The raccoon who lives in a tree near my house tells me that earlier in her life she acquired acetylmorphone from a ³⁄₁₆-full bottle a year after it had reached its expiry date and, particularly because she has been in pain constantly for 36 years, she told a Dr O Possum, the pharmacology dean of her educational institution that wasting medication is a sin, even if it cannot be used in peer-reviewed in vitro and animal experiments, and in a fit of pique and defiance handed her the bottle and said "Geh mit Gott, Professorin Waschbär. Fick Nixon. Fick Anslinger. Er ist nicht der Göttverdammte Bundeskanzler! Er was auch nicht zur Universitāt gegangen. Verdammter Scheißkopf. Er kann meinen Schwantz lutschen." or something to that effect.
Her immediate supervisor, who was both a pharmacologist and priest, agreed with her, which I am sure made things easier in this case . . . All three of them and others bioassayed the stuff and found it was essentially Dismackdid. Which, of course is why it was the first designer drug, banned by the League of Nations in 1930 to close what they perceived as a loophole allowing unscheduled equivalents of diacetylmorphine. Indeed, Merck made several metric tons of the stuff each year from 1924 to 1930, as well as acetylpropionylmorphine and dibenzoylmorphine, with which Professorin Waschbär has experience as well. Plus oxymorphone and dihydromorphine acetyl esters. All three of them opposed their clearing becoming part of the European Union partially because of foreboding about drugs policy. That did turn out to come to pass, but they got together with the skunks in other parts of the wood and a pack of coyotes to limit the damage.
Now she gets Dilaudid on prescription for pain. When she picks it up, she flies to New Zealand.
