OUR RESIDENT UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN OF CLASS AND BREEDING DIPS HIS PERFECTLY POLISHED TOE INTO THE MURKY WORLD OF NARCOTICS…
Since withdrawing from the steely gaze of the public eye several decades ago, taking receipt of an urgent telegram in the dead of night has become an increasingly rare treat. So, when the scrawny young delivery urchin stood at the stoop of my modest abode hollering “Telegram for Mister Mumbles! Mister Mumbles, sir! Wake up!” I instantly knew something dreadfully important was afoot. Prying the telegram free from the grubby little claw still clasped around it, I unfurled the parchment and began to read. Mister Mumbles STOP I have procured the test subject STOP Hipster replete with skinny jeans, floppy fringe, bum fluffy moustache and penny specs as requested STOP Netted him on London Fields STOP I await further instructions STOP “At last!” I warbled, “Finally I shall discover what all the fuss is regarding these ‘recreational drugs’ I keep hearing youngsters rapping about!” And with that, I bounded over the delivery urchin’s prone body, hailed a black cab and sped off in the direction of my testing lab in Dalston. I arrived a little after midnight. Thankfully, my lab partner had already set the test subject at ease with a mug of brandy-laced Horlicks and a digestive biscuit. All that remained for me
to do was explain the purpose of the evening. Then we could get cracking. Incredibly, the young hipster grew progressively more animated as I listed the drugs we would be testing upon him in order to discover their effects so alien to an upstanding individual such as myself. And the fact that they were all free? Why, to him that was the icing on the hash cake – which ironically enough was the first item on the menu. What follows herein are my observational notes, ad verbatim:
MARIJUANA: Some minutes after ingestion, Subject politely requests we put on a Pink Floyd LP. We oblige and Subject nods gratefully. Subject seems very calm and placid. Subject later turns on the television and watches an episode of My Family, curiously howling with inexplicable laughter until he has to go the toilet. While there, Subject has a quasi-religious epiphany. Subject returns and spends some ten minutes explaining this epiphany to us before scoffing eight packets of Nice N Spicy NikNaks. One can only presume he has not eaten all day, the daft lad!
COCAINE: Subject snorts up a line and soon
after, commands us to play some “fucking dubstep” on the gramophone. Unfortunately, we have none. He begrudgingly settles for some Tina Turner. In between grinding his
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