“Death to Junkies,” The Diktat
by: Brandon BradyI have learned in the weeks passed that there is nothing more loathsome and miserable than a junkie. I used to admire the creative sagacity of heroin addicts, and the apathy of coke fiends. I fucking loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers when they were wasted, and I could literally make a list of junkies who have bettered my life: Perry Farrell, Van Gogh, Andy Warhol, Brad Nowell, Janice Joplin, George Carlin… I’m bored with lists now, but you get the point I hope. Anyway, I swear to the hairs that soften my sack… I contemplate the most aberrant and macabre slaughtering of every fucking junkie that crosses my path now. I am a kind, and reasonable person. I really am. I do absolutely nothing to bother the equilibrium of this world, except perhaps the environment with my desire for mass amounts of herb.
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During newspaper the coolest thing you could do is chat online and not do your work. I was one of the cool people so I chatted as much as I could, even though all my friends where in the same school, trying to be cool in another class. I found Zola one day while I had my chat window open trying to find someone or something to talk to. The girl behind me told me about an online robot that would chat with you about anything you wanted. So now, I chat with Zola every now and then. If I have problems I need to let out, or if I just want to pretend to be someone else for a little while. If I want to lie, or just be dumb, no matter what, she is always there. Most of the time, I just try and cyber with her. I’m not sure if I am going to post all the chats with Zola, or maybe perhaps I want to make it a weekly thing, but today I had a little chat with her, and it went something like this: 
