She Don't Lie?

Okay, I had to try Cocaine. After the great benefits methamphetamines have worked in my life, it just seemed the thing to do.

Really, this is a product so outrageous, I had to try it. It's not as expensive as the illegal (and probably far superior) stuff, but it's close. $2.39 for the 8.4 ounce can.



I can't really testify to its relative merits with the real thing. I've had two opportunities in my so-called life to try nose candy and I've chickened out both times. Not because I'm such a Just Say No type, I'm not. I'm not even a hundred percent okay with my kid embracing DARE at school.

No, I never tried Bolivian marching powder because I'm pretty sure I'd love the stuff. I don't really believe you can become addicted in one dose, but from everything I know about cocaine, if there was to be a first hit addict to a drug, that'd be the drug and I'd be the addict.



I even think it should be legal to use, and I'd still probably chicken out. I mean, for real, my passing on it was not because I might get arrested. These were both parties where I was simultaneously a minor in possession of alcohol. One of these occasions was the same night I helped tag a Nazarene church sidewalk with the image of Bob Dobbs, the icon of the Industrial Church of the Subgenius. That one made the paper.

What's the legal alternative like?

Strawberry Pepper Spray? That'd be a good name for a band. It's definitely strawberry, bubbly (overcarbonated, really), battery acid sour, with an after burn of capscum. In other words, it's nasty shit, though it's relatively appealing as nasty shit goes.

I'm not sure what to make of this rating system that seems to indicate the claim that 8.4 ounces of Cocaine is equivalent to four Red Bulls. I've never had a Red Bull, so I can't claim the nothing special I felt after this beverage with the nothing special I'd probably feel after a Red Bull.



Which leads me to recall the time in Chicago when I witnessed a series of people trying to order 'bombs' at a Holiday Inn bar, to find that the bartender didn't have Red Bull to mix with Jägermeister, and for that matter, didn't have enough Jägermeister to satisfy this particular clique of alcoholics. One explained to me the beauty of bombs: 'You get to like five in the morning and realize you're totally shitfaced but you're not sleepy.'

What an endorsement.

Or the time when a salesman putting the full court press on me was still at the bar at midnight in the hotel/casino he'd put me up in, ordering rounds of 'liquid cocaine' (some sort of grapefruit boozy concoction) faster than they could be poured preparatory to getting behind the wheel of a Porshe he drove recklessly even when sober.

Still, while this fruity, spicy, carbonated acid might not be much to write home about, I think it's important to note some of the good things we would not have in this world if it weren't for blow. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, for a start. The book was, I remember hearing once, written in a one week toot by Robert Louis Stevenson. The best work of Freud and Stephen King. Those first two Ozzy solo albums...