17 november 2008, 7:25pm

Call me a square, but I've never bought drugs off the internet. Nope, not even salvia or pills that I legitimately, medically need. Not even heroin. I've long heard tell from assorted youngsters and gullible reporters that you can type in secret slang terms like "Ski jacket," "Tina Turner," and "ecstasy" on ebay or craigslist and find yourself at the business end of a large powdery pile of goodness. But I just never got how emailing some random dude and hoping it's not a scam held any cards over the old-fashioned route of calling a guy your friend knows and meeting him at the Starbucks nearest to his apartment (or, in the case of harder-to-come-by items, asking them to mail it to you and being vaguely nervous for a couple days).

Well, it looks like I may never know firsthand what the deal with online drugs are, as craigslist and the NYPD are cracking down on e-dealers and their striped-shirt, hedge-fund-investing, just-want-to-let-the-whole-week-melt-into-a-deep-all-consuming-k-hole-while-tenderly-grinding-an-NYU-student-at-Danny-Tsetto's-night-at-Wester-Hall clientele. Obviously this news has little bearing on my life, but it did get me thinking about all the different conveyances that have brought joy into my life a quarter-ounce at a time.

An old, battered copy of V For Vendetta.
A sheet of acid tucked in the cover
If you didn't encounter a cool dealer at least once in high school, then I'm sorry but you got gypped. Typically it was an older student who'd go on to either develop altitude-adjustment systems for Northrop Grumman or work for a lawn care company. Sometimes, however, it was some weird guy in his mid- to late-20s who lived with his wife and really enjoyed turning kids on to things like good comics and Eraserhead, like some sort of beneficent town drug mentor. Kinda ruined it when he got busted for having an attic full of kiddie porn.

We Sold Our Soul for Rock and Roll.
Check out the cover. Have you ever seen this before? It's like some rare Mexican bootleg or truckstop edition. I have no clue where the guy who gave this to me got it, but it covers all the bases for great drug packaging. It's discreet, it gives you some indication of just how high its contents are going to get you (so high it'll be like you live on the moon), and it provides a timeless soundtrack for getting ripped on pretty much any drug known to man. The only drawback in this particular case is that the album is roughly nine times the length of the average DMT trip, and we cannot in good conscience advise doing DMT that many times in a row. No matter how amazing "NIB" sounds as four interwoven strings of light blasting past your face at 3 billion parsecs per nanoeon.

Those rectangular weed boxes.
I know these boxes are pretty commonplace now that even towns in rural Idaho have their own delivery services, but do you remember the first time your weed came in one of these? It was like becoming a drug grown-up. Next thing you knew you were talking about different strains of megakush as if they weren't completely made up by the dealer and trying to do rails of keef off a DVD of the Young Ones. Man, you turned into an asshole.

This rainbow dog.
A lot of things
Try to envision the type of retarded grin that would be plastered across your face if you opened a box and saw this sunny little fellow grinning back at you all "Sup!" Now try to imagine how much retardeder it would get if you reached up into his little rainbow fro and came back with a grab bag of chemical psychedelics none of whose names you could pronounce. If your mental image doesn't look like a drooling stroke victim right now, you are officially "not my type of people."

Street bag
Usually coke (not sure in this case)
Finding a half-full bag on the street is just as exciting as stumbling across a crumpled $20 bill, but even better because you have no idea whether what's inside is going to get you blasted or make you puke and shit for days. If you have a roommate who's always up in your business, telling him or her about finding it is also a good way of creating a few nights' worth of hysterics. We found this bag last weekend and dabbed a bit of the powder on the tip of our tongue like TV detectives do, but it just tastes like maybe somebody crushed up a gobstopper. Anybody's who's got a guess, we're all ears.

A canister of computer duster
Computer duster
Like many of you out there, when I first watched the computer duster episode of Intervention, my initial thought was "No way, seriously?" followed very closely by "Hmmmm..." before being cut off by a round of cackling "Hooooooly fucking shit"s. Then the horrible things happened and I felt guilty for a couple minutes, but as soon as I'd shook out the saddies I started scouring the house for a can of the stuff. Good god was that bitch ever onto something. Who ever thought that anything as nerdy as computer cleaning spray would harbor a buzz that combines the best aspects of whippets and poppers before leaving you with the most mind-shattering headache of your life? If I'd known about this shit when I was 13, right now my brain would be a warm, eggy-smelling sponge with the consistency of a five-year-old gym sock.