The Is
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2007
- Messages
- 633
My story starts with a silly thing I heard on the internet. People in africa were supposedly getting high off the fumes of fermented human waste. "Jenkem" they called it. Well since my younger days some people that care about me and my family's reputation keep me on a tight leash. Besides my effexor script, it is impossible for me to get drugs.
Or was impossible, until I found I could ferment my own shit and piss in plastic bags under the sink in the wight house bathroom.
I fell in love- and when I say that it Means Something. I've had access to the best coke, the best dope, the best everything in the world. And NOTHING takes me to the magical land of jenkem. The best thing is that it lasts Hours. I can say anything and feel confident, amazing. Yeah, God talks to me. Yeah, killing randoms in some other country is Good For USA. I don't feel guilty about profiting from the deaths of innocent people killed in my wars.
But like every choice, doing jenkem has some negative effects. I see them as a consequence of my actions, not a punishment. When I'm forced to watch myself stuttering and saying something retarded on television, it does tear me up inside. But no one seems to know, everyone assumes I just talk like that- they don't think that maybe my brain is partially liquidated now and I can't ever feel fully sober and sharp anymore. Or maybe they don't care.
They don't care that it takes more and more jenkem to keep the pain at bay, how could they when I hide it so well? But how much longer can I keep patrolling the bathrooms of the country stealing floaters people leave behind, siphoning unflushed urinals? How will this end?
I'm still human enough that tears creep down my face and fall into my precious bags, diluting their potent contents. How will the world react? How will people handle it when they find out that I, president George W Bush, am addicted to Jenkem?
Or was impossible, until I found I could ferment my own shit and piss in plastic bags under the sink in the wight house bathroom.
I fell in love- and when I say that it Means Something. I've had access to the best coke, the best dope, the best everything in the world. And NOTHING takes me to the magical land of jenkem. The best thing is that it lasts Hours. I can say anything and feel confident, amazing. Yeah, God talks to me. Yeah, killing randoms in some other country is Good For USA. I don't feel guilty about profiting from the deaths of innocent people killed in my wars.
But like every choice, doing jenkem has some negative effects. I see them as a consequence of my actions, not a punishment. When I'm forced to watch myself stuttering and saying something retarded on television, it does tear me up inside. But no one seems to know, everyone assumes I just talk like that- they don't think that maybe my brain is partially liquidated now and I can't ever feel fully sober and sharp anymore. Or maybe they don't care.
They don't care that it takes more and more jenkem to keep the pain at bay, how could they when I hide it so well? But how much longer can I keep patrolling the bathrooms of the country stealing floaters people leave behind, siphoning unflushed urinals? How will this end?
I'm still human enough that tears creep down my face and fall into my precious bags, diluting their potent contents. How will the world react? How will people handle it when they find out that I, president George W Bush, am addicted to Jenkem?