Deploymentking
Registered User
- Joined
- Aug 21, 2008
- Messages
- 610
Got lost downtown looking for whores? No problem. Found a pair of crack heads who want to steal your money and anal rape you? Problem. Fortunately crack has many exploitable side effects that you can use to your advantage. The Tim Kennedy silent death (cupping your hands over his ears and sucking on his nose until his head collapses) runs the risk of tuberculosis, not to mention the stench of recently regurgitated rancid beef, so avoid that one.
Most crackheads are politically left-leaning liberals, so your first line of defense is to distract him by pointing suddenly and yelling, “Look! Oprah!†When they turn around, smack his pipe to the ground with your Ninja grasshopper hand strike (be sure to make a Bruce Lee “Waaaa†screech for effect). Most crack pipes have glass bowls (David Caruso tells us), so once his whole world shatters he’ll be on his knees begging to perform a rusty trombone on you for new pipe money…or shoving a shiv in your face. Could be either. Unfortunately this tactic only works on the Darwinian dolts of the crackhead community because even addicts know that Oprah doesn’t slum around in back alleys unless she’s mongering her way through Wolfgang Puck’s dumpster again. So don’t count on this getting you out of your jam.
Before you can enact the backup plan, you must quickly determine if the crack head is currently cracked up. If so, you’re in luck. Crackheads are only one step away from death when they’re on the rock, so if he’s recently fired up, he’ll be hyper-vigilant, irritable, anxious, panicky, and more paranoid than Phil Hartman’s wife. When you factor in the heart rate of a crackhead is eighteen times that of a thoroughbred, he’s a powder keg just aching for your flame. All you have to do is flick your Bic. It’s well documented that crackheads are like Justin Timberlake at a rave when the beats start thumping, so whip out the boom box and get your Riverdance on! Five minutes and he’ll go limper than Brittany Spears on a Tae Bo, Oreo, and Rockstar binge.
If he’s clearly not on the rock (easily discernable by his rude disdain for your personal space and persistent boner) no problem. When not firing up, crackheads experience deeper depression than a Brando family reunion. Go for the jugular of self loathing and make him question his reason for living. Exploit the fact that he’s a strung out addict doomed to a life of disappointment who couldn’t get hired picking the underwear out of a fat man’s ass and he’ll reenact the implosion scene from Scanners. Stand back so you don’t get hepatitis shrapnel on your club shoes.
Your emergency plan is to go in the opposite mental direction. If the crackhead grabs a common object, like a cat, and approaches you menacingly, quickly proclaim, “It’s not your fault you’re a drug addict, it’s the Government’s!†Within seconds you’ll be inundated with every mundane conspiracy theory from ‘The EPA is letting aliens use my brain for experimentation’ to ‘Walt Disney’s was a crossdressing CIA operative who funneled Afghani opium through Mickey’s anal cavity!’ This soft sell has a drawback because your inadvertent use of therapeutic soothing will probably end up with you making a friend for life. A crackhead wanting to be your personal bellman doesn’t exactly win you friends on Wysteria Lane.
-SFC Kelly "Thor" Crigger
Most crackheads are politically left-leaning liberals, so your first line of defense is to distract him by pointing suddenly and yelling, “Look! Oprah!†When they turn around, smack his pipe to the ground with your Ninja grasshopper hand strike (be sure to make a Bruce Lee “Waaaa†screech for effect). Most crack pipes have glass bowls (David Caruso tells us), so once his whole world shatters he’ll be on his knees begging to perform a rusty trombone on you for new pipe money…or shoving a shiv in your face. Could be either. Unfortunately this tactic only works on the Darwinian dolts of the crackhead community because even addicts know that Oprah doesn’t slum around in back alleys unless she’s mongering her way through Wolfgang Puck’s dumpster again. So don’t count on this getting you out of your jam.
Before you can enact the backup plan, you must quickly determine if the crack head is currently cracked up. If so, you’re in luck. Crackheads are only one step away from death when they’re on the rock, so if he’s recently fired up, he’ll be hyper-vigilant, irritable, anxious, panicky, and more paranoid than Phil Hartman’s wife. When you factor in the heart rate of a crackhead is eighteen times that of a thoroughbred, he’s a powder keg just aching for your flame. All you have to do is flick your Bic. It’s well documented that crackheads are like Justin Timberlake at a rave when the beats start thumping, so whip out the boom box and get your Riverdance on! Five minutes and he’ll go limper than Brittany Spears on a Tae Bo, Oreo, and Rockstar binge.
If he’s clearly not on the rock (easily discernable by his rude disdain for your personal space and persistent boner) no problem. When not firing up, crackheads experience deeper depression than a Brando family reunion. Go for the jugular of self loathing and make him question his reason for living. Exploit the fact that he’s a strung out addict doomed to a life of disappointment who couldn’t get hired picking the underwear out of a fat man’s ass and he’ll reenact the implosion scene from Scanners. Stand back so you don’t get hepatitis shrapnel on your club shoes.
Your emergency plan is to go in the opposite mental direction. If the crackhead grabs a common object, like a cat, and approaches you menacingly, quickly proclaim, “It’s not your fault you’re a drug addict, it’s the Government’s!†Within seconds you’ll be inundated with every mundane conspiracy theory from ‘The EPA is letting aliens use my brain for experimentation’ to ‘Walt Disney’s was a crossdressing CIA operative who funneled Afghani opium through Mickey’s anal cavity!’ This soft sell has a drawback because your inadvertent use of therapeutic soothing will probably end up with you making a friend for life. A crackhead wanting to be your personal bellman doesn’t exactly win you friends on Wysteria Lane.
-SFC Kelly "Thor" Crigger
