Sudafed Protocol

For the third day in a row I woke up with a cement block in my left sinus and an ice pick embedded in my left eye.  No amount of over the counter drugs hoarded in the house seemed to be making things better, so I did a silly thing and actually called for a doctor's appointment.  Lobsterman assured me that I would most likely get in a month from now... dead or alive.

Some masterful whining got me an appointment with some doctor at my usual clinic, not my usual doctor... but at that point I just wanted to see anyone that had a license to write a prescription, so in theory I could have just gone to any street corner in Baltimore, but Baltimore is such a hassle and you can never find parking.

Doctor appointment time came, and the guy pretty much told me I was out of luck.  I wasn't running a fever, therefore no infection, therefore no drugs.  He told me to suck it up, buy better over the counter drugs, and come back if I got worse.  Yep, and that's why I pay $350 a month for health insurance!

After I ripped his still beating heart out of his chest and showed it to him (ok, not really, but I did in my head), I ventured to the pharmacy for something stronger than what we currently had. 

This meant taking one of the little slips of paper with the picture of your drug of choice to the pharmacy, where they take your driver's license, run a back ground check on you, strip search and cavity check you, then tell you they only have the generic version of the "over the counter" drug of your choice.  FINE!  GIVE IT TO ME!

I bought the last bag of Cherry 3-muskateers, so this means that I can make cherry flavored meth in my bathtub had I not failed miserably at being a crack-ho (and yes, I know there's a difference between crack and meth, I didn't fail that miserably at being a crack-ho!)

Another Threat to Mankind

Just when I thought it was bad enough that I had to fight my way through roving gangs of feral Girl Scouts hawking their crack-laced cookies at supermarkets.

There came a knock on my door... a tiny little Boy Scout, looking very optimistic and eager... until I opened the door.  For some reason he took a few steps back and looked toward the street (where I'm sure his enforcer mom was waiting in a idling car, ready to flee the scene if trouble ensued... or mace me).  Sensing his fear, I tried to put on my nicest "kid" voice, which sounds similar to my "give me the dead squirrel" voice I use on the dogs (typically neither get the desired effect).

"Can I help you?"

The little kid (who was clearly puntable in case he came at me with his clipboard) asked if I wanted to buy a tin of popcorn... for TEN DOLLARS.

Ok, I was thinking those gargantuan-sized Costco tins that can fit one or two little boy scouts, so I figured, what the hey and marked myself down for one... then clearly by the look of utter expectation, I surmised that he needed the money up front, then I would have to wait months for the carmelly goodness, no doubt mass produced by children his age in some foreign country sweat shop.  FINE, I go get my wallet and discover I only have a freakin 20.  Guessing that the future Bill Gates of carmel corn doesn't have change, I decide to be all nice and put myself down for two of the stupid buckets of popcorn.  He grabbed the money and ran.

It was only after I got back inside that I realized that I was in full "weekend mode"

Corrupting Boy Scouts, one scout at a time with my stylish Meeshka Justice system t-shirt (available on cafe press), and insane hair.

A few days go by and there's another tap on the door... its the scout, out of uniform, holding two of the tiniest little tins of carmel corn I had ever seen.  We're talking TINY, itty bitty.  Not nearly $20 bucks worth of anything in those tins... not even GOLD and we all know how much that is now.  He literally throws the tins at me (even though I'm wearing normal public clothes because I just got home from work).

The next day I take one of the ridiculously tiny tins to work to snack on.  Just as I suspected, its loaded with crack, and now I'm cruising the neighborhood looking for the little brat with my entire life's savings for another fix.