Chemical_laugh_of_Benzedrine

Who Put The Benzedrine in Mrs. Murphy's Ovaltine?

Daddy did. Just mix a bit of the mystical east w/a
whole lot of the wild, wild west, add a benzedrine inhaler
or two, a hint of sun and psychosis and a flare for the
occult, let chill for eighteen years until it's soul
hardens and hell freezes over, and you've got me--
Benzedrine. Sure, Benzedrine isn't my real name, but if you
think I'm stupid enough to give it out in this world where all you've
got to do is push a button to see the world explode, think twice--
mama didn't raise no fool. This fool raised herself

I reside in the Los Angeles area, where anything can
happen-- and usually does, for that matter. Afterall, this
is the place where the teeny bopper accessory is a super
model boyfriend, where family doctors have long ago been
replaced by holistic gurus and where children crash film
sets for fun. This is also the place, forget you not, where
the four seasons are summer, riots, Malibu mudslides...smog
and more summer. Okay, so that's five seasons. Whatever

So what's up w/the whole Benzedrine thing? Well...let's
just say that I got involved w/some really bad sub-cultures
at a very young age and the next thing I knew, I was popping
bennies w/the energy of Jefferson-Dana on prozac and those diet pills
that she's been feeding her cage. Jeff-Dana is one of my two kid
sisters, aged 12 and 24. Jeff happens to be the latter, in case you
care. Ever since I can recall, I have hated that kid....not to
mention Roxy, the 12 year old, as well

To be quite frank, I couldn't imagine living w/a more
immature and criticizing pair. They both are obsessed w/the
superficial cult of fashion, they both worship rap artists (if you
even dare call them artists) who sing about girlfriends
\"Dripping on the matress,\" both resolve their childish
conflicts through beating the crap out of eachother (these aren't no
small gals, either), and they both criticize the crap out of me for
every fuckin' thing I say or do. An example? If they saw me typing
this, unaware of what it was even about, they'd probably say
something to the extent of, \"Dude, what the fuck are you
doing?? You swear that you're fuckin' Edgar Poe Allan!! (the
misplacement is intentional). You're an idiot\"

Well, enough bitching about the bitches. What other oh so
interesting facts are there to mention in this private purgatory of
my life? Oh yeah...my father is a hippie, my brother is a
tattoo artist/junkie residing in Neal Cassady's Denver who was the
first to stick a spike into my vein (and I tell you, things aren't
quite the same), the last of my baby teeth were knocked out at age 15
when I plunged over the side of a hill in a wheelchair race w/a
Buddhist, I am one hell of a surfer, I am in love w/Lawrence
Ferlinghetti and Rimbaud, I have heard America singing in the same
sense that Walt Whitman has, for the road, my father has once been
w/Brian Wilson (don't ask), I am posessed by the pen and paper (I've
known that I would one day become a writer since the days in the
womb...and by writer I don't mean anything along the lines of what
I'm doing on this site) and I have been through hell and back...only
to resurface w/interesting stories of the time I've spent
incarcerated there

If I have made any grammatical errors at any point, please forgive me
because I sure as fuck wont