This is an archive site only. It is no longer maintained. You can not post comments. You can not make an account. Your email will not be read. Please read this page if you have questions.
I used to have a coworker who was addicted to various drugs. I called him Malibu Barbie, because of his long blonde hair, emaciated body and blue eyes, plus excessive use of marijuana can give males large breasts. I remember once when he had run out of pot, he was on the phone all day, trying to find a dealer who had any. He was shaking, short-tempered and almost incoherent.
Another coworker, Poopie, and I enjoyed laughing at Malibu. We would often laugh at the thought of his pale, scrawny form huddled over in a corner sucking on his glass dick. Poopie had a crush on Malibu's girlfriend. She didn't do anything for me, though. Personally I try to avoid virus bombs. We affectionately referred to her as the "Crack Whore".
One day, Poopie and the Crack Whore got into an argument about life after death, or religion or something. Poopie had ADD, brought on by sniffing aerosols in his garage (he caught his house on fire), so it was kind of hard to figure out where he was coming from sometimes.
Anyway, the Crack Whore told us about her theory about the whole ordeal. She explained that she believed in reincarnation, to a degree, "you see, nothing can ever really be destroyed," she informed us, with her California hippie-chick accent, "when you die, you're spirit goes out and you become part of a star or a mountain or pot leaf..."
That was fucking profound, I thought to myself, as I watched Malibu's quivering stick figure trying to dial up a dealer on his cell phone.
"Try Chris!" the Crack Whore suggested.
What the hell do these two know about spirituality, I wondered. All they can think about is filling some hole in themselves with some sort of high. They're empty shells. A "pot leaf", Jesus fucking Christ.
I had another coworker. He did drugs every once in a great while, but hardly in a habitual manner. He was successful in school, basically because of being the over-achiever type. You all know this guy. The jock, the all-around guy.
Chip was a good guy and he attracted a lot of women. He was always going out with a different one and always getting them into bed. He would come to work and tell everyone about his latest conquest, smiling from ear-to-ear, like anyone really cared.
Chip was a shell too. He didn't use drugs, but sex, to fill his hole. His mother died when he was young. He never talked about it much, but I could tell it disturbed him by random comments he would make. He was vehemently anti-religious, no doubt because of his mother's early death. I mean, it's one thing to not be religious, it is quite another to have such a severe hatred of all things spiritual.
It was about the same time I worked at this place, and knew these people, that I began to notice a trend sweeping over America's youth. Extreme sports. They're still very popular. These people can't seem to get enough adrenaline. They're adventures become increasingly risky. They search for more and more adrenaline. They're addicted to that rush.
They have a hole.
Now, I'm sure these thrill-seekers and sex addicts and even some drug addicts are religious. I don't think I'm talking about that though. It's one thing to go to a church and pray for this or that and give to the collection plate and tell your fellow church-goers how much you have faith in Jesus. It's something else to have a sense of yourself as something that is more than just a mushy bag of mostly water.
It's that sense of something more that is slowly bleeding away from society. The more it's missing, the more people need to fill a void with drugs, sex, extreme sports, violence, whatever.
Don't agree? Did you ever see Gandhi racing down a mountain-side on a skate-board while sucking on a glass dick and trying to score a date with Natalie Portman?