As with most people who end up trying either of these drugs, The 'Basics' came first, or the type of drug got harder as time went on, or as I'd tried all the others, or something. I must say, though, that I'd wanted to try all drugs, even Heroin and Coke, when I was about 15. Not right then, but at some time in my life. The only anomaly in the 'normal' dope, acid, speed, coke, smack line came when I stole some morphine and pethidine from my mum at 15. She is a doctor, and a friend and I had some at my then girlfriend's house(!) She broke up with me the next day, and I was so upset that I smashed all the rest of the ampoules, and didn't really think about it much until I was 18. I had a bad trip at 18 which nearly killed me. I had taked about 50-60 trips before this, but on this night had been drinking, taking speed and smoking pot, then had 1/2 a tab. I flipped out and ended up breaking into a gun store in an attempt to commit suicide, and was hauled out by 2 armed, guns drawn police officers, after pointing the shotgun I was wielding at one and telling him 'You're fucking dead'. After hospital, where my Dad is still a prominant doctor, and I was hauled screaming at the top of my lungs through casualty, I was at a bit of a loss. I wanted to take drugs, with my friends, and be 'cool', but certainly wasn't keen for more psychedelics. The answer arrived in the form of morphine. Where I live, there isn't much heroin (restricted to an older hardcore, and v. small individual shipments (a few g's - an oz), so the most commonly abused opiod is morphine tablets, mixed up and whacked up.
Anyway, my friend, who was dealing a lot of pot, gave me this morph, and I loved it - though there was the answer to the 'coolness' problem too. I never got a habit on morph, but by the time next year came around, I had used a fair bit. Then off to Sydney for Uni. I had heard that you could buy Heroin off the street there, and within about a fortnight, I was off to cabramatta, to buy my first 'cap of many. I tried it, loved it, and for the next few months, went out to score a few caps of the vietnamese every fortnight or so.
I really wanted to find a local dealer though. It was a 2-3 hr train ride out to cabra and back, and I knew that the nearby suburbs were packed with smack if you knew where to find it. Finally I did, in the form of an old punk couple, who lived in a flat at the back of a barely functional store in a basically silent road, in a quiet area. I felt a lot better going there to score that the harshness of doing deals on the street in Cabra, even if the value was a little less. By the end of that year, when I went home for the holidays, I hadn't really had a habit, but now had a serious girlfriend, and was doing well at Uni.
It's amazing in retrospect how long it took me to really fuck up my life. I survived second year, although by the end of the year, I'd had plenty of habits, and was really in the 'binge and crash' cycle. I'd survived a few serious OD's, been revived by Narcain and Ambulance once, and my parent's knew I was using smack, as one night, I had scored a quarter oz ($2100) for a friend, and made a gram or so for myself, which was a lot, at the time. After taking heaps, I woke up after basically passing out and had a bit of trouble breathing. I drank some water, then started coughing, went to the sink, and coughed up some blood. then some more blood, then vomited heaps of digested blood, and coughed up more blood. So I called the ambulance, and spent a week or so there. They are not really sure why it happened, it could have been cardiopulmonary oedema (fluid on the lungs), or aspiration pneumonia (breathing in my own vomit).
I left college after second year, which was really the honeymoon period with smack. I didn't rip people off, I even made money by doing the occasional big deal, and didn't use enough to have to stop my Science degree, and I was totally in love with my girlfriend, who used occasionally, but was a bit wary of the path I was taking.
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the/stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug. Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecst
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the/stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug. Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecst
The S.H.A.E. is an up and coming organisation that gathers straight honkeys from around the world for one common purpose: Complaining about Gay Niggers!
If tha answer to any of the above questions is yes, then the Straight Honkeys Association of Europe could be just what you're looking for! Become a member today! All you have to do is
1. Write and post an SHAE first post
2. Post a diparaging reply to one of the GNAA's posts
3. Write a journal entry about being a straight honkey
You will then be a full-fledged member of the SHAE. And remember, God doesn't hate them because they're fags, they're fags because God hates them!
The S.H.A.E. is an up and coming organisation that gathers straight honkeys from around the world for one common purpose: Complaining about Gay Niggers!
If tha answer to any of the above questions is yes, then the Straight Honkeys Association of Europe could be just what you're looking for! Become a member today! All you have to do is
1. Write and post an SHAE first post 2. Post a diparaging reply to one of the GNAA's posts3. Write a journal entry about the joy of being a straight honkey
You will then be a full-fledged member of the SHAE. And remember, God doesn't hate them because they're fags, they're fags because God hates them!
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the/stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug.
Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecs
Fucking degenerate. Never mind though, in a few years you'll be eating cobalt 60 with all of your existentially diseased friends. The day is coming when the artificial suns will rain down and purge this land of all you vermin. And on the day after that, when you are lying on the ground dying of radiation poisoning, I will be there to kick your skull open and grind your decayed brain into the dust.
Slashdot Mirror
I don't think this is a coincidence.
Shut it, you fucking commie.
Hopefully he'll come to the same end as Nick Berg.
0|\/|9!11! T3|-| 5h43M|_355 PL|_|G 4L3R7!11!!!1!1
okay, I fail it
Fourth post (or possibly Fifth Post).
He's probably using a proxy, and has to post AC, otherwise his moderations will be undone.
Maybe you phoned the wrong guy. You should have checked who it was.
As with most people who end up trying either of these drugs, The 'Basics' came first, or the type of drug got harder as time went on, or as I'd tried all the others, or something. I must say, though, that I'd wanted to try all drugs, even Heroin and Coke, when I was about 15. Not right then, but at some time in my life. The only anomaly in the 'normal' dope, acid, speed, coke, smack line came when I stole some morphine and pethidine from my mum at 15. She is a doctor, and a friend and I had some at my then girlfriend's house(!) She broke up with me the next day, and I was so upset that I smashed all the rest of the ampoules, and didn't really think about it much until I was 18. I had a bad trip at 18 which nearly killed me. I had taked about 50-60 trips before this, but on this night had been drinking, taking speed and smoking pot, then had 1/2 a tab. I flipped out and ended up breaking into a gun store in an attempt to commit suicide, and was hauled out by 2 armed, guns drawn police officers, after pointing the shotgun I was wielding at one and telling him 'You're fucking dead'.
After hospital, where my Dad is still a prominant doctor, and I was hauled screaming at the top of my lungs through casualty, I was at a bit of a loss. I wanted to take drugs, with my friends, and be 'cool', but certainly wasn't keen for more psychedelics. The answer arrived in the form of morphine. Where I live, there isn't much heroin (restricted to an older hardcore, and v. small individual shipments (a few g's - an oz), so the most commonly abused opiod is morphine tablets, mixed up and whacked up.
Anyway, my friend, who was dealing a lot of pot, gave me this morph, and I loved it - though there was the answer to the 'coolness' problem too. I never got a habit on morph, but by the time next year came around, I had used a fair bit. Then off to Sydney for Uni. I had heard that you could buy Heroin off the street there, and within about a fortnight, I was off to cabramatta, to buy my first 'cap of many. I tried it, loved it, and for the next few months, went out to score a few caps of the vietnamese every fortnight or so.
I really wanted to find a local dealer though. It was a 2-3 hr train ride out to cabra and back, and I knew that the nearby suburbs were packed with smack if you knew where to find it. Finally I did, in the form of an old punk couple, who lived in a flat at the back of a barely functional store in a basically silent road, in a quiet area. I felt a lot better going there to score that the harshness of doing deals on the street in Cabra, even if the value was a little less. By the end of that year, when I went home for the holidays, I hadn't really had a habit, but now had a serious girlfriend, and was doing well at Uni.
It's amazing in retrospect how long it took me to really fuck up my life. I survived second year, although by the end of the year, I'd had plenty of habits, and was really in the 'binge and crash' cycle. I'd survived a few serious OD's, been revived by Narcain and Ambulance once, and my parent's knew I was using smack, as one night, I had scored a quarter oz ($2100) for a friend, and made a gram or so for myself, which was a lot, at the time. After taking heaps, I woke up after basically passing out and had a bit of trouble breathing. I drank some water, then started coughing, went to the sink, and coughed up some blood. then some more blood, then vomited heaps of digested blood, and coughed up more blood. So I called the ambulance, and spent a week or so there. They are not really sure why it happened, it could have been cardiopulmonary oedema (fluid on the lungs), or aspiration pneumonia (breathing in my own vomit).
I left college after second year, which was really the honeymoon period with smack. I didn't rip people off, I even made money by doing the occasional big deal, and didn't use enough to have to stop my Science degree, and I was totally in love with my girlfriend, who used occasionally, but was a bit wary of the path I was taking.
Third year the shit starte
Suckit bitch
The world's gone mad I tell you. There's only one sane solution: BLOW IT UP!
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the /stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug. Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecst
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the /stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug. Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecst
Not me, I have brain damage. That's what the doctors say, anyway.
Are you straight?
If tha answer to any of the above questions is yes, then the Straight Honkeys Association of Europe could be just what you're looking for! Become a member today! All you have to do isAre you a honkey? Are you a Straight honkey?
1. Write and post an SHAE first post
You will then be a full-fledged member of the SHAE. And remember, God doesn't hate them because they're fags, they're fags because God hates them!2. Post a diparaging reply to one of the GNAA's posts 3. Write a journal entry about being a straight honkey
Are you straight?
If tha answer to any of the above questions is yes, then the Straight Honkeys Association of Europe could be just what you're looking for! Become a member today! All you have to do isAre you a honkey?Are you a Straight honkey
1. Write and post an SHAE first post
You will then be a full-fledged member of the SHAE. And remember, God doesn't hate them because they're fags, they're fags because God hates them!2. Post a diparaging reply to one of the GNAA's posts3. Write a journal entry about the joy of being a straight honkey
It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I might have forgotten its date: but cardinal events are not to be forgotten; and from circumstances connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to the autumn of 1804. During that season I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at college. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accustomed to wash my head in cold water at least once a day: being suddenly seized with toothache, I attributed it to some relaxation caused by an accidental intermission of that practice; jumped out of bed; plunged my head into a bason of cold water; and with hair thus wetted went to sleep. The next morning, as I need hardly say, I awoke with excruciating rheumatic pains of the head and face, from which I had hardly any respite for about twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I think it was, and on a Sunday, that I went out into the streets; rather to run away, if possible, from my torments, than with any distinct purpose. By accident I met a college acquaintance who recommended opium. Opium! dread agent of unimaginable pleasure and pain! I had heard of it as I had of manna or of Ambrosia, but no further: how unmeaning a sound was it at that time! what solemn chords does it now strike upon my heart! what heart-quaking vibrations of sad and happy remembrances! Reverting for a moment to these, I feel a mystic importance attached to the minutest circumstances connected with the place and the time, and the man (if man he was) that first laid open to me the Paradise of Opium-eaters. It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless: and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London. My road homewards lay through Oxford-street; and near "the /stately/ Pantheon," (as Mr. Wordsworth has obligingly called it) I saw a druggist's shop. The druggist -- unconscious minister of celestial pleasures! -- as if in sympathy with the rainy Sunday, looked dull and stupid, just as any mortal druggist might be expected to look on a Sunday; and, when I asked for the tincture of opium, he gave it to me as any other man might do: and furthermore, out of my shilling, returned me what seemed to be real copper halfpence, taken out of a real wooden drawer. Nevertheless, in spite of such indications of humanity, he has ever since existed in my mind as the beatific vision of an immortal druggist, sent down to earth on a special mission to myself. And it confirms me in this way of considering him, that, when I next came up to London, I sought him near the stately Pantheon, and found him not: and thus to me, who knew not his name (if indeed he had one) he seemed rather to have vanished from Oxford-street than to have removed in any bodily fashion. The reader may choose to think of him as, possibly, no more than a sublunary druggist: it may be so: but my faith is better: I believe him to have evanesced,{1} or evaporated. So unwillingly would I connect any mortal remembrances with that hour, and place, and creature, that first brought me acquainted with the celestial drug.
Arrived at my lodgings, it may be supposed that I lost not a moment in taking the quantity prescribed. I was necessarily ignorant of the whole art and mystery of opium-taking: and, what I took, I took under every disadvantage. But I took it: -- and in an hour, oh! Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished, was now a trifle in my eyes: -- this negative effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me -- in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea -- a [pharmakon nepenthez] for all human woes: here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecs
YOU MUST BE PROUD!!!
That you are, dear shithead, that you are.
Your post is not first, it is 6833368th, you, sir, are a fucktarded failing loser.
Can I log on to you?
No, he's right, I am a troll, you fucktard.
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Spot the hidden message, assfuck!
But at least it's better than windows (I know it's supposed to be a pronoun, but I don't care).
Fucking degenerate. Never mind though, in a few years you'll be eating cobalt 60 with all of your existentially diseased friends. The day is coming when the artificial suns will rain down and purge this land of all you vermin. And on the day after that, when you are lying on the ground dying of radiation poisoning, I will be there to kick your skull open and grind your decayed brain into the dust.