Sorry, just always wanted to start my own thread, and figured what a better topic, right? But now I'm charged with stating something to propogate an interesting thread, so here goes ...
Let's see ... hmmm ... ah, yes, here's one for you: One time many years ago during my first addiction to Vicodin, there came that moment (as it will inevitably for ALL Vicodin users) when no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not score even a single pill, let alone a whole prescription. But addicts are desperate people, right? And desperate people do desperate things.
So I'm sitting there on the sofa, sipping a whiskey, aching like crazy, and trying to find a (preferrably fast) way out of this predicament ... when the whole time the answer lay right there at my feet. I eased down onto my knees and slipped out the (loaded) Ruger 20-caliber rifle that I always kept under the sofa. And then very methodically (and carefully) I lined up the barel perpendicular to my left calf muscle, took a chugging gulp of whiskey ... and pulled the trigger.
I actually thought I missed at first, because I felt absolutely nothing ... then gradually a dull, throbbing ache began to set in, a tiny trickle of blood appeared ... and Presto-Whamo: a two months steady supply of Vicodin at my disposal. And as for my calf: "Hey, nice, shot, man!" Missed every single major artery, vein, nerve, and even the bone. Went clean through. Hurt like the devil, though, when that ER nurse tried to run one of those betadine-soaked wooden Q-tips through it.
Nobody said addiction was pretty, man. Cheers!