This week we were in Hawaii for a few days and it was really nice although I’m still fighting this depression so I spent a lot of time just resting in my room, but one time I went to the ice machine and there was this British couple there who was adorable and I was like, “You guys having some good crack?” because I’ve been listening to a lot of UK podcasts lately and when they’re having fun they say ‘it’s all good crack’ but this couple was like, “Um…pardon?” and I said, “Is that not how you say it? Do you not pronounce it ‘crack’ where you’re from?” and they were like, “No, we know what crack is” but they said it in a way that clearly they did not know the crack I was referring to so I was like, “Not the bad crack, I mean. The good crack. The happy-time crack, you know?” and they were like, “Sure” but I’m pretty sure they were not sure and also now that I’m thinking about it they may have been Australian.
This is where I would tell you all about my vacation but I am too tired and spent my last bit of energy scheduling 3 weeks of having a nurse inject me with ketamine so I can hopefully psychedelic myself out of this deep depression and into at least a functional one. I was feeling bad that this post was so discordant on topics because my brain is broken but technically both paragraphs are about drugs and happiness so there is a theme.
PS. If I had all of your addresses I would have sent you these because nothing says “elegant souvenir” like being invited to suck on some dirty donkey balls.
I had questions, obviously, but when I googled “donkey balls” google was like:
And now I just have more questions. So I guess I did bring you a souvenir and it’s our shared sense of bewilderment over lumpy donkeys and their balls and that’s good crack. (Which would also be a good souvenir if you liked crack, I guess.)
Actually, speaking of flying drugs back from Hawaii, at the Honolulu airport you go through security and then you leave the building and go outside to catch a bus to take you to your gate and I was like, “What’s the point of security if I’m just going to go outside again?” and Victor was like, “The bus system only goes around the airport so it’s secure” and I was like, “Yeah, until I whistle for my pet falcon, and what’s attached to its leg? A nail clipper. Now I have a nail clipper on a plane. AND A FALCON. And maybe he also swallowed drugs and fireworks because he’s wild like that” and Victor was like, “Can you not talk about this while we’re in the airport?” and I was like, “If anything they should be thanking me for pointing out these loopholes” but no one thanked me at all.