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For a scene reference , its summer to fall in Pennsylvania rural hill country outside of town.
- [the farmhouse] -
This is a brief idea of what might have been in the reality of a young man, freshly graduated fully inspired and totally ignorant to life.
Fresh out of high school we had one clear direction. To take a year to party as hard as humanly possible. You know . . . to get it out of our systems.....
Three of us came together to rent an old farmhouse off a long country back road in between Palmyra and Ann Ville, PA. Here we commenced to hold nightly ragers powered by stolen booze and food from the respective restaurants we worked minimum wage for, selling microwaved steaks and stepped-on shrimp to unsuspecting customers. The parties raged on every night for that summer; compiling a pile of empty beer and wine bottles reaching the second story window. Inside was a pot plant eagerly growing and a 3 ft alligator named Ali Gator , that we had picked up along the way. Our constant source of chicken and red meat proved to be the perfect source of food for an adolescent reptile of her nature. Along with the alligator were two desert Deathstalker scorpions and a 9 inch Amazonian blue centipede. Frequently while blackout wasted our friend colby( og kazi) would summon them to test the steadiness of his hand. Annifolactic shock was a baseline standard any time he desired to test his trembling hands. There were three bedrooms upstairs and a living room and kitchen. In the kitchen was a mobile home heater that was supposed to heat the entire house. The band Lamb of Gods music was a staple in the house along with Nonpoints version of "In the air tonight". At one point we tried to contain Ali Gator in my bedroom in a baby pool fenced in chicken wire. It escaped constantly and proved quite difficult to bed a young lady when an alligator crawled under your covers. So, the spare bath tub was its home. We had a rule for beer pong. If you can bounce it off of your opponents tits and into the cup they had to drink the whole table. That rule was vastly inspiring to win but even more inspiring to watch a wet ping pong ball bounce off a pair of warm breasts, breasts that you may see later if you play your cards right.
At one point we had a mutual friend offer to pay us with mdma in exchange for a place to synthesize it. I still don't know if this fellows true name was Chris or Rick. We called him Chris-Rick, or "Smokey". Smokeys lab was buried along the Appalachian trail in totes along with the precursor Sapheorle that he had personally extracted from the roots of a Sassafrass tree prior and stored in Jagermeister bottles. They were a suitable hiding place on account of their almost indistinguishable scent.
<span;>For a solid week straight , night and day, Smokey worked in the attic. Occasionally he would shout about his cheating girlfriend, Molly, and that he learned to do this bc of her. He would then stop and exclaim, "WAIT!!! DID I ADD ONE GRAM OF PALLADIUM OR TWO !!!??? OHHHH SHIIITTTT!!!!" Then seamlessly yank off his shoe to answer a phone call it was apparently making to him. "HELLO!??!" The process was so long and involved I quickly gave up taking notes in an attempt to one day recreate the process. At the end of a very high-stressed week, we were left with 80 grams of fresh, hot-off-the-griddle MDMA. And 3 gallons of toxic waste product. After all, we did have to crystallize a Gerber baby food jar of mercury in our oven. In the freezer was a corked and officially scientific bulb shaped beaker of neon green MDP2P chilling before the next process. Right next to the green solution was a frozen pizza which naturally went straight into the now mercury-tainted oven. I guess I never really thought about how insane of an element Mercury really is. It holds the characteristics of both liquid and metal at room temperature and acts even craziee. It apparently can sink into and back out the other side of your hand while leaving a nice mercury poisoning along the way through. We played it safe on the Mercury though, the estimation of the contents of the baby jar was “enough mercury to kill 50 men.” Pretty serious shit! I'm thinking cooking that frozen pizza could have waited until the oven was clean. Or at least until after the alien death metal was finished contaminating the area. I believe the general consensus was, "Fuck it... ". This is a good example of when a poor decision is made with complete understanding that it is an awful idea simply because when else are we going to have the opportunity to make such a niche judgment call again. Never! That's when! So we are the pizza that we cooked next to the deadly jar of Mercury and I gotta say I think it worked out. The following week was an absolute haze. Back to drinking, fucking, and repeating.
The upscale preppy girls attending were swiftly put at ease in regards to their sexual curiosities by the bathroom wall floor to ceiling with hard porn, complete with fisting pic on the shitter lid. The plush purple shag carpet in an upstairs room was already enough to drop the panties of the town’s most respected young women. Coming down from a solid week of fresh MDMA is well enough to send one straight back to live with their grandparents. I think the house cut was like 14gs split between the 3 of us that paid rent and had rooms.... Oh, right... the ones who lived there. severely depressed and suffering from terrible brain zaps . . . the kind that jolt you out of your chair. So, with our mission complete, the smell of the home tainted with the lingering smell of sassafras, beer, and cigs, and with the well-water contaminated with heavy metals, we took off to the comfort of my grandmother’s attic to relax and have some warm Xmas cookies. The depression made me crave grandmas Xmas cookies. To be continued
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