Monday, 24 March 2014 15:35

All the Vices Producer Joe Can Fit into One Day

Written by  Joe Gasmann
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8:41 a.m.

I contemplate chronically masturbating my way to vice No. 1, but my wife is still sleeping next to me and that would be rude. I opt instead for coffee on the couch, but we have none. Zero and two. 

9:26 a.m.

I just got back from the gas station around the corner with a large coffee. I don't smoke, dip or huff gasoline, but I damn well could have, so I count them. I'm at four.

10:14 a.m.

I'm stalking Facebook for friends I believe will be able to help. I can find Molly from the person I know went to City Lights, pot from almost all of my friends, while cop pals point me to the hooker and meth parts of town. I send a few messages and open up Backpage as a second, yet equally lazy, means of debauchery; the most recent post is from Julie. The ad says Julie is 32 and offers "Intelligence, good conversation and great company."

10:50 a.m.

At this point, not much is going on. Since I know I’ll eat myself to a bigger cup size at some point today, we’ll say I’m at five.

1:40 p.m.

I just got back from the gym. Some people could consider working out a vice, but I can’t because I don’t try, and I’m fat. Momentum has stalled and morale is low. With my pothead and virgin days far in the rear-view, I forgot how much waiting for drugs and sexually progressive women sucked. I’ve also noticed that some of the messages I sent out have read with no reply.

2:20 p.m.

OK, big time breakthroughs happening here! I was totally right about City Lights friend. He/she can get me Molly by the end of the day and, as an added bonus, can get blow, too. I give myself two for that. Because I assume I can easily find a recipe online for crack, I take another. Eight pretty strong points now.

My father-in-law and wife are painting the bedroom. I would help, but clearly I’m working. I just found a Craigslist casual encounter who “seeks c**k.” This is promising, as I have one of those. There's no number and she wants a picture. I message her with a picture of my friend, Jeff.

Good news: I called Julie again and she picked up! Though she prefers a more mature man, she will meet me at my house for a $200 donation. Bad news: When I ask how much sex I get for donating, Julie feels this is a waste of her time and hangs up. I consider that a win nonetheless. 9 vice points! 

3:06 p.m.

A lot has happened in a short amount of time. I found weed from a friend, who can also get me Amber Ice. He tells me to hold on while he then talks to his buddy. After a moment he informs me that he also has access to “DMT, shrooms, pretty much any prescription drug” (sic). While this magic is being worked, I am told by another friend that he could definitely get me anabolic steroids. I wasn’t even looking for 'roids, but that makes 15 and I’ll take it.

4:40 p.m.

My cop friend has checked in and given me a couple of spots to check for meth and heroin. Because I have a rule about never going to Wyoming, I pass in favor of other methods.

I use Google Street View until I find a gas station in Allegan that looks like it could be used as a backdrop for "True Detective" and dial them up. I cut to the chase and ask the clerk if he knows where drugs could be obtained. Apparently, this isn’t a first as I’m told that I was “stereotyping” and not to call again. I would expect no less from a filthy Allegan meth addict.

5:13 p.m.

Though waiting for drugs is as painfully boring as it was back in high school, patience paid off. All in all, I racked up 15. While I feel like my work should be paid off by the night of insane partying I now know is a mere phone call or message away, I settle instead for blackout amounts of my lifelong friend, beer.

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