We Want Our Internet Girls Good
Let Cat Marnell be a drug addict if that's what she wants to be. If she gets paid a boatload of money to talk about it, who cares?
Goodbye to All That (the End for Now)
Amphetamine Logic was kind of making me psychotic. I sat down for lunch with my agent at an overpriced bistro on Park Avenue South. "So Cat," Byrd Leavell, literary agent extraordinaire, said. "What's new?"
Cat Marnell Explains Herself
Regular readers may have noticed that Cat Marnell’s VICE column, Amphetamine Logic, has been conspicuously absent these past few weeks. No, Cat did not blow her lips off freebasing cocaine like Richard Pryor, and no, she will not be parting ways with...
The End, Part One
Amphetamine Logic is coming to an end. I am better and I will continue to get better, and it doesn't matter to me that you don't want to believe this, or don't understand what it means.
The Cockroach and the Cokehead
May 2012: I quit my job and burn all my bridges so I can swim. I won't realize that was wishful thinking until a few months later. Summer starts gliding by like a sailboat. I master the Dead Man's Float. I'm not working and life is a lazy river; I'm a...
Graffiti, Crackheads, More Cocaine, Miami (Bitch)
I’m sleeping alone in the backseat of a parked rental car at 5 AM in a terrible neighborhood in Miami when the door opposite me clicks open and a grizzly old black drunk man slides in next to me, shutting the car door behind him. His eyes and skin are...
Coke Sex for Teen Sluts
Sometimes when a dick is inside me I can’t help but think about my family. I know that sounds totally gross, but I don’t mean it in, like, an incestuous way. My dad never fucked me or anything. I think it has more to do with guilt, you know, or I’m...
Dawn of the Dustheads
It's 5 AM on a Thursday and Same and I are in my apartment in the East Village, high on PCP and surrounded. All of the men are nursing 40 oz. Ballantines and the girls they brought are strangers, looking around at my strange life and into my mirrored...
A few days ago the text came. It was from a 202 number—D.C. "Call Paul at 202XXXXXXX or your dad if you want to know what's going on," it read.
Bloodsuckers and Condé Nast-ys
Three years ago I was running around with sociopaths and addicts. Predators who took me to the projects to spend my money on crack and heroin and snap obscene Polaroids of me when I fell asleep.
Blonde on (Very Famous) Blonde
It’s the 'Purple Magazine' party during Fashion Week and I’m at a booth with my friends. And then there's Lindsay Lohan.
Nothing Is Wrong If It Feels Good
It's a sunny afternoon in Soho and I've had five glasses of champagne with a married celebrity at a bar. I’m spun like a kite from gobbling Dexedrine all week. Amphetamine Logic is about to step in.