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What’s My Drug of Choice? Well, What Have You Got?
Does smoking a single joint doom a person to a lifetime of crippling drug addiction? Will getting high on crystal meth impel you to throw yourself from a rooftop thinking you’re Superman? That’s what the cops and teachers complicit with mandatory anti-drug child brain washing regimens would have you believe, but I know it’s all bullshit. Being a recreational drug user since the age of six has granted me the lucidity to see their lies.
Make no mistake, the people behind such nefarious programs as DARE could care less about the welfare of us children. On the contrary, they’re merely an organ of the indoctrination centers that are our nation's schools, designed to do their part in turning kids into pliable, conformist clones by warping our formative young minds with sick aversion tactics.
Now of course drugs can be harmful if you don’t exercise the proper moderation, but the same thing goes for the rest of most of life’s pleasures – like eating, gambling, shopping or fucking. But of course the government would never dream of forming an organization whose mission was to dissuade people from those things – they all generate taxable revenue!
Indeed, drugs, if treated with the appropriate discretion can greatly enhance your life. Take me for example – I’ve done just about every drug out there; in fact, my motto is ‘What’s my drug of choice? Well, what have you got?’ And I don’t go broke and trust me, I do it a lot. I don’t steal – I buy all my stuff with my allowance, I’ve never missed a soccer practice or even been so much as late to a Boy Scout meeting, and I get all aces in school. In fact, I got first prize in my school’s science fair this year for the scalar gradiometer I built to measure the interaction of environmental electrostatic gradients with an artificially generated electrostatic field thanks to the peyote I was soaring on when I came up with the idea.
Yes sir, with the possible exception of getting a hand job from your hot high school babysitter there's nothing better than coming home from a long day in the fifth grade and relaxing with a handful of Vicodin and an eighth of vodka or the exhileration of scoring six touchdowns in your Pop Warner football game high on PCP, which is why I get so pissed off when I think that these fascists' Clockwork Orange techniques might deprive someone the joy of getting really fucked up from time to time. (Sigh) I think I need a bowl.
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