American snapshot

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Huh.

Well, anyway, we're back now and we must say that America is a dismal little tweaker-infested hellhole suitable mainly for staying indoors and fucking.

Because our room smelled like old-man scrotum, we went on a quest to find incense. On the way, we found a store called "ALWAYS 99 CENTS!" except a lot of the stuff within was not 99 cents, but in fact much more. It was well worth the visit nonetheless, as we obtained two drinking glasses from which to later imbibe wine, and also as we approached the cashier our way was blocked by a tweaker who was telling the manager "See the great thing about me, I mean is, I will work any TIME and I will do any THING! And if I don't know how to do it I learn fast!"

We managed to get through the checkout and left the store just as tweaker-guy was getting on his bicycle (no helmet; tweakers never wear helmets, only baseball caps) and riding away. We made our merry way (passing several more baseball-capped sketchy-looking cyclists) to a wholesome-looking bead store called (no shit, it was really called this) "Ree-Kreashons". It took us some time to figure out that this was meant to be pronounced "re-creations" and not "secretions" with an R.

There was a note on the door announcing "POTTY BREAK- BACK SOON" so we stood in the tiny, graveled parking lot for a few minutes until a plumpish, nerdish, acne-cursed young woman opened the door and skittishly apologized for the wait. "No problem" says we, "Have you any incense perchance?" which commenced the most agonizing 15-minute search during which we learned that her baby had climbed out of its high chair while she was in the bathroom, scaring her half to death but she was sure other babies have done it before and thank-goodness it was OK, all while the baby screamed and she added a few more pocks to her cratered face as she nervously regaled us with open-ended stories of eviction and her search for a new location.

Eventually she found the incense and we breathed a sigh of relief, quickly chose a few sticks, and were nearly home free when the husband arrived, stringy-haired, leaning on a cane seemingly more for effect than for support. He had a box of rings, which he plonked down on the counter and showed to me, saying "Preeeettttttyyy!" I humored him with "oh yes, aren't those nice" while straining toward the door. I had already put ten dollars on the counter but the girl was "wrapping" our incense in the back and somehow it was taking forever, and I thought about just bolting but my social conditioning is too strong.

"You like to wear pretty things? I'll let these go for five dollars" said the husband as the baby continued to wail. "I uh, don't wear much jewelry, thanks" I said, leaning a little on my other half. Pocky Girl came back with the incense and said "four dollars". "OK then," said the husband as he took the ten, and I watched warily as he pulled a five and a one from the drawer and handed them to me, and like a balloon cut from a string we were free and drifted quickly out the door on our own invisible wind with a hasty "Thank you have a great day" and then we were in the parking lot clambering into the car and exorcising the grimness of that sweet baby having addict parents by laughing and saying "Oh my God, fucking TWEAKERS" and I was joking about the name of the place "TWEA-KREASHONS" and we were on the way back to our old-man-balls room and passing the community service storefront that says "THUGZ OFF DRUGZ" and pretty soon we were on the bed fucking and then later we were on our way to dinner and caught in a freak hailstorm where suddenly there was a terrible wreck right there, just happening and the blue car in front of us went off the road and disappeared out of sight down an embankment and we parked by the field to give our names and phone numbers, just in case, and when we got back in and drove by there were two girls injured on the side of the road, bystanders covering one girl with a blanket just as we drove off, drove cautiously the rest of the way to the restaurant, pulling over for emergency vehicles from time to time, and then gorged ourselves on pizza and beer before driving back to the motel to fuck again.

[East Coast Hustle]

Huh.

Well, anyway, we're back now and we must say that Oregon is a dismal little tweaker-infested hellhole suitable mainly for staying indoors and fucking

fixed.

ECH,
lives in a meth-free state

[Cramulus]

tweaker = speed/meth user, right?

[East Coast Hustle]

yep.

that's pretty much the only thing you'll find west of the mississippi river.

[Iron Sulfide]

troof.

central valley of cali is almost as bad as oregon.

almost. (cutting pretty fucking nigh, though.)

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I have a friend who lives in North Carolina and one who lives in Minnesota, and they both say it's pretty bad there too. Where is it that there is no meth?

Rural Oregon really is amazing. It's like a land of zombies. Here in the city there are fewer zombies and more potheads.

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

I have a friend who lives in North Carolina and one who lives in Minnesota, and they both say it's pretty bad there too. Where is it that there is no meth?

Rural Oregon really is amazing. It's like a land of zombies. Here in the city there are fewer zombies and more potheads.

Count Southeast Ohio in for meth head central as well. Plenty of stoners everywhere in Ohio (mmm Miggs County!), but meth is definately the major concern for Law Enforcement etc.

[East Coast Hustle]

Where is it that there is no meth?

Maine.

however, there's not much of anything else either.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Ah, Maine! but you have... um... ice fishing? And moose? And maybe Catholics?

[East Coast Hustle]

yes, yes, and only lapsed ones.

[Payne]

I want to read that as prolapsed catholics, but can't think of anything actually funny to say about it.

Oh well.

[East Coast Hustle]

only the ex-altar boys get to be prolapsed catholics.

[Payne]

lol,

There we go. 

[Doktor Loki]

Lots of tweakers in Nebraska.  A hell of a lot.

Al least 30-35% of the people.  No exageration.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Lots of tweakers in Nebraska.  A hell of a lot.

Al least 30-35% of the people.  No exageration.

Zombiland. I propose a new Voodoo.