Hey guys. Dwayne. Pete. Ryan. Look, I’m sure you guys mean well with this whole ‘intervention’ thing but it’s misplaced, not to mention hurtful. I mean, guys: I’m not a crack addict-I’m a crack enthusiast.
There’s a huge difference, okay Dwayne? What I do between these three-and-a-half walls is my business, and my business alone. I’m a responsible and oftentimes-law abiding citizen: don’t I deserve this? Sometimes after a long day of hustling for crack, I’ll just want to relax with some sweet, sweet crack. Who doesn’t like to relax? I mean, no one looks twice at Jacob when his “two beers” suddenly turns into four; but I smoke a little crack and have a razor-fight with my suddenly self-aware beard and I’m the one with the “substance problem” and “severe cuts”. How unfair is that?
I like my crack, guys. Don’t make a federal case out of this, okay? Seriously. Don’t.
You guys are being prudes. I’m not an addict; I’m just a fan, and more importantly, a well informed consumer. For example, my last pipe was of some really great vintage stuff from 122nd street. A Tuesday batch, with the powdery undertones of baking soda. Quite delectable; try telling that to a “crack fiend” okay? They wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between Yeti Stone and Beige Bomber if their lives depended on it. And don’t I deserve to spoil myself a little, after all the horrible things I had to do to earn this crack? I think so. Crack is just a fun little hobby of mine, just like my other new hobby, selling sex for money to buy crack with.
You guys are being so dramatic; yikes! You sound like my parole officer here! You’ve got to look at the bigger picture. I mean, does Logan live in a “baseball house”? Of course not! He’s just a regular guy who happens to like baseball, and besides, he lives in my crack-house anyway, so I guess the point is moot. What I mean is that someone isn’t defined by just one of their passions, just like their sexuality isn’t defined by whatever horrible, horrible things they do to score their next fix.
I don’t have a drug problem, guys. That’s crazy to say. I mean, if anything, my biggest problem is when I don’t have drugs! Am I right? Am I-, oh, come on, dudes. That line totally killed in the holding cells.
Do I have a drug habit? No; but do I have an awesome, laid back fun drug hobby? You can bet your last crumpled and shameful dollar I do! But really, at its core, it’s just a small social thing. If I’m with a friend like Kevin or, say, Crackhead Paul, well yeah, maybe we’ll smoke for a few days. It’s nothing, guys. Maybe we’ll just hang out or order some pizza, or take a quick drive to China, or fight the spiders, oh God, all the spiders. It’s a nice fun time and no one gets hurt, because, as I’ve explained a thousand times before, those “pedestrians” were ghost-monsters anyway, sent by the spider-king Juhr.
Hmm. So be it. I think you can see yourself out past the roaches. And if you ever want to apologize, well, you can come over here and smoke the peace pipe with me. Just do me a solid and advance me some cash. Come on guys. You know I’m good for it.
