Crack. 1st time. The funniest fucking thing I've written (even more than bootybump)

[Kandy K]

LoL, I had to split this apart into chapters cause it's so long.... but here goes, with the prequel (chapters 1-4 are in the following posts afterwards)

Prequel: My Interest In The Glamorous World of Crackwhore Stardom
Chapter 1: I Smoke Rocks
Chapter 2: And Then The Hysteria Set In...
Chapter 3: I’m Turning Blackanese, I Really Think So
Chapter 4: From Gook Crackhead to “Dead Ass Nigga”


Prequel: My Interest In The Glamorous World of Crackwhore Stardom

I’ve always had an interest in crack, ever since my best friend admitted that when she first met me, her first impression was that I am a “crackhead black man trapped in an Asian girl’s body.” She had made the connection after witnessing one of those “true ER episodes,” where this crackhead black man had just gotten hauled in after a fight where he had gotten stabbed. He had a knife wielded in his back, just stuck there dangling like an erect penis. What made this even more unusual was the fact that the crackhead was completely unaware that he had an injury at all, so one can already imagine how out of it he was. When the doctors attempted to remove the knife from his back, he would angrily scream, “Y’ALL JUST WANNA TAKE A NIGGAZ MONAYYYY!!!” or “I’m tired of paying twenty dollahs fo’ aspirin! Y’ALL AIN’T ROBBIN’ THIS NIGGA!!!” Well I guess the medical doctors somehow convince him to consent to an X-Ray, and when presented with the blueprint, his reaction was, “Youza buncha COMPUTAH GENERATAHS! Sheeiit you can’t fool me, I saw finding Nemo!” Apparently by this time, the crackhead was convinced the “white men” were all involved in an evil scheme to “take advantage of a nigga,” so he got up and made his way to head out. The very second he opened the door to walk outside, he ended up passing out from blood loss and had to be rushed back in again.

Though hilarity at its finest, I was perplexed. I mean, granted, crack hasn’t exactly been renowned for its fine, upstanding citizens, I failed to see the similarity between me and another crack addict. After much scientific analysis, I formed my first hypothesis: When The Artist Formally Known As Old Dirty Bastard (Now Old Dead Bastard) passed away, a part of him went deep inside my body… the piece I had been missing my entire life. (A soul, not a penis, mind you.) Considering ODB has smoked every substance under the God-given sun, I figured I would honor his death by following in his footsteps. Granted, his teeth probably fell out from all that rock he smoked since age 10, but why should that hinder me? My paternal figure has gold teeth, and okay, he may be ugly, but he was always that way to begin with.

The real deal breaker that got me interested in crack was when I heard my friend “Sinner’s” first crack-smoking experience. He was offered a free hit by a prostitute while walking in the ghetto (as we always teach our sales representatives: The first hit is always free!), and they both smoked rock with…(get ready for this)…a pipe that came out of her asshole.

Why he didn’t leave out the last bit to save the last little bit of respect I had left for him, I don’t know. But once I got over the initial shock, I found his story even a little too intense. As he described the smoke matter and started fiending for it, he began twitching and drooling. You would think that after witnessing something like that it would turn me off crack, but his mannerism just made it all the more appealing.

You see, no matter how deranged or pathetic crackheads get—they ALWAYS have a funny story to tell in the end. The fact that Sinner ended up walking efrom Tustin to Santa Ana, where he ended up getting robbed by a dyke prostitute, and then not even caring because he was too busy searching for crack on the ground, was pure gold. In fact, my friends and I have even developed a term for acting “cracked out” that we like to call “The Sinner.” Its medical name—Niggaritis (nih-guh-rai-tis, also referred to as niggarism), is a disorder that plagues the long-time users of crack-cocaine. Addicts will begin to show symptoms such as: Incontrollable gyrating, incessant rambling in ebonics, referring to themselves as 3rd person “niggaz” (which I still have not been able to get over to this very day), and drinking Old English 40oz. out of champagne glasses.

We even have a little boogie, choreographed especially by the cheerleader captain of our squad, “Azusa,” after she recovered from her “accidental abortion.” It entails us pushing our hands upwards “raising da roof” style, while chanting, “Everybody do the Sinner! Everybody do the Sinner! Bleaglaskhdflajsldfkj…”, and during the last part we twitch, until us fragile little niggaz can’t handle no mo.’

Witness the miracle in all its glory here… http://www.geocities.com/junglefeverbeaver/sinner.wav (copy and paste into browser)

…Compared to the person that we know as “Da Real” Sinner…
http://www.geocities.com/junglefeverbeaver/sinner1.wav
http://www.geocities.com/junglefeverbeaver/sinner2.wav
http://www.geocities.com/junglefeverbeaver/sinner3.wav
See the difference? Neither do we.

One time when he had a bad case of the “crack blues,” I put a picture of me tying off as the main picture for my Myspace profile, with the following caption underneath:

YOU WANNA SHOOT SOME ROCK? HAHA U FIENDED FOR CHALK

It seems cruel, but at the time it wasn’t. The story behind this picture is that I found a piece of chalk (literally, chalk) on the ground, and simply had to seize this moment of opportunity to make another person feel like a FOOL! So, in conclusion: CRACK IS BACK! CRACK IS BACK! I’M BRINGIN’ IT BACK!!! YAHHHHHH!!!!

 

[Kandy K]

Chapter 1: I Smoke Rocks

I had a weekend of spontaneity in store for me when a group of tweakers asked me to head out with them to Vegas for a couple days on only ½ oz. of meth and $40 dollars. What had originally started out as the tweakers’ rendition of “Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas: The Po’ Man’s Version” somehow ended up with all of us back at my friend’s pad somewhere in redneck county. (I am speaking from personal experience, when I got arrested for my DUI, that it’s all downhill past Corona.)

(Side Note: This is also where I made the video clip of me doing a hotrail, which can be found here. http://www.putfile.com/index.php?n=hotrail Note the gun in front of me, which I failed to notice till much later.)

I was on my 5th day up from tweaking when one of the guys “Mike,” suggested we whip up some crack with the 0.7grams of cocaine that was remaining. (Yeah awesome, similar to how we used to bake cookies at sleepovers as little girls!) None of us had prior experience or knowledge on the proper way to synthesize crack-cocaine, but Mike’s friend (who was also the slingin’ meth dealer), swore that he had access to the correct recipe on his laptop. We were to learn later that this was a bunk recipe, but of course nobody had any idea at the time, except me who only felt an “inkling” upon reading it. These preparation procedures required a microwave and oven instead of a simple flame, and double the amount of baking soda that had been suggested in other recipes.

After copying it word for word on paper, we commenced creating a cracked out version of Whitney Houston’s Generic Brand baby powder, by combining baking soda, water, and cocaine together in the bathtub and then baking the final product in an EZ-Bake oven. Well not really, but close enough.

All we had was a hot-rail pipe (rose stem) and some aluminum foil, so we crumpled up the foil and placed the final product in the tube to commence smoking. My first two hits were fairly weak and burned my throat, albeit it being mostly composed of baking soda. I blew out very little traces of smoke, and fiended for more almost immediately. Many have told me that crack “is like pringles…Once you pop, you can’t stop.” However, the third hit was by far so intense that I had no urge to achieve getting “higher” than where I was at the moment. I attained a very lightheaded feeling in my head and ears, and the body rush was very similar to IV meth; the only difference was the focus was more in the upper neck area instead of the core body, and the high was more mental.

I believe staying up five days and then doing that crack really was an important factor in influencing the high…it seemed to give me really amazing control over my body. Not only were my ears more susceptible to “tweaked out hearing,” my eyes became so sensitive they were able to see even the most delicate of micro-molecule particles in the air, to detail. I was even able to control my heart rate and exactly what I hallucinated consciously at will. In fact, when I said the color “purple,” the entire room turned a purplish hue. To test my mind control I said “green” afterwards, and a green particle tinted each purple molecule.

The first 5-10 ten minutes was all about mind control, as a calming wave soothed over me. All I wanted to do was sit in the chair with the same blank, brain-dead stare on my face and enjoy the body high.

From the moment I smoked it, I knew crack had a VERY recognizable taste and scent to it. It was not at all like cocaine, but the familiarity was so similar, I knew this was something I had done in the past. But up to this point, I had such a vague and blurred memory of it (thanks to prolonged alcohol use), I had only assumed it was a dream. Kind of like that one time I got trashed with a friend on campus, and dreamt I drove back to my apartment and almost hit a pedestrian. At least, I remember it as a dream…though now that I second guess myself, the possibilities of it having actually occurred become more likely. Either way, hilarity at its finest. CRACK IS WHACK!

 

[Kandy K]

Chapter 2: And Then The Hysteria Set In...

I COULD have acted normal on crack, but I was filled with such an extreme joy and happiness (I haven’t felt this way since I was a little kid), that it didn’t make sense to be held behind this pretentious image we call “adulthood.” My first notion was to prank call several people on my phone list and hang up after reciting ridiculous chants such as, “TALK IS CHEAP, MOTHFUCKAAAAAAAA!” and, “STEP ON MAH CRACK, I BREAK YO MOMMA’S BACK!” Clearly, symptoms that I was beginning to develop a severe case of nigarrism.

I then went online, to write a rebuttal on a friend’s myspace concerning the deception of American government. This “political essay” was exchanged to be read for the other party (The Adam Party):

In response to "Adam" (if that is your REAL name), I present to you with a political(ly incorrect) essay, along with a professional diagram made by Mayor Krack Ko-K!

You see, it is citizens like you that habitually ignore the themes of drug addiction and homosexual nature that plagues the way of the Republicans, especially that of George Bush's lifestyle. This "Fully Certified Yale Success Story" illustrates his marginal political character by abusing drugs and then using the Clinton defense, "I didn't inhale," for intranasal administration of cocaine.

He then drones on about how he would never exploit and glamorize such trashy products, because his innocence and purity is something that will never be degraded. And then after his speeches he gives everybody free Dubya shirts to those with Bush tattoos.

The rumors that Bush was once a cocaine addict pale in comparison to the gossip about his abuse of Viagra, which can be all confirmed at his private website: www.whitehouse.com

And there you have it. George W. Bush…perhaps the greatest employment of honesty mankind has ever seen, aside from the Chinese government. If it weren't for this sanction of truth, I would never be able to write literary garbage such as this.

Because who knows, maybe Bush does have a valid point, with all the compelling arguments he makes. Some of which include, "I'm not part of the problem. I am a Republican," along with "I stand by all the misstatements that I've made."

Senator Ren sums up my thoughts on this hot-button issue:

...There are some things better left unexplained in this world.

So when the Republicans admit their shame, so will I. Until then, go venture out into the world and do your frivolous things. This essay didn't compose itself you know.

Love,
Madame Oren Hatch

( Source: http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/ind...7525&imageID=110162485&Mytoken=20050629213935 )

Yes, I know, a document so random truly deserves nothing short of a “Wot Da Fawk Gurrl,” but it doesn’t end quite there.

I also pictured these wildly graphic scenarios in my head, where I thought myself to be an overweight CHP officer with the alias “Agent 99.” I imagined myself being so fat that the buttons on my uniform would be screaming out for dear life, and my fingers couldn’t even fit through the trigger to save my life. This was all due to my love for Krispy Kreme, the store I would literally drive across the street to, for the sake of piling as many donuts as I could onto my nightstick, like a shish kabob. After a full lunch, I’d be too lethargic to catch real criminals, so I would sit behind dark corners like a Nosey McStalker, just lurking to write tickets to others.

I thought of myself as a trooper, to be the next Notorious P.I.G. A real American hero. So much, that I spent a good thirty seconds trying to convince my fellow comrades to help reverse the downfall of society by donating a minimum of $10 to NAMBLA, The National Transgendered Association, Planned Parenthood, and other abortion clinics.

Wait, wait, I’m still not done. When I played around with my cell phone to send my favorite myspacer, Crack4Nigz, a text message entailing the hilarity of being under the influence of crack-cocaine, I lost myself again. But before I go into the detail about it, at the expense of stealing the spotlight from my own self, I will first go off on a brief tangent to salute “Crack4Nigz: The Only Man That Ever Loved Me.”

Mistress K and Crack4Nigz go way back in the myspace days, back when he was still a “dopesick” fiend, married to his first wench, H. My interest in him was first established when I saw and labeled him “the first (and only) person that is the epitome of drug abuse…even more than ME!” My only qualm with him was that he was already in love with my mortal enemy, The Dreaded “Heroine.” But ever since he progressively turned from nodder to tweaker, my love for him has only grown. It has turned from mere interest to extreme infatuation (haha).

To illustrate just what an insane character he is, I have included a picture of (not him, but) what I like to call “The Most Accurate Replica of Crack4Nigz I’ve Ever Seen:”

One time while we were both tweaking, I confessed my love for him, describing him as “The DXM—nay, the TUSSIN—in a bottle.” For, he IS, in essence, the Mickey’s 40Oz. of drugs. I proposed to him with: “YOU ARE THE ONLY MAN THAT EVER LOVED ME! IF YOU OPEN YOUR HEART AND LET ME INTO YOUR LIFE, I KNOW I CAN MAKE YOU LEARN TO LOVE METH MORE THAN HEROIN! PLZ BABY GIVE ME A CHANCE!”

But back to bigger things, such as losing myself...For a brief moment, I became a weather reporter trapped inside the phone screen, where I was giving my weather report. I viewed myself in awe as I guided my arms over the map of different cities experiencing typhoons. As the hurricane winds grew faster and faster, the flesh of the land bubbled into yellow formations of crack rocks, which I called “milk tsunamis.”

When I fell out of the trip, I read a message that was still in the process of being sent. I had no recollection of typing this out in my phone, but I do remember hallucinating my own commercial, which read, “Is OC headed for ice showers and cloudy days? For the weather report on what’s cracking, crackling, or crack-a-lacking in L.A., tune in to DXM news, tonight at 10!” THE SHITTIEST OF CRACK TURNS ME INTO THE WITTIEST OF BLACKS!

 

[Kandy K]

Chapter 3: I’m Turning Blackanese, I Really Think So

I didn’t snap out of psychosis till one of the house guests (whom was absent for most of the crack-related experience) saw us, assumed we were fucked up on something, and asked what we were doing. For some reason I started thinking in “3rd potato form,” where I would think in my head, “What would Mr. Potato Head (I) say/do?” all the while assuming I was him. Then I snapped back and twitched my right eye in a spazz, similar to how an individual diagnosed with niggarism would. I blurted out, “Turning blackanese!” The answer resulted in a well-received humorous reaction from the others.

The inquirer, James, requested I make a drawing of myself on either MSPaint or on paper. The task was to make my self-portrait in the image that I viewed myself in. He probably expected a sketch of other black men who have endured the same plight as me. Others like Kunta Kinte, Harriet Tubman, or even Biggie Smalls (As he would advise, “Run from the police? Fuck that, I’m too fat, I fuck around and catch an asthma attack”).

This was the end result of the worthy depiction of my own self image:

Everybody was convinced I had become a full-fledged crackhead, whose life revolved around finding more for my next hit. They asked me questions like, “What do you want now more than anything else?” and “You fieeeeeeeeending yet?” Surprisingly, I did not crave at all, so I made another picture portraying what I truly wanted.

It was either that, or establishing my new identity as “A Wicked Ass Gangsta.”

So they, being the clever bastards that they are, pulled out the Dominoes game set in an effort to answer the question that has been plaguing mankind for generations: WHO IS DA REALEST NIGGA OF BOARD GAMES?!?!?! Having never played Dominoes before, I had to have the rules explained to me, but found it impossible to understand. I would keep spacing out every time the rules were being described, which frustrated them. They’d ask me if I’d understand after repeated attempts, to which I’d talk about being able to see molecules of air, or something equally ridiculous.

Just then, Crack4Nigz saved the day by calling me back. Upon picking up the receiver, I knew from that exact moment something was different about his demeanor, but I could not put my finger on it. At first it sounded like he had been crying, as he was breathing erratically.

Feeling uncomfortable, I told him, “I was just kidding about that proposal and marriage stuff, you shouldn’t take it so seriously… Please, stop crying… I’m sorry, I’m just not ready to take our relationship to that level yet.”

He cackled in this horrendously evil eruption of laughter, “Fuck you biatch! I’m on heroin and I can’t breathe!” I asked him if he was okay, to which even MORE laughter ensued.
“Yeah, this is how I am all the time.”

We spent at least two hours discussing other matters that neither of us ended up remembering. By this time the crack had long worn off, but its atmosphere kept coming back, to the point where I’d feel “cracked out” again. I’m assuming this was due to the fact that I had done it so late on my meth binge. Everytime I used a drug that affected my dopamine levels or receptors, the crack would only come back again, more intense each time. BABY GOT CRACK!

 

[Kandy K]

Oh yeah, and one more thing:

SUCKA FREE, NIGGA WHAT!

 

[mariacallas]

wonderful writing! i award thee tehPULEETZER CRACK PRAYZEEEE!!!!!

Keep up the excellent work, sistah.
0|\/|G |-|4xx0|2 !!!!111

 

[axl blaze]

gabba gabba gabba hey!

smoke crack rox all day.

 

[Skyline_GTR]

Once again, excellent!

 

[Liquid_Nebula]

that was fuckin hilarious

 

[Sowle]

Luv it

 

[Splatt]

Hahahahaha.
This made my fuckin day!

Quality writing there! Very well put together.

 

[wojchie]

hehe, funny report :D
niggerish

 

[crackforkids]

you are so 'intense', about everything...

jus cause i used dope doesnt mean i was a junkie and jus cause i tried meth a few times the past year doesnt make me a tweaker. you exagerate a lot, and kinda make me look crazy.

i like the picture that shit is hilarious

 

[Smyth]

I have read this but dont really know how to comment on it. The bit about the guy whos brother was "deathly afraid of him" going into his bedroom to load up his pistol definately cracked me up!! The analogy between making crack with your buddies and baking cookies at a sleepover was also humorous but in a different kind of way.

 

[Pharmie_Pharmer420]

Hahaha Damn that made my day.

smoke rox all day!!

 

[nickels]

The first part was chuckles.











p.s. hottie

 

[Mad Out Of It]

That was well worth the read

Good work

 

[DexterMeth]

Oh yeah, and one more thing:

I do you fucking maniac

 

[Kandy K]

dude his FACE is fucking busted not the pic angle lol



lmfao

dude thats the "tweaker" that got psychosis and tried to shoot me. HHahahahahahhahahahahahaha

sooooooooooooo ugly

 

[PacificPro]

HAHA

Look at him...go roll the dick some more...