Fiction right, that I see a stack of those things—little pamphlets, sorta. They haven’t changed at all since she first started bringing them in, either. I think she just keeps them all boxed up in her basement or something. Which one? No, we don’t do that anymore. Boston cream is pretty close to it though, probably. But, so there’s no one around, and I don’t have all that much of anything better to do, so I start going through one of these things, and it’s just blowing my mind, right? Like, it’s got that big “DRUGS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES” scribbled on the front there, which is scary enough, but then the inside is just gory as all hell. Like, there’s all these pictures of needles and people bleeding and shit. The writing doesn’t even make sense a lot of the time, either. It keeps changing up in the, uh, style, and words are spelled wrong all over the place. It’s, like, basically gibberish. Like, I think she had to’ve just stitched the—all the writing together from a bunch of different internet sites, because sometimes—like, if you look here, and some other places too—you can see stuff underlined for no reason like it was probably something you coulda clicked on at some point. There’s this whole section too about this one type of — yeah, here — “ ben-zo-die-ah-zuh-peens,” where she just goes on and on for like five pages, sometimes in, like, all capital letters and with even worse spelling. What a friggin’ mess, right? Everyone started taking them home and passing them around to each other after a while, and people got to talking, and they all started saying those were
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