I once heard the phrase “There’s no such thing as a geriatric junkie.”

Actually, I might have tweaked that (pardon the pun) slightly to sound more alliterative.

Nonetheless, I always knew the general message was pretty much true – but my reasoning was apparently wrong. Here I was, thinking that whoever said it along with the “not even once” or “this is your brain on rainbow and unicorn inducing powder” campaigns meant that you die from Heisenberg’s crystal blue long before your golden years have a chance to transpire.

Apparently that’s not the reason.

loseinterst

Nope, that’s not it either, Heiz.

But what they do lose is their minds. What actually happens is clearly a fate worse than death – that dementia just speeds up. Because when this 54-year-old Oklahoma lady scored some poorly manufactured meth, she had a momentary lapse of memory about the fact that:

1. Meth is illegal.

2. You shouldn’t call the police about your illegal meth if you like not being in jail.

Telling the authorities by phone that she was “sure it was laced”, Lynette Rae Sampson patiently then awaited their arrival, hospitably invited them in, and expressed her gratitude for them showing up to help her exact revenge on the heartless villain who’d sold her some bad shit.

notmeth

You know, I hate when little gems like these go to the recesses of the internet for people to “ooh” and “ahh” at momentarily like entertaining ephemeral Christmas tree lights before they quickly die and get supplanted by stories of dogs passing out over their owner’s arrival home. And I don’t just mean because of how schizo-inducing that juxtaposition is. This genuinely upsets me because I feel like a really relevant “maybe this one’ll actually hit home” message exists here that could click and help our fellow humans who’ve gotten addicted to see the light. The problem with current campaigns is that sober non-addicts make them. And that’s fine on a preventative level. But once you’re a druggie, your brain’s veered off down some unmarked chemically altered country road where the locals speak a different hillbilly dialect and charge fixes for overpriced fuel.

That means that to drive in a message, you’ve gotta think like a tweaker.

bbbomb
(Too far, Walt. Too far.)

Obviously, the prospect of going senile early isn’t sufficiently sobering alone. But the bigger picture might be. ‘cause when you go full dotard, it won’t be Noah Notebook showing up to save your ass with dinners by candlelight whose flames you clink smack filled spoons over like wineglasses. It’ll be the fuzz. And (here comes the worse part) they’re gonna take your drugs.

Because you called them. On yourself.

But who knows?

Depending on your toxin of choice, you might just think he’s Gosling anyway.