How To Justify Your Drug Use: A Comprehensive Guide
By Thoughtis
So you’ve decided to use drugs. Okay, not “use.” “Using” drugs sounds like something a lesion-covered hobo does in a dumpster. You “do” drugs. Sometimes. Hey, it’s cool, no judgment here. I’m not your dad or anything, I can hang. And don’t worry, no matter what your drug of choice, there is a simple, foolproof justification at the ready–provided you know it. Even the most damaging and life-threatening of vices can be waved away with a shaky hand and a firm conviction. Here, what you need to know for any occasion.
Alcohol: Look, if you’re not trying to have a good time, don’t even come to my party. We’re doing jell-O shots and jagerbombs all night, and that’s just kind of the way it is. Drinking is fine–it’s LEGAL, for God’s sake. If our fascist government is okay with it, that means it’s medicinal. Don’t be that guy that comes to the bar and orders a Coke–that guy is awful. You can’t honestly look at a bottle of Smirnoff Ice and tell me that’s a drug. What do you mean, it has effects? Effects like tweeting in all caps and making you tolerable for five minutes, maybe… I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Okay, that was mean… I’m a little drunk right now. Everyone drinks, though, it’s perfectly normal to drink. The founding fathers drank, Jesus drank, Nelson Mandela was wasted every day of his life and he still managed to free the slaves with Abraham Lincoln. I don’t feel so good.
Marijuana: Man, weed’s not even a drug, though. It’s, like, your dad probably smoked weed when he was in college or whatever… unless he was super fucking lame, which wouldn’t surprise me either. But there’s nothing wrong with it. It just enhances your appreciation for things, like art and music and Hot Pockets. Weed is not a drug–drugs are scary. Drugs make you beat your wife and go on Maury and shit. Growing weed is fine, too. I’m becoming, like, really good at horticulture. I could grow a pumpkin patch in a bathtub. When I get old and boring, I’ll be growing the best fucking tomatoes of all time. My tomatoes are going to win me state fair ribbons and get me all the prime widow snatch. People are going to come from, like, three cities away to come and eat my ripe-ass tomatoes and they’re gonna be like, “Mister Brad, why are your tomatoes so good, though?” And I’m just gonna take a hit off my eye surgery weed and be like, “Because I give 110 percent, little Billy, and so should you.” And then I’m gonna go inside and make some bangin-ass marinara sauce. OH MY GOD, let’s make some pasta! I’m so hungry.
Cocaine: Look, I work 12-hour days 6 days a week and I am a grown-ass man, I can do whatever I god damn well please with my salary. If you don’t like it, you can get out of my loft. You know where the private elevator is. Fine, go, whatever. Good luck trying to get on the guest list for my birthday. Oh, you’re soooooo above what I’m doing, I get it. Why don’t you go do some more yoga and eat some tree bark and judge me some more. Enjoy squatting in your co-op with the raccoons or southeast Asians or whatever you live with. By the way, all that financial advice I gave you was bullshit–good luck with those investments. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you. GET BACK HERE I’M TALKING TO YOU.
Mushrooms: Shhh, calm down. I’m just going to need you to calm down for a second. Mmmm, body high… it feels like butterflies are licking me everywhere with their curly little tongues. Curly little butterfly tongues. This song is good, why don’t you turn it up a little bit. Eh, eh, too much. Little lower. There. What do you mean, mushrooms are a drug? They’re a fungus that grows in the ground and lives with the animals and is just hanging out waiting to be picked. Why are you talking about that right now? This isn’t doing drugs. Wait, am I doing drugs? Am I a drug user? Is that what this is? Is this my life? Should I be worried about these things? Oh my god, my carpet is so dirty. I need to go outside. I just need to go for a walk. I’m going for a walk. I’m going to walk around. You’re such a good friend, and your hair is so curly. It’s spreading all over the walls–you should probably get it cut. Do you want me to cut it? Let me cut it. Where are the scissors? Hey, come back…
Meth: Have you ever noticed how beautiful Kansas is!? You can’t really see it all until you’ve seen it for four straight days at a time, and I don’t want to give up the only thing that lets me do that. And I still have all of my kids and most of my teeth; I’m sorry I’m proud of my life but some of us like to enjoy our accomplishments and I’m sorry you can’t. I’m sorry I’m such a failure, Mom, why don’t you look at me with more evil in your face? It’s not like I’m doing anything bad, like stealing or dating a black guy. Look, fuck this noise, I’m going to Wal-Mart. Do you want anything?
Keyboard Duster: I’M WALKING ON SUNSHINE, ALRIGHT?!
Ecstasy: Who is coming to the Borgore concert with me, because it’s now or never. I’m going to be out there for six days, so if you don’t get your ass into this Toyota Previa right now, you’re going to be stuck here all week. Your choice. Okay, get in. Wait–what do you mean you’re not going to be rolling? Well then why the fuck are you going? Don’t even tell me it’s to listen to that god awful music or bang those smelly rave chicks, because we both know you cannot do either of those things sober. Why did I buy all this shit, then? Oh, don’t even start with that drug bullshit, I’m not going to talk about x like it’s in the same league as crack or whatever, it just makes you happy and thirsty–those are not drug effects. So what if it burns holes in your brain? By the time it matters I’ll be way too old to listen to dubstep, and then why would I want to live any–you know what? I’m not having this conversation with you. Oh, and guess what? I heard Deadmau5 is making an appearance at this concert and guess who’s not invited anymore? PEACE.
Prescription Drugs: If you want to raise three children and sell the shit out of this Avon, you are more than free to do so, but until you do–you are not allowed to judge me. I work hard and my job is thankless, I’m allowed the errant Dilaudid. If you want to come home and cook a Michelin-starred meal for a bunch of ungrateful brats and a cheating husband, well, you are more than welcome to do so. And enjoy having to go to the PTA meetings–you try one of those sober, just ONCE, and I’ll will put the bejeweled crown upon your head because I will have found the queen.
Heroin: Ohhhhhhhh Godddddddddddd.