'll sell some drugs! He was hired, but the tentCRACK WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
I sat, with my three ho's, in the nicotine-stained window of a quaint restaurant just
off the corner of the towns-square. Though the food was bland, the gossip was
especially good that day.
As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There,
walking into town was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly
drug paraphernalia on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "I will work
for crack." I brought him to the attention of the policeman sitting next to us and
noticed that others around us had stopped eating to point, stare and laugh at him. Noses
sniffed the air in a mixture of horror and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but
his scent lingered in my nose. We finished our meal and went our separate
ways. I had ho's to pimp and quickly set out to accomplish that.
I glanced toward the town square, looking to stalk the
drugged-out visitor, hoping to score a cheap hit. I was fearful, knowing that perhaps he would mug me if he knew I was stalking him.
Deep within me, the Voices in my Head kept speaking to me "Don't go back to the
office until you've at least driven 666 more times around the square." And so,
with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third
corner I smelled him. He was standing on the steps of the storefront church,
smoking some crack. I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to
make a citizens' arrest, yet wanting to drive on.
The empty handicapped parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign for an
invitation to park. I pulled in, pushed the cripple's wheelchair out of the way, and approached the town's highest
visitor. "Looking for a fix?" I asked. "Not really," he replied, "just
resting." "Have you shot up today?" "Oh, I took a little hit early this morning."
Would you like to have... lunch with me?" "Do you want a blow job?" "No, I just had 5 this morning from my ho's," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I
would like to take you to jail...I mean lunch."
"Sure," he replied with a drug-induced smile.
As he began to gather his things, I asked some shallow questions to put him at ease. Where you
headed?" "St. Louis." "Where you from?" "Oh, all over; mostly Utica, NY." "How
long you been high?" "Fourteen hundred years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone totally insane. We sat across from each other in the same
restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 1438
years. His eyes were dark yet clouded, and he spoke with an eloquence and
articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright
red T-shirt that said, "AC/DC."
Then Spike's story began to unfold.
He'd made some wrong choices and raped the in-laws. Fourteen years
earlier, while following the Dead, he had stopped on Sylvan beach
in NY. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large
tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. I
would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw
life more clearly.
He gave his life over to Zorkkon, the Space God. "Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I
felt the Zork telling me to keep getting high, and so I did, some 1400 years now."
"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, but then I smoke some crack and keep going. But Zorkkon the Master has given
me this calling. I give out copies of The Bridges of Madison County, and vials of crack. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy drugs, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
I sat amazed. this homeless freak was not quite homeless. He was on a mission and
lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I
asked "What's it like?"! "What?" "To smell so bad and have everyone point and stare at you?
"Oh, it was humiliating at first, but then I started handing out crack. Now the little kids flock to me when I arrive. "
My concept of drug dealers was changing, too. We finished our 3-course dessert and gathered his
things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Duuuuuuuuuuuude!."
I felt as if we were on holy ground. "Could you use another hit?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain strain of cocaine, grown in the highlands of Chile. It traveled well and was not too
heavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've smoked it 1400 times,"
he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those rocks, but let's stop by our church and see."
I was able to find my new friend some crack that would smoke well, and he seemed
very grateful. "Where you headed from here?"
"Maybe Disney World. So many kids could use crack there!."
I drove him back to the town-square where we'd met two hours
earlier, and as we drove, the hurricane started.
We parked and unloaded his things. "Would you sign my bra?" he
asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote on his left purple-lacy D cup that his commitment to drug dealing had touched my
life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of
scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you," declared the
Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future
and a hope."
"Thanks, dude," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers,
but I love you, man! Ya got a dollar?." "I know," I said, "I love you, too. Let's find a hotel room"
"Lord Zorkkon is good." "Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone spanked
you?" I asked. "A long time," he replied. And so on the busy street corner
in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I spanked each other, and I felt deep inside
that I had been changed. He put his things on his back, smiled his crack-laced
smile and said, "See you in the New Jersey." "uh....whatever!!" was my
reply.
If this story touched you, or made you touch yourself, forward it to a friend!
My instructions were to send this to four people that I wanted Zorkkon the Space God to bless
and I picked you, because you seem like a pathetic loser. Please pass this to four thousand people you want to feel the healing power of crack cocaine.
This e-mail is powerful and there are no viruses or lame ASCII art files attached, please do not break
this pattern, crack is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost
but a lot of rewards, let's continue to smoke crack for one another. Zorkkon bless and
have a nice day!
"Zorkkon, I ask you to send a good high to my friends, relatives, co-workers and e-mail buddies and all the people I've irritated with this e-mail right now. Show them a new level of highness. Holy
Zorkkon, Where there is pain, give them your everlasting irritation. Where there is self-doubt,
pack a good high through your grace, In Zorkkon's precious Name.
Amen."