Sunday, February 01, 2009

Mad Cocaine Drug Fiend Sex Rampage

Last week, in common with fellow members of the intelligentsia, I decided to acquire an expensive cocaine habit. Accordingly, I made the appropriate inquiries as regards source of supply and cost.

For the neophyte, purchasing cocaine (or "scoring", to use the correct parlance) can be a bit problematic. Few of the retailers tend to advertise their services in any meaningful way, so, if one isn't "in the know", one is either dependent upon word of mouth, or one has to put up a "Wanted" ad in a newsagent's window or local free-sheet. Fortunately for me, though, certain colleagues were able to put me in touch directly with a reputable sales outlet, thus bypassing any such difficulties.

In keeping with EU strictures, cocaine is sold in metric measures. One buys by the gram, or multiples thereof. The local wholesaler currently charges £35 per gram, which basically amounts to around half a teaspoon's worth. This looks a paltry quantity, but the salesman nevertheless assured me that, for those of normal nasal capacity, it's sufficient to last a whole evening. Anyhow, yesterday, having acquired the necessary, I shut myself away and prepared to become thoroughly depraved.

First gripe. I had assumed that cocaine would be a fine, free-flowing white powder, as in "Scarface." Unfortunately, it's actually rather lumpy. One would have thought that, following Homepride's success in persuading its bowler-hatted flour graders to physically enter bags of flour and knock out any lumps, cocaine manufacturers would, by now, be operating a similar practise with their product. Especially given the price. (After all, Bolivian peasants can't cost that much to employ and, from what I've seen, lots of them have their own bowler hats, too, or, at least, hats that look bowlerish.) But no. It comes as is, and you have to squash out the lumps yourself. This is done with a razor blade or, if you're feeling flash, a black American Express card. Anyhow, having de-lumped it, one then arranges it on a mirrored surface in lines of approximately two and a half inches in length. Then, inserting a straw into one's nostril (those supplied by McDonalds are recommended, as they have the required diameter), one sucks up, or "snorts", the lines of cocaine, first with the right nostril, then with the left.

Second gripe. Very little of note happened when I did snort my lines. I was unable to produce any "My Cocaine Hell" or "Mad Cocaine Drug Fiend Sex Rampage" style headlines. I certainly didn't make like Al Pacino. Indeed, all that did happen was that my mouth went numb, as if I'd been injected with Novocain at the dentist, and my nose started to bleed very slightly. Having a numb mouth and a nosebleed seems a pretty poor return for £35. I'm sure there are cheaper ways of achieving the same effect. A punch in the face, for example (indeed, a few people might even be prepared to supply this to me gratis). Whatever, it must appeal to some market demographic, otherwise no-one would bother trying to become a "cocaine baron" or go to the trouble of wiping out the opposition in order to control the cocaine market.

On the other hand, I suppose, if you have expended all that effort, blowing up your rivals with car bombs, killing their wives and children, subverting democratic governments in order to preserve your monopolies and supply lines, and so forth, and all you actually do end up controlling at the end of the day is the market for a product that makes people's teeth go numb and noses bleed, you'd tend to feel a bit fucking stupid about the whole business and more than a little embarrassed. So I imagine you'd want to talk the product up. Say how marvellous it is, how it boosts the creative juices, makes women fancy you, and so forth. And if you say it loud enough and often enough, people will start to believe you. (A bit like they did with Sunny Delight in the days before it started turning children orange.) And that's probably what's happened with cocaine.

Anyway, my cocaine habit lasted for six, fattish lines. Next week, I'll spend my money at Rules, instead, confident in the knowledge that their steak and kidney pies aren't responsible for that many crime waves.

4 comments:

K. McEgan. said...

In Bolivia bowlers are strictly the preserve of females.As I've never done drugs I must bow to your superior knowledge.Unless absinthe is a drug.It too makes lips go numb.Waiting on a call from Julia Ivanovna.

Joe Slavko said...

Genuine absinthe? I'm told the wormwood in it can cause hallucinations. I must pick up a bottle. There's a shop on Old Compton Street that stocks the real thing.

K. McEgan. said...

The stuff I drank in Bristol seemed real enough.Dear,tastes like Pernod+.Strong.

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