All right. In the coffee shop now. I seem to be past the sketchy too much speed phase. I’m not proud of what I masturbated to, or the means I used to do it. But let’s never speak of it again.
The problem is I’ve done so much coke in my life that anything even remotely resembling that feeling fires up a whole set of reflexes– grind your jaw, snort back mucous, look sketchy, jerk off with Rube Golberg contraptions… I can’t just take legal speed for children like a normal person, I gotta take more and more and hole myself up in my filthy apartment opening 99 tabs of fetish porn. Let this be a lesson. From now on, clean living. Whole grains and natural fruit juice. Maybe a Zima on Fridays.
It’s not that bad. I’m sure I seem normal enough to the world. Except for the part where I became transfixed by a full page full color newspaper ad for NUDE GIRLS that had blown open on the sidewalk, a spread of an alluringly thick young blonde woman’s naked back. The top of her meaty ass. I was staring at this as a family with several children walked by. I thought about pocketing it.
Anyway, here’s the verdict on this shit: you can sit down at a keyboard and make your fingers move, but no real idea seems appealing enough to actually follow through on. You just want to observe your moment-to-moment surroundings in detail. I could write an essay about the stupid song they’re playing in the coffee shop, about the waitress’ tattoo of a 16 pack of crayola crayons, about the girl’s skirt leaning over, her ass in the sheer mauve fabric, panty lines… I could tell you the position of the chess game across from me; black has it in 4. The cup of gardenias waving in the fan breeze. The sad posture of the girl thumbing through her iphone, looking for something she knows isn’t there. The swarthy dork in the maroon pants bobbing his knee up and down as he likes Facebook statuses. But new ideas, new feelings, don’t come. It’s weird that a drug that’s supposed to make you focus is so distracting. It’s the perfect drug for looking at stupid shit on the internet all day. But it’s not going to help me write the Great American Novel about a sad drunken jerkoff who triumphs, unless people come and act it out in front of me right this minute.
The upside: it kind of feels like coke; it gives you that same urgent, obsessive horniness, but unlike coke it does not completely destroy your chance of getting a boner. So you can actually execute your long-dreamed-of Tenga® Easy Beat Egg™ Artificial Vagina, “Silky” tucked into musky panties purloined from an OKCupid date’s hamper wrapped in your doughnut-shaped airplane pillow enhanced with the I Rub My Duckie® Waterproof Vibrating Rubber Duck Adult Toy (Black), and fuck it, and see what it’s like. Verdict: pretty good. Tough to hold together while looking at screens of unwanted impregnation porn in the living room, so you will have to place it on top of the bathroom sink and think about blasting that forbidden nut inside your old girlfriend Caroline, the soap opera actress. Or, you know, whomever. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life.
I see why Gawker writers would take it. Or Andrew Sullivan’s underbloggers. People whose job is to look at a ticker and react. Donald Trump’s hair did something, give me 300 words. A congressman was insensitive about gays. Jezebel writers reacting to a man saying fat people are bad, or a man who thinks that not every college girl is constantly being raped. Let’s crank out ten angry paragraphs interspersed with Arrested Development GIF’s. If I had one of those jobs, this drug would be wonderful. You focus on a thing, however stupid, and your fingers just move and words come out. Steroids for meaninglessness.
Anyway. I’m going to hold on to the rest of these pills. Wait till I have woman off the internet who’s into filthy sex acts. We’ll crush it up and rail it together, get drunk and have unprotected gutter sex and crazy speed orgasms. From my monitor, Ty Pennington® will look on with a knowing smile.