Piracetam

So, I ordered some piracetam, which is a nootropic. For people who don't read wikipedia obsessively, this means it is a smart drug. It's a smart drug because it's a cholinergic. A cholinergic promotes the production of acetylcholine. Acetylcholine is a neurotransmitter (actually, it's the bitch of the neurotransmitters- it does the grunt work). Neurotransmitters make your brain work. Basically, if you don't understand what the pill does, you need to put some in your mouth.

Piracetam is prescription in the UK, but is totally fucking legal here. Why? Because America is a country of performance enhancement. I mean, come on. When Viagra stopped being hardcore enough, we invented Caverject, which you inject into your penis. YOU INJECT IT. INTO YOUR PENIS.

YOU INJECT IT INTO YOUR PENIS.

So anyways. I'm planning on taking some for the next few days just to see what kind of "legal" brain high I can go on, because if I can enhance my mental performance, well then. I can think of ways to kill people THAT MUCH FASTER. Which is an extremely useful skill where I work, because all I do is write fucking beautiful code and sit around wishing everyone else would die. I'll give you some updates, after I have been taking magical brain pills like the hicks in Tommyknockers, forever.

Up Is Down! Nothing Makes Sense!

Kerplunk:you always post totally random crap

[09:40am]teleolurian:but it's pure comedy gold

[09:40am]teleolurian:the magic leprechaun who borrowed my creativity said so

[09:40am]teleolurian:then he showed me his tiny leprechaun penis.

[09:40am]Missy:you only took 2 out of 3 pills yesterday

[09:41am]teleolurian:therefore i'm completely insane today

[09:41am]teleolurian:try and keep up

[09:41am]Missy:it is prolly true

[09:41am]Kerplunk:i wouldnt doubt it

[09:41am]teleolurian:i feel like i can race the wind while simultaneously seducing everyone, ever, with a combination of sonnets and yogurt

[09:42am]Missy:then yup

[09:42am]Missy:you are insane today

[09:42am]Missy:due to lack of enough brain meds

[09:42am]teleolurian:it's okay, i don't have any yogurt

[09:42am]Missy:well that is good

[09:42am]Missy:everyone in the office is safe then

[09:42am]teleolurian:not even FROgurt

[09:42am]teleolurian:which i hear is made of black people

Dear Girl Scouts Of America

Dear Girl Scouts of America:

I'm sorry.

I know I have a propensity to say weird things when I answer the door. I probably shouldn't have invited your sales representatives to a barbecue, then suggested they wear some sort of marinade. It was certainly a bad idea to answer the door in nothing but a motorcycle jacket. And to tell you the truth, I was waiting for the pizza guy.

But I think blacklisting me from further canvassing is going a step too far. I mean, who will sell me the Caramel Delights which are the only blissful light on my otherwise dark and dreary soul? Can't you guys take a joke? Isn't there some kind of badge you earn for letting bygones be bygones?

In retrospect, it was also a pretty bad idea for me to call you. I'm prone to moments of fugue, and I have to say I was a little scatterbrained when I dialed, because I'd been mainlining nail polish remover. One might say I temporarily lost my memory. But after the third 'Hello?' from a timid female voice, well, it reminded me of a prior situation. I'm sorry I mistook your headquarters for an adult 'chat' number, although to be fair, it was only for like, a minute. Maybe seventeen. She had a familiar-sounding voice, okay?

I think that instead of playing the 'blame game' we should come to a rational agreement, whereupon I promise not to touch, lick, or proposition your dancers scouts, and you promise not to have me registered as any sort of offender. Oh, yes, and you know. Keep bringing me cookies. I am fucking addicted to the cookies.

Regretfully,

Me

PS - You can't fool me, chairperson of the board. I know you're really Theresa from 976-PLAY. I know this in my soul.

This Is Why Idiots Take Viagra

Even though I'm churning out tremendous updates to other websites, making shrewd financial decisions, and being just plain sexier than anyone else ever, I feel like I should be doing something more. This is that horrible drug, productivity, success; once you start to get hooked, you can't let go.

And yes, this is exactly what drives otherwise successful men to take their little blue thunderbolts- the need to be more fantastic, more successful, more predatory than was previously thought achievable. I mean, yeah, I'm comparing other mens' need to have a 401(k), a nice car, and a gullible young mistress to my need to write more code and be the center of everyone's attention always. It's not really apples and oranges. But I'm not about to go down the path of desperate self-enhancement.

Most of the reason why is because I deliberately take pills that slow me down. If I want to be six thousand percent more fantastic, all I have to do is dial back about three hundred and fifty milligrams and travel down that dark road again.

After the first long, boring night, you realize what a waste of time it was that you ever went to sleep.

After the third night, the long-term memories that the medicine obscured suddenly leap back to your hungry mind. Remembering sadness, embarrassment, disappointment, mistakes.

By the fourth night, you've successfully battled depression by remembering just how utterly great you are.

On day five, you can see the future. You can command the lightnings. You can skate Saturn's rings and sing with the angels. And you're so busy being full of life you don't notice when others are bruised by your irritability, afraid of your newfound self-esteem, worried about your reckless behavior.

Success is a strange and wonderful narcotic. It's not the kind of thing you can quit cold turkey. You'll never be able to stand living in the shadow of yourself.