I went on a lark and searched the web for those infamous recipes for methamphetamine, a.k.a. crystal meth. Didn't take me long: first site I've found gave me about half a dozen recipes, and none of them were alike. They had one thing in common though: all of them had a list of ingredients postal enough to discourage anyone with an IQ over fifty to stay the hell away from this shit. I mean, no kidding, muriatic acid? Aluminum dissolved in sulfuric acid? Prying open lithium batteries? Scratch away the sulfur on match cartons??? ...And you smoke that?!?
I have the conviction there must be a plot conspired by some tenebrous power to wipe the fucktards from our society. Or unless it's merely a manifestation of the collective unconscious. Whatever the case may be, those recuring fads of toxic drugs, extreme sports, road rage and jackass-inspired behavior seem to be the end result of the sudden realisation on the part of certain individuals that they represent a regression for the genetic pool of the species and that they should try to terminate themselves before they have the opportunity to procreate and so to perpetuate their defective genes. Well while you're about it why dick around? Crystal meth, fah, that's for sissies: I cooked you up a little special blend of my own, you let me know what you think. Come to think of it, I don't believe you'll be able to let anyone whatsoever know what you think or anything else. So without further ado, here's my recipe for "toaster meth".
You will need
30 grams of cyanide
300 ml of curare
1 kilo of Cyclon B
20 grams of cobra venom
50 grams of strychnine
A couple of grains of enriched plutonium (optional: that's just for the bling)
3 doses of ecstasy
Take the ecstasy, and wait for the effect to kick in. When you feel full of energy and boldness, invincible, capable of anything, in a word thoroughly and utterly shitheaded, mix the cyanide, curare, venom and strychnine, add the other ingredients and let seep for a couple of minutes. Gulp down the plutonium rinsing it down with the mix, and in your throes of agony open the box of Cyclon B and good ridd... well, okay, maybe not. Let's just say happy trails, you're gonna go far kid, you're gonna fly so fucking high. Dude, I'm like totally tripping to the extreeeeme, I'm in your faaaaace!!!!
For those who worry that I may encourage youth suicide, I mean sriously, do they really need any encouragement at this point? Be honest, it was just a matter of time. And this way, they won't spent the next ten years trying to steal your credit card or cart away your TV set to the pawn shop.