My mind on meth after 50-72 hours. Oh yeah I wanna fuck shannon in the butt that slut knows she wants it. You have god like confidence to manage any obstacle. 5 seconds later I realize I'm not looking at Shannon anymore and It's midnight and Shadow ghosts are popping out of the middle of the highway. They aren't cgi like, more faint yet more high quality. My mind shifts to the facebook convo I had with some girl I banged back in high school roughly 6-14 hours ago, probably the latter. We're playing a game of hide and seek on a fucking phone app for fucks sake because of her psychotic boyfriend. Think about it this way, wouldn't it make more sense to hide when you were actually already in the house and managed to stick your dick inside her Andy?
Well, that's more dangerous Albert, but on the whole I agree. My mind lingers way too long on this convo as I of course realize she only agreed to the nasty sexual shit I required earlier because I told her I'd share my last .535 with her and shes been through a ball and recently ran out. It will be the last of my stash but I've been awake long enough and I'm pretty sure this is the last of 2 grams I've bought I can't remember how many days before so to polish it off with an experienced tweek whore who will probably let me to any depraved thing I can think of seems worth it.
My mind flashes back to Shannon now, the front desk girl at the McDonald's by my house. I actually know her boyfriend to a limited extent. Total douche bag, full of himself, and has no business banging a hot piece of ass like Shannon. Though after slightly contemplating I realize Shannon has the intelllectual capacity of a snail, and her 5'10" frame and pretty face is about 95% of the package and I sigh inside as I realize it's morning again and I've finished my shower probably thinking I've been in there for an eternity and it's probably been under 2 minutes.
I think begin to drive around in my sedan around a backroad that looks familar yet still eludes my memory. It seems bittersweet as if I missed/hated someone I traveled this road with. Soon I see the familar abandoned carry out that resembles a red-brown shoe box. My first girlfriend and I traveled this road a lot. Mostly to smoke weed and drink beer. Sometimes we would meet friends to fish and drink beer. I remember thinking I was going to be a dad at 17, terrified and indifferent at once. I start thinking if she had carried to full term if I would be somewhere different than high as fuck on probably a legal over dose of methamphetamine driving a too powerful car for my condition.
I realize that I probably want someone to bang and talk incessantly to rather than to have a family with and the logical part of my brain is starting to form crisis mode so I don't go total Methed up robot. Back to Ashley, the facebook app girl. I get home sometime later in the late morning and realize I've been blocked. I wonder what happened. Did her boyfriend catch her fucking around and beat her senseless. Or did he psychotically cry like a bitch as they chessily clicked the "ignore" button together as she wanked him and they shed terms and professed their love together. I guess I'll never know but as far as I can recall that girl had some decent snatch back in the day and I remind myself that is the goal for the day. Butts, Sluts, Meth, Beer and Hamburgers. IN any order you can't miss today. Back at my laptop I also have a craving for Newports which I haven't smoked in ages. This happens when I do cocaine too though I've grown out of coke binges they feel like a total waste now.
Mind goes back again to Shannon and shoving it in that tight little popper oh god what I wouldnt give for that feel right now. I realize that she wouldn't go for it even if it weren't for Scumbag Shermin because she has a daughter and even though she probably got down easy before motherhood I'd probably have to sign the lease to a nicer car than her new 40k-ish challenger Shermin probably leased and I just couldn't afford that commitment to a small child and this makes the car payment seem negligible. I then temporarily get a brain shock when I have become a doppleganger of myself. I think I've been up since friday and it's wednesday about noon now. My Milligram scale fluctuates as I type away on my laptop. I have saved the biggest crystals for last I despise those small sand like peebles at the bottom of the mini food seal bags. Why do I always sabatoge myself? I could be banging shannon right now(better chance flat out asking than being methed u and ordering fast food I probably wouldn't eat sober) and I think I need to trim my sideburns and of course order more meth sometimes it takes my darknet guy 3-4 days to send my stuff(omg, it is a crisis!).
I ponder if people on the /Stims section of reddit genuinely smoke or snort 150-200 mg at a time. Have they been doing it this long, their stuff this weak, or is it internet badassery at it's peak? Guess I'll never know. I think about cooking and eating a flatiron steak and try to remember when was the last time I ate...wednesday now...so..friday afternoon probably? Fuck. I finally look into the mirror and slight blisters have formed around the sides of my mouth but they go unnoticed becuase of my unkempt mustache at this point. I sit down at my computer, what is the feeling called when you want so deserately want to pass out but still want to rip another huge line? I'm scared when I wake up the world wont be the same and if I stay awake at least I will ride the change.
My mind goes back to giving the 50-ish maintenance man at McDOnald's a very generous line before running around like a madman and screaming "I"m fuckin' Stimmed, Brah!" as his small frame bounced around the back end of the store like a rabbit on fire. I don't know what I'm searching for anymore. I have money, I've had good girl, bad girl, hot girl, dumb girl. I guess I'm always searching for the ultimate high that is enviably in attainable. This reminds me of a fairly respectable, at least noticeable check I'm expected fairly soon.
I walk past the corridor that leads to a sitting room the left of the top stairs of my house as I hear a voice from a TV that doesn't exist " [FONT=verdana]My grandmother taught me how to play the game monopoly. Now, my grandmother was a wonderful person. She raised six children. She was a widow by the time I knew her well. She lived in our house for many, many years. And she was a lovely woman, but she was the most ruthless Monopoly player I have ever known in my life. Imagine what would have happened if Donald Trump had married Leona Helmsley and they would have had a child. Then, you have some picture of what my grandmother was like when she played Monopoly. She understood that the name of the game is to acquire. [/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]When we would play when I was a little kid and I got my money from the bank, I would always want to save it, hang on to it, because it was just so much fun to have money. She spent on everything she landed on. And then, when she bought it, she would mortgage it as much as she could and buy everything else she landed on. She would accumulate everything she could. And eventually, she became the master of the board. [/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]And every time I landed, I would have to pay her money. And eventually, every time she would take my last dollar, I would quit in utter defeat. And then she would always say the same thing to me. She’d look at me and she’d say, “One day, you’ll learn to play the game.†I hated it when she said that to me. But one summer, I played Monopoly with a neighbor kid–a friend of mine–almost every day, all day long. We’d play Monopoly for hours. [/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]And that summer, I learned to play the game. I came to understand the only way to win is to make a total commitment to acquisition. I came to understand that money and possessions, that’s the way that you keep score. And by the end of that summer, I was more ruthless than my grandmother. I was ready to bend the rules, if I had to, to win that game. And I sat down with her to play that fall. [/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]Slowly, cunningly, I exposed my grandmother’s vulnerability. Relentlessly, inexorably, I drove her off the board. The game does strange things to you. I can still remember. It happened at Marvin Gardens. I looked at my grandmother. She taught me how to play the game. She was an old lady by now. She was a widow. She had raised my mom. She loved my mom. She loved me. I took everything she had. I destroyed her financially and psychologically. I watched her give her last dollar and quit in utter defeat. It was the greatest moment of my life.[/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]And then she had one more thing to teach me. Then she said, “Now it all goes back in the box–all those houses and hotels, all the railroads and utility companies, all that property and all that wonderful money–now it all goes back in the box.†I didn’t want it to go back in the box. I wanted to leave the board out, bronze it maybe, as a memorial to my ability to play the game. [/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]“No,†she said, “None of it was really yours. You got all heated up about it for a while, but it was around a long time before you sat down at the board, and it will be here after you’re gone. Players come and players go. But it all goes back in the box.â€[/FONT]
[FONT=verdana]And the game always ends. For every player, the game ends. Every day you pick up a newspaper, and you can turn to a page that describes people for whom this week the game ended. Skilled businessmen, an aging grandmother who was in a convalescent home with a brain tumor, teenage kids who think they have the whole world in front of them, and somebody drives through a stop sign. It all goes back in the box–houses and cars, titles and clothes, filled barns, bulging portfolios, even your body. So you have to ask yourself the question. What matters?[/FONT]
