It’s two days away from graduation. I still don’t know if I passed; I turned in every assignment in the last two weeks for my two (supposedly easy, but I didn’t go to class 50% of the time). So, I’m too anxious to check my grades and decide to mindlessly open my fridge. It contains: an unopened jar of mayo. ketchup, a black banana, a spoiled gallon of milk, a couple tallboys of Budweiser, and 6 bottles of GHB. I grab a bottle of G, crack it open, and carefully measure out 4.5mL with a plastic liquid syringe. Ah, technically the recommended dose is 3mL, , but I’m feeling like a lil more would put me right there.

It’s Friday night, and I sip on the bottle of G to chill out. I can’t feel my body yet Im really horny. Checkmate.

I check out Wolverine Access to see my grades. I passed, granted With a D where I never completed the final. “Self-taught Artists”it was called. I dgaf about my GPA at this point, I’m just ready to finish.. Finally, the turtle crossed the finish line. I forgot to buy a gown, so I’m uncertain whether I should walk.

Omar climbs in through the window abruptly. We do a few lines of coke. I’m watching some reality show about midget women. Being on tv turns some people retarded. Omar smokes a joint and we bullshit. I pass on the joint then pass out in the recliner.


10am. Fuck if, I’ll just go for a g-walk. GHB is the date-rape drug. Im reluctant to give it to anyone else, but date-raping myself is the shit. Im skipping the graduation ceremony, and I watch of young adults in gowns and their parents, dislocated yet proud. I wish I was like one of them, but I recognize I’m a beast of another kind.

I went out with my parents on Sunday. It turns into a bar crawl with my ma frowning slightly and wanting to join at the same time. My dad says,” I owe you that bottle of whiskey. I never did think you’d finish.”

” what!?”, I asked confused.

“Yeah, we bet on it a year ago. I gotchu on the Johnny Walker Blue. Or maybe some other $500 bottle.”

I feel proud of myself. People thought I was crazy, and I am in a way. Still, no one’s truly got it better than me: I showed my parents around town. I tell funny and lurid stories. My ma didn’t think so: she said I should pray more. I guess I should. That was the last time I saw both my parents happy.

I’m still waiting for that bottle of whiskey.

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