Drug Addict to Drug Addict & Addiction Treatment for Addicts


Has this ever happened to you?  You’re grooving to the classic rock station on the radio, and suddenly a song comes on with bitchin guitar.  The jamming goes on and on and on.  Totally righteous!  You turn to the person next to you, and you both say at the same time: “Drug music.”

Flip and I do that a lot.  I mean, stoners are the only ones who get into songs like “Whipping Post” by the Allman Brothers.  Anybody knows that.

Classic drug music at its best.  Whenever I hear that song I get a visual of the old pot parties.  I remember sitting on the floor in front of the stereo with my back against the couch, toking on a joint, totally grooving to that looooooong instrumental section.  I can’t help smelling weed smoke every time the Allman Brothers come on the radio.  How about you?

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That’s why so many classic rock songs from the 60s and early 70s have long instrumental sections.  Those tunes were for the stoners lying around, toking weed, shooting up, and popping pills.  They were for us.

Of course, you can’t do that forever.  All the cool people we partied with back then are six feet under now.  Grim stats.  But there you have it.

And it’s no wonder.  We do stupid crap when we’re stoned or want to be.

Reminds me of the time Flip was dating a pusher.  I made the mistake of buying speed from him once.  The dude cut that shipment with rat poison, and I hugged the toilet all night.  The next morning my face was covered in a bright red rash.  I looked like a freakin raspberry!


Flip laughed like crazy when she saw me.  Lucky for her, speed wasn’t her chemical of choice.  She had no idea what that sneaky dude was doing to his pills to increase his profit.

Not that he was a brilliant businessman.  Far from it.  Like most pushers, he had a bad habit of sampling too much of his uncut merchandise.

fast times

One morning Flip woke up and couldn’t find him.  Finally, she looked out the window.  He was down at the end of the driveway, passed out in the dirt next to the mailbox.  He’d slept there all night.  One of his junkie buddies must have dropped him off.  Literally.  We were kind of amazed he hadn’t rolled into the street.

Okay, maybe it’s a good thing he cut his shipments.  But with rat poison?  A brain surgeon, he was not.

And that’s the problem.  Pushers aren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer.  Who knows what kind of crap these geniuses are selling?


Life is too short for that kind of stress.  Who needs it?  We don’t.  You don’t.

If that’s where you’re at, do like we did, man.  Get yourself into rehab.  Just click the button below to learn more about the groovy rehabs we’ve have found.  When we hear about a good one, we post it on this site.  See?  It helps to have addicts for friends.

And when you’re clean, stop by our pad.  We’ll sit on the floor with our backs against the couch, grooving to classic drug music.  Maybe we’ll burn some marijuana-scented incense and munch on Flip’s killer brownies.  No weed in them.  Just mouthwatering righteousness.

It’ll be a gas, just like the old pot party days.  Only no rat poison, raspberry face, or sleeping in the dirt next to the mailbox this time.

bong man

Make love not war, baby.  That’s the good life.

In the meantime, click the button below to subscribe to our totally rad, outta sight newsletter.  You’ve never seen anything like it.  Wild, irreverent, and hysterically funny.  Recovery will never be the same again if we have anything to say about it.  Uh,oh…

Subscribe today.  You’ll be glad you did!


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