white poison industries

“So, you know its bad when…”I kept telling myself that I was not catching this weird cold thing that has been going around for a few months, but wouldn’t you know it, a week ago, I woke up with no voice.

“The start to a perfectly ruined weekend,” I thought.

In my mind, I just had a touch of the common cold.

By Tuesday morning, my voice hadn’t come back and I was pretty much miserable. I had started hacking and sounded like a 70-year-old with a pack-a-day problem.

The only cool thing was that I was starting to grow a pretty killer beard.

By noon on Tuesday, I ventured to the doctor’s office…well, me and the rest of the west side of town. I waited and waited. Kids in the waiting room were coughing on each other and me. I was pretty sure I was going to walk out of there with a case of the horrid pink eye.

Finally, I get into the doc’s office and he starts to listen to my breathing.

“Well, at least it doesn’t sound like you have much liquid in your lungs…yet. I’ve seen more cases of walking pneumonia this season than I have ever remembered,” he said.

“So, what’s the problem, common cold?” I asked.

“You’ve got upper respiratory infection and somewhere in there is some pretty resilient bacteria. I’ve got something that should do the trick.”

And with that, I was off to the pharmacy.

After a short talk with the pharmacist, I was on my way home. Now, mind you, during all of this, my hacking cough sounded like I was trying to unhinge half of my lung and puke it out. It was the kind of thing that would make mothers grab their child’s hand and pull them away from me. I was like a modern day, husky Doc Holliday.

“I’ll be your huckleberry…cough…cough…cough…spitting up phlegm…cough…cough…Ughhh.”

So, as soon as I walk in the door, my cell phone goes off. Its the pharmacist.

“You haven’t taken that antibiotic yet, have you?”

“Nope, I’m just getting home.”

“Ok, you’re going to need to throw that in the trash. I’m looking at your allergy record and its possible that medicine will put you in the ER.”

“What?!?!?”

“Yeah, it looks like you’ve got a distant cousin allergy to that prescription. Best case, you’re covered in hives in the next 10 minutes. Worst case, an ambulance will be carting you downtown to the ER for a couple shots of epinephrine.”

“Listen, doc, I’m dying here. What can we do? Can you switch out the prescription?”

“Son, look, I’ll have to confer with your doctor tomorrow. I believe their offices are closed for the day.”

I looked at the clock. It was seven minutes past 5 pm.

“That figures.”

“Listen, if you want something to ease up that cough, come on back and we’ll set you up with some good old fashioned Robitussin.”

Wouldn’t you know it, but the pharmacist was onto something. I sat down as soon as I got back and took a recommended dosage of Robitussin. Things were feeling a little warmer. I lost a little bit of my balance and decided it was a good idea to go sit on the recliner. At the same time, I hadn’t had any lunch, so maybe it was just hitting the blood stream a little too easily.

Now, I know you’re only supposed to take a dose ever 4 hours. (And let me stop here and mention that drug abuse has serious and devastating side effects, most of which experimental users are not prepared for. What may start out as a fun game of let’s trip and roll around on the carpet, usually ends up with a game of “Why Are of My Teeth Falling Out of My Pocked, Dirty Face.”)

Somehow, I get my timing off and I’m downing another dose about two hours in. Suddenly, I feel like I’m floating and my vision starts to strobe. Out of no where, I can hear Radiohead’s Kid A beating in the background. This is when I wet my pants.

I tilt my head back and for whatever reason, I decide to take a long gulp of the sweet, stanky cherry drink. I’m buzzed, over-heating, slowly losing my vision in my left eye.

The world begins to swirl together in a mix of reds, greens, blues, and deep oranges. In front of me, a hole rips open in space and Count Chocula leans out of the time/space gap.

“Mr. Duke, would’ya like to time travel with the Count?”

“Would I? This is the BEST WEEK EVER!!!!!!”

I slide through the time/space vortex hole and step onto a platform where Count Chocula has saddled up two dolphins.

“Sir, tonight we ride the seas like kings.”

“Great idea, Count. But, first another drink for the road.” Again, down my gullet, the sweet tang of Robitussin streams into my empty stomach.

And we’re off, riding the waves on these badass, saddled sea dolphins.

Its all really cool. I hand the Count the bottle.

“Oh no, sir, I never drink the Sizzurp!” says the Count.

“The Count issszzzz nevvaahh slippin’ the Sizzuurrpppa?” I’m slurring my speech heavily by now. This is truly embarrassing. (ASIDE: is it strange that even in my delusional fantasies, I still can’t hold my Robitussin like a grown-ass man?)

Suddenly, the Count, the dolphins, the sea adventure…it all disappears into a blinding flash of creamy yellow light. Then, the electrons start basking in front of my eyes. I realize that I’m a sub-atomic particle and as I listen closely to the over-riding noise, I realize I’m a sub-atomic particle in Rosanne Barr’s curler set.

OOOHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

And for what seems like days, all I hear is the sneer of her voice and the clacking as curlers are bouncing on other cheap, plastic curlers.

CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK.

Then, I wake up. It’s Thursday afternoon and I’m sitting on a very cold park bench in Hermann, Missouri. I look down and realize I’m butter-ass naked, with the exception of my New Balance sneakers and a soft purple cape. The world is a crazy hue of light pink and I realize that its because I’m wearing over-sized women’s sunglasses, you know, the kind one of the Golden Girls would have worn.

The local Missourian citizens look traumatized by all of this. I wonder if this is the first time this community has been forced to witness the ill effects of a person wrestling with the Zurp!

Local police are hot on my tail and I punch a small child and take his BMX so I can outrun the cops. I jump a passing Amtrak on the outskirts of town and befriend a hobo whom I trade my cape and lady glasses for his hobo outfit.

Soon, I return home, but not without a friend who carries the same taste for Robitussin as I do. Hobo Sam and I walk down the the neighborhood Walgreens and I buy him 8 small bottles of ‘Tussin. Then, Hobo Sam turns and walks into the sunset, a naked, yet caped Hobo, high as a kite on Robitussin.

And the world is once again at peace.