Speed Writing...

Goddamn I've been writing like a motherfucker lately. I guess I'm starting to annoy people. Time to pull back a bit...

You have to understand, I work alone all night and have nothing to do besides post on K5. I AM NOT A TROLL AND FUCK ANYBODY WHO SAYS DIFFERENT.

Plus, I've discovered the joys of methamphetamine. It gets my mind racing and I have to just write, write, write...

I know I've been venomously anti-drug in the past, so let me explain...

The Lazy-U Motel attracts a pretty sleazy crowd. Lots of streetwalkers, drug addicts, and homeless wastrels. Tons of crime goes on here and we, for the most part, turn the other cheek.

One thing we don't turn the other cheek on are assholes who try and cook meth in our rooms. It's a fire hazard and the business is barely insured. Sergei doesn't like us to call the cops, since the Lazy-U is already under pressure from people in the community who consider it a blight on their property values (keep in mind, this is the fucking Barrio, so the Lazy-U must be pretty bad to piss these people off.) Typically, I just call Sergei and he sends some of his buddies over to rough up the occupants and throw them out on the street (I am beginning to suspect that Sergei has ties to the Russian Mafia.)

Anyway, some numbnuts set up a meth lab in room 214. I don't know how he thought he could keep it secret since I could smell the fucking hydrocholoric acid a block away. I call Sergei and he says he'll be right over. I fall asleep behind the counter since it's incredibly difficult for me to stay awake at night.

I don't know how long I dozed off, but I wake up to Sergei kicking me in the ribs. "Wake up you deformed fool!" he yelled at me in his Russian/wigger English. "Go and clean up room 214! Throw all the trash into the ditch behind the hotel, dawg." He stalks out of the office with his gold chain swinging. "And if I ever catch you sleeping on the job again, I'll be talking to your parole officer!"

Fucking wigger. Anyway, I go over to 214 and the place is trashed with boiler plates and broken beakers everywhere. The place smells like a chemical plant and I get woozy and it feels like my face is melting. I notice a few dime sized drops of blood splattered against the wall, and find a hole in the plaster with a tooth imbedded in it. Guess Sergei and his boys really did a number on those rednecks.

Anyway, as I'm cleaning the place I look in the nightstand and notice a lunch bag next to the Gideon's Bible. I open it up and it's full of folded pieces of paper with brown rocks wrapped up inside which I assume to be meth. I toss it in the trash with everything else.
I'm still tired as I clean the room. Even though the bed is full of glass and some blood, I wanted to do nothing more than lay down in it and take a nap.

Well, you know what's coming next...

I retrieve the bag of meth rocks and unwrap one, leaving it in the palm of my hand. I figured I would just do one to get me through the rest of the night. After all, they give this stuff to pilots right?

I have no idea how to do meth though, so I just pop the rock into my mouth and chew it up. It tasted like shit and I had to wash my mouth out with water I drank from the sink with my palm.
I didn't feel anything for two minutes, then suddenly I felt super sick. My body was shaking uncontrollably. Was one rock too much? Was I overdosing? I ran to the bathroom and puked up the Del Taco I'd eaten earlier. I sat at the white throne for ten minutes, consumed with dry heaves.

Something happened though after my body calmed down. The shakes and shudders began to feel pleasurable. It was almost like my whole body was having an orgasm. Laying on the dirty bathroom floor with vomit dribbling down my chin, I pulled my dick out and jerked off right there. I didn't even bother to clean the nut off my pants afterwards (I haven't washed them in two months, so it doesn't even show.)

The shuddering, orgasmy feeling subsided after awhile, and suddenly all I felt was this incredible energy. I leapt off the floor, washed my chin off and got back to work on cleaning the room. After an hour, the place was spotless. I mean glimmering clean and smelling of Pine-Sol. I marched out proudly and tossed the hefty bags full of toxic materials into the ditch, just as Sergei had directed.

I did, however, keep the lunch bag full of meth rocks.

Now, I despise tweakers and still do. The problem with them is that they do meth all the time. I find of wanted to eat another rock after that, but I didn't do it. What I despise about all drug addicts is the fact that they have no willpower, especially when it's not THAT hard to control yourself. I decided I would limit myself to doing meth only when I was really tired and in danger of falling asleep. I really needed to keep this job. After the horrors I experienced, I cannot go back to jail.

The only downside was that it was close to impossible to go to sleep when I got off in the morning. I raided my mother's bottle of Black Velvet and chugged about half of that bottle of vile Canadian whiskey before I even felt sleepy. This is probably enough to keep me from doing meth regularly.