I’m sitting here banging away on my laptop, praying to God that I can write something legible, humorous and with at least an ounce of literary merit. The problem is I’m in a funk, and although I can think of topics to write about I either can’t express these ideas clearly and humorously, or I just can’t finish what I started. This lack of production has really gotten me down and I’m desperate to turn things around. That being said, I think I have an idea on how to regain my confidence and sharpen my edge. I’m going to do what all the great writers before me have done. Writers like Thompson, Camus, Burroughs, Poe and Wilde. That’s right… I’m going to take lots and lots of opiates.
I know what some of you are thinking, “Dan, you sexual idol, you can’t take drugs. You can’t. You just can’t! Think of the children! Think of your mother!” I’m sorry ladies (I’ve long since determined guys don’t read my ramblings) I’ve made up my mind. I’m a perfectionist, and I’m determined to give you a product worth your valuable time. I’ve weighed all the options, and this is by far the best way for me to give you what you deserve.
Let’s face facts as well; this is going to be the most fun way to solve my writer’s block. Of course let’s hope I don’t over dose, have a heart attack or have some jackass drug dealer swap my mushrooms with marshmallows dipped in LSD. I think if everyone holds up their end of the deal (I take the drugs. My dealer gives me good drugs. My friends make sure I don’t choke on my own vomit) we’ll get out of this whole experiment with some really awesome essays, some great stories and no lasting addictions.
I don’t want to sugar coat this, things could get ugly. Like Thompson and Burroughs I might begin to develop a fascination with military grade weaponry. I may also decide to travel with a Samoan attorney, I’m not sure. These are things that the drugs will decide. All we can do is speculate and come up with contingency plans.
Let’s set up some ground rules. If I start to develop eccentricities, such as referring to myself as the Emperor of Wisconsin and Protector of Mexico, let it slide until I start printing my own currency. Everything I write while on the drugs needs to be saved. To you it may seem like crazy babble, but to existentialists and aged, drug ravaged hippies it maybe a new religion (cults are big money). Keep Yoko Ono the fuck away from me. If I say I’m going to cut you, I’m going to cut you. And finally if I begin to find myself in homosexual orgies, please get me into rehab right away (especially if it looks like I might be a bottom).
All right, let the adventure begin!