend to get the phone number of her friend, a friend I was interested in boning.
She wrote “If I give you her number, don’t be creepy. Don’t hang out with Sean either.”
That's not happening tonight.
We found an alley with little foot traffic so we could mainline a vile of Ketamine. I wasn’t familiar with Ketamine at all, but it sounded like a good idea at the time.I tied off and the needle went into the vein with no trouble. We sat down and chatted, I searched through my pockets for a pen and a notepad. I forgot both of them at home.
We woke up an hour later and started for the bar. And just to even out the Ketamine we did a few key blasts. I was flying high, and I thought I could write like Hemingway at this point. When we reached the bar I shot for the bathroom and chewed through a few ecstasy pills. The next hour had such clarity, I figured I’d remember everything anyway, and didn’t really need a pen to improve my writing skills.
I think I was on about five drugs simultaneously at this point. I don’t know what I said to the bartender he just threw a broken pencil at me and screamed “Write with this, dick!” My mind finally quit, I don’t remember anything after chasing five norcos with a shot of black label at the bar.
Needless to say I woke up at 4am in an unfamiliar apartment, face down on a love seat, which should have been a physical impossibility given the size of this couch. I was out of drugs, and the one thing I wanted were a few barbiturates for a smooth landing. I had to call in sick to work the next day, I told them I didn’t know where I was and that I was barfing in a bathtub. I was picking barf chunks out of my pubes but decided to leave this detail out as a matter of dignity.
The result should have been predictable. I consumed enough hard drugs in one night to tranquillize a pack of Bison and I never got around to actually writing anything. I took the advice of a disgruntled reader and I can’t help but feel like I am a better person for it, he most certainly wouldn’t take my advice, though I would suggest he just go fuck himself. To recapitulate, this is why Folsom sucks, because Folsom is full of people like Geoff who wouldn’t pound various drugs for the sake of self improvement, art or otherwise.
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