Johnny Scott Does Drugs

drugs

Drugs, man. They’re everywhere. Our society medicates itself with the passion and vehemence of Wilford Brimley betting on a cockfight. Or at least it would if it wasn’t so doped up on a cocktail of mellowing pills that passion is just a distant memory of an unwanted side-effect. We have sometimes seemingly arbitrary divisions in place on which drugs are okay to ask your doctor or pharmacist about and which ones will end you up handcuffed in a dank cell praying for the dwindling chances of your posterior’s virtuousness. And which ones will get you put in jail.

It’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in pharmacological recreation of the ilk that’s likely to see one come down adrift in international waters as the de facto captain of a recently shanghai-ed tramp steamer, but one can only have so many mornings like that before it’s time to question the direction one’s life compass is pointed. So it was with a heavy heart that, years ago, I retired my longstanding title of Baron of Bennies (Pope of Poppers in most Catholic countries) and settled into a quiet, natural life of legal prescription big pharma daze. My heavy heart is alleviated somewhat by the heart lightener I regularly take, CardioZephyr®.

My anxiety is tempered quite well by Celexa®, but it brings me down a bit so I counter that with a dose of Paxil®. The resulting paranoia is taken care of with a liberal daily sprinkling of Lexapro®. This combo not only evens my keel like a ballast in a tempest, but allows me to zone in and tell which doorknobs are tracking my sex life through secret circuit boards that were implanted into my brain and genitals by an agency I’m currently trying to recall the name of using a pill designed to restore repressed memories. So far it’s only resulted in a torrent of Crisco-streaked vignettes starring a middle school cafeteria worker that I’m only able to deal with through the avenue of online lunch lady fan fiction.

Speaking of my sex life, it’s never been more freakily fulfilling. I mean, my dick has all the vibrancy of a zucchini found in back of a fridge after three months but, using a stringently detailed regimen of calculated boner medications and blood strengthening agents, it shudders to life like a John Carpenter movie monster at all the right moments. And on the occasions it gets a little overzealous at an inopportune moment, I have a stash of DErection® pills that restore its ropish constitution in mere moments. My testicles, once shrivelled and misshapen by the ravages of years of side-effects, are now marvels to behold. Shiny and smooth like hard-boiled eggs, thanks to the combined efforts of Testefil® and SackGro™.

Of course it’s not all sunshine and green grass like that which is splashed across the boxes of both the mood-elevators and various allergy medications I take. With this much medication there’s bound to be some side-effects. But are the myriad side-effects worth the results achieved? I’d say so. What’s a little bit of oily pore discharge in return for a handle on my dyscalculia. Recurring nosebleeds are a small price to pay to be able to concentrate on watching game shows. My spine is warped and crooked, I’ve got to drain excess eye fluid once a week, I occasionally black out and go on lengthy gambling jags, and none of my four roommates are real. But I’m able to sit and stare from lunchtime until dinnertime without a break in concentration, so I think the cost/benefit analysis is pretty straightforward. And, after a few years, the horrific, unheralded diarrhea becomes second nature and is hardly noticeable.

Some people have been critical of my life approach. But that’s probably because they lack the clarity and singularity of vision that can only be reached with use of a phalanx of mind-altering, radical, and sometimes under-tested synthetic drugs. Comparing a drug-free lifestyle to mine mood-indigo euphoria is like comparing AppleTorr® to those orange anti-anal leakage pills.

I better wrap this up, the pale hands are creaking up through my floorboards again, and my walls are telling me it’s time for a medicine cabinet smorgasbord. I need to even myself out. I’ve had a bit of a rocky day. It took me four hours to write the first five sentences of this article, then three minutes to do the rest. Anyway, I’ve got to go pop all these pills, then shave my cat’s face before it becomes a human’s again.

 

Photo by Auntie P via flickr

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