SMACK AS CATCH CAN: The Shape of Dope Today

SMACK AS CATCH CAN: The Shape of Dope Today

An Exclusive CREEM Report Edited by Lester Bongs

Phil is a 32 year old physician. The $50,000-plus he pulls down yearly has enabled him to install his wife and two kids in a $35,000, home in a plush suburb, with two cars worth a total of 15 Gs. He winters in Florida, visits his Northern cottages in the summer, and spends $4,000 a year on dope; at times he has spent as much as $700 in one week on marijuana, which he splits with friends. He also spends a few hundred bucks a year on acid, and you might call him a prototype of the new affluent druggie, who never touches hard drugs (handling even cocaine gingerly and on rare occasion), but considers himself a connoisseur of high quality speed, hash, acid, etc.

Rotor, 18, is a typically middle class Jewish kid: chunky, cowlick, not the brightest. His parents make 30-40 Gs a year, have an air-conditioned suburban home and belong to the country club. Rotor and his teenage partner deal dope together, in a sort of Damon Runyan comedy which nets each of them an extra $2500 a year in pocket money. They use their reefer earnings to treat their friends to Saturdays at amusement parks, or Rotor will take his latest coin stash and buy a run-down car which he can’t afford to fix up and will drive it into the ground. The parents never question where the extra money comes from, and since records on these kind of financial transactions are considered a bust, Rotor and his colleague try to keep all their books in their heads. Unfortunately, staying stoned, they always end up losing money: “We’re supposed to have $62, we only got eleven. Oh what the fuck, it’s really good weed.” So they get high and forget about it.

The drug culture is still around; in fact it’s so far permeated this society as to not be an “other” culture at all any more. At the same time, drug users have become more “together,” on a certain level, and more indiscriminate. These are real antebellum days in druggie America. Psychedelia faded as a mass obsession, downs were reclassified by the government and in large measure dried up a little over a year ago, even the smack epidemic seems to have peaked. So there really isn’t a fave rave street drug of choice anymore — it’s mostly catch as catch can these days.

Essentially the drug picture is changing from a fad situation — LSD, Quaaludes — to people doing whatever they can get their hands on, whether it’s from the street, the corner drugstore counter or Mommy’s medicine cabinet. And, almost paradoxically, as these citizens smear their psyches with an increasing range of chemical incongruities, they seem to be becoming “better” drug users in the sense that they’re not turning up in the emergency wards as often, not freaking out or ODing as much. No, they sit at home and dose themselves with whatever’s handy, and wait for the sun to set. A little too much of this, a bit of that to set you right. Being a professional degenerate has become so commonplace it’s lost all its charisma.

A friend, on the phone the other day, made the common remark that she was bored with the existing pharmacopea, and wished somebody would invent a new drug “that could make you happy.” What I didn’t say to her, because it would have sounded patronizing, is that there isn’t any drug that can make you “happy.” Drugs can provide excitation or relief, and the one solid trend running through the tangle of drug consumption patterns of the past few years is that people are increasingly turning from excitants to anything that provides relief. Whether it’s relief from national doldrums related to Nixon and other banalities, as certain crusading elements would have you believe, or from the cumulative residues and halflife of all the excitants consumed in the last half of the Sixties, doesn’t really matter much. What does matter is that people should know what they’re putting inside themselves, and they often don’t. This article, then, is an informal guide, by no means ifttended as definitive, to some of the predominant potions the folks at large are inflicting on their cells these days.

–L.B.

WHAT TO READ

The Physician’s Desk Reference, pr PDR as it’s known to doctors and amateur pharmacologic researchers, is the latest underground best seller. It’s published by Medical Economics, Inc. of Oradell, N.J., and has been used by physicians for years in prescribing medication for their patients, but only recently by the new breed of laymen who have some deep inner compulsion to consider themselves drug experts. So here you got umpteen hundred pages of listings of the pharmacological properties as well as contraindications and toxicities (i.e., how they can fuck you up) of all drugs currently marketed by the big pharmaceutical

firms like Rorer and Smith, Klein and French, as well as pretty pictures that you can moon over of each and every pill yob ever dropped by script. It’s all a lot of fun, even if the medical tech talk does get a bit thick at times: who would have thought, for instance, that a simple Quaalude could not only get you stoned but give you emesis, exanthema and transient pat esthesia (the latter enticingly translated as “pins and needles”)? They don’t sell this fun tome to the public, but you can generally find a (somewhat out of date) copy in used book stores, where it’s going like nothing since sex was dirty and drugs was aspirin.

PSYCHEDELICS: A Matter of Distrust

Nothing’s easier than taking acid. Not only is it making a sort of minor comeback right now in terms of popularity, but most all psychedelics you buy in the street - whether they call ‘em “mescaline,” “psilocybin,” etc. — are about 70% LSD. Or, even more deliriously, a mixture of LSD and PCP, the wonderful monkey tranquilizer more often vended as “THC,” here sold under such colorful and nonspecific monikers as Purple Haze, Pink Mesc, etc. Like yourreporter connects with his biker friend, who hands him a weird looking pill and says it’s a “Black Coffin” or some such.

“What’s that?” inquires your eagerly trepid correspondent, desirous of reining in some semblance of cerebrocellular balance. “Just take it,” hooraws the hog-rider.

And that’s what they always say. Either that or, “Oh, it’s — -——-” (fill in your fave poison). In any case, here’s the lowdown: they lie nine times out of ten unless they say either acid or animal tranquilizers. PharmChem Laboratories of Palo Alto, Calif., who do the most thorough and discreet public service dope analysis in America, revealed way back in ‘72 that real mescaline and psilocybin were practically unobtainable anywhere in these states.

This, of course, isn’t going to help the people who turned to street “mescaline” etc. because acid had been giving them too many bummers, but maybe they’d be better off on beer anyway.

The reason you gotta take acid if you’re still gonna insist on pretending to expand your mind is that acid and PCP are chintz cheap to

manufacture, and real mescaline, psilocybin and THC are so expensive that your average bathtub chemist is certainly not going to lose money ar.d waste time just so you can take what you think you’re taking, if you get my psychedelic drift.

The answer, of course, is don’t trust anybody. So you buy from your friends, who may even have sampled their wares before bringing them round your door, so what. The cat they bought the stuff from lied to them, and the guy he bought it from most likely lied to him, straight on up to the chemists and syndicators/backbiters at the top who couldn’t care less about your welfare. They just, you should excuse the expression, crank this stuff out so sloppily that any given batch of pills may very well be all alike looking and all entirely different in content and effects. The only bright spot in this

Got any downs? Wanna tear out your spine and throw it at somebody? Stop, you’re convulsing me.

dismal picture is that there really doesn’t seem to be much strychnine in the acid going around anymore. People get on big bummers, blame it on the strychnine. So hand this stuff down to the PharmChem folks and they come back with the solid info that you’re being poisoned not by strychnine but because the asshole that’s brewing this garbage up for you doesn’t know or care what he’s doing. Neither do you, most likely, if you’re still taking it, because the plain up to date facts are that when it comes to psychedelics, there’s more shit on the street than ever, but the quality has kept on dropping, and the reliability of production is at an all-time low.

THC: N’Existe Pas

Great stuff, this THC. Of course, it doesn’t exist, but that’s beside the point. You take THC because some reliably hip source, himself a smorgasbrain, told you that it’s really the incredible technological refinement of synthetic marijuana.

That facts are that genuine THC is even more expensive and difficult to manufacture than real mescaline and psilocybin, so what you got in your gut is PCP a/k/a Sernyl a/k/a “Peace” (archaic). PCP has been called a hog tranquilizer before, but that’s giving it too much charisma — what it is is a veterinary tranquilizer primarily used on elephants and oons. Low doses of this elixer good for what ails beast can lead to image disturbances, numbness of limbs; high dosages can take you all the way to respiratory depressions, nodout, probably death if you combine it with a few slugs of juice. Since it’s only begun to occur to humans to put this sort of thing inside themselves in very recent years, it is still not known by the diligent researchers of the medical fraternity what long term PCP abuse can do to you. Nevertheless, the young people of our fair land are gobbling this stuff so much that as of this writing it might come the closest to being the American underbelly’s actual Drug of Choice. I’m told by the people down at Shelter House, one of the local crisis centers, that the highschoolers constituting the mainstay of PCP’s fandom consider drugs like mescaline and acid to be a bit “classier,” more of an elitist trip than a getdown stoned groove. So maybe that’s why some of the chemists servicing ‘em are adding acid to this swill and marketing it as whatever sounds right. This is just the beginning of the kind of thing that drives the docs down at the emergency receiving wards prematurely gray, as they try to figure out what to do with a kid carted in who washed down a handfull of indeterminate pills with a bottle of Jug wine. You old-line psychedeliastes out there might not like to admit it, but there are actually (perhaps a preponderance of) people around who think that LSD-25 and monkey tranks are useful in identical ways. And maybe they’re right.

MARIJUANA: Paranoia’s All in Your Head

Grass is probably one of the most boring subjects in the world at this point, having been exhaustively covered everywhere from Fitzhugh Ludlow to the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. Attendant boredom, of course, doesn’t stop the millions of indulgers from enjoying it, but perhaps the most interesting thing about grass at this point is how many people there are around who absolutely can’t stand it. It always had a prepensity to make you self-conscious and/or paranoid, and that capacity seems to have increased in large segments of the population these last years. Whether this is due to all the other drugs they’ve consumed or a general change in the weather is open to question, but one thing remains certain: of all the drugs slavered over here, grass may well be the most insidious because it breeds the most pernicious form of mindless complacency known to man. Not in everybody, mind you, but then not all Quaalude users bounce off walls, either. For further research into this symptom of the decline of the West, go to either Mill Valley or Ann Arbor. Too much of anything green is poison.

ALCOHOL: Fists Come Full Circle

Not to belabor an equally overdone subject, but have you noticed how drunk everybody’s gotten lately? All of yesterday’s dopesters are

out guzzling their livers away, and right now the expert^ reckon that alcohol may be the number one destructive drug among the “youth culture,” even worse than heroin or downs. Your reporter was quite impressed to learn, whilst bragging to his doctor about all the drug abuse he’d enjoyed as a teenager, that he would probably be in much worse shape today if he’d been drinking all that time instead of doing speed and downs and cough syrup etc. Seems there are certain cells in a young sprout that can withstand and rebuild in the wake of all manner of chemical assaults, but crumble before the onslaughts of a few years’ juicing. Bear that in mind the next time you puritanical boozehounds snickeringly think to turn the

Next year the drunks will probably be wearing flowers in their hair.

tables on your druggie friends who used to put you down till hootch became the latest rage: nothing is any more wholesome than any other slime. And speaking of rage, ain’t it entertaining the way the concert hall scene has changed in the last year? We observed, almost in the course of a single week, as the gov shut off the Quaalude vectors, giant auditoriums transformed as if by pixie dust from repositories for drooling slugs into battle plains where drunked-up punks trimmed the half-time hohums with good healthy punchouts. At one Johnny Winter concert we saw one drunk punching at an usher, and the. usher was punching him back. All the cosmoid blowhards

were right: it really is just one big circle, and history is bound to repeat itself. Next year the drunks will probably be wearing flowers in their hair.

DOWNS: Twilight of the Dogz

The Golden Age of the Mighty Lude has passed, ever since Unca Sammy reclassified it, thus making it harder for physicians to dispense and you to get. But it’s still here in one form or another. For instance, we’ve heard of people paying $5.00 apiece for Rorer 714s in high school parking lots, and another guy who paid three hundred bucks just to get a refillable script for ludes. Then there are the other more intimate ways in which the big Q has hung on, like the way it collects in your nervous system so many of us are still walking around seething with that hostility that lies so very latent in this drug, wishing we could tear out our spines and throw them at somebody. There’s as much hatred to be unearthed in Quaaludes as ever was in speed, and another sidelight is the shakes that seem to be a part and parcel of the now rare treat of two or three ludes. In OD, these little tremors can turn to convulsions, accompanied by vomiting, delirium, coma and death.

But whether it’s ludes or reds, Tuinal or “azzes” (remember a'zzes?), the pharmaceutical shutoff may be only a slight pit stop in the downer freak’s road to paradise. Because bathtub Quaaludes have already begun appearing, which annoys the doctors who have to treat the people who take too many of ‘em somewhat, because more of these ODs are gonna die. It seems that overdose on homemade downs and the garbage they’re mixed with in the cap or tab closely resembles several other medical emergencies, including lead poisoning of the brain and insecticide poisoning. The docs won’t be able to diagnose in time to save the patient’s life. Meanwhile, the rest of the Quaalude addicts in the street will stay addicted. Physically.

VALIUM: Pud of Choice

Ah, yes. Magic Valium, beloved of professional people from all walks of life. There are other tranquilizers, but Valium (actually a muscle relaxant) is the one the masses have come to know and love.

I quote from the Physician’s Desk Reference, 1973 edition: “Valium ... is useful in the symptomatic relief of tension and anxiety states resulting from stressful circumstances. .. It is useful in psychoneurotic states manifested by tension, anxiety, apprehension, fatigue, depressive symptoms or agitation.”

In other words, boys, this is the panacea of the hour. Your boss yells at you, pop a Valium; he probably already downed one because he’s getting nervous tics at the edges of his eyelids from bawling you out so much. If you gotta date with somebody new and feel a little nervous, take the Val route to savoir faire. Just plain can’t stand yourself — crunch up a mouthful of these babies and you won’t achieve total oblivion but somehow neither it nor anything else will matter quite so much.

Let’s face it, Valium is a real pud of a drug.

And by the way, while you’re having the blase time of your life, bear in mind that just like with ludes or barbs, Valium and booze together is a potentially lethal combination. Also, this self-effacing little cure-all is both physically and psychologically addictive. A friend of ours had a swell time when, abruptly withdrawn from his Valium script after moving to New York City he skittered into vomit-riddled shuddering convulsions that lasted for a day or two. His comrades drove him out to the woods, where they let him crawl around on the ground with a bottle of wine in one hand, till he’d worked out enough of his spasms to go home and be wretched without annoying anybody.

The Valium dilettantes (for that is all they are, in authentic degenerates’ terms) should also be aware that it is possible to OD on pure Valium itself. You will know you have reached this point when your bland indifference turns to a queasy, rubberized sensation of utter weakness not unlike the horrors of Thorazine.

SPEED: Burn Your Bonzos

You can still get speed on script, but things have tightened up considerably. It’s still as destructive as it ever was, meaning it’s the quickest burnout around, but what you’ll mostly find in the street from coast to coast arev those little tabs called white crosses, which are absolute garbage. You have to take a million of

them to get off, when you do you’re so dazed you can’t control or direct it for the speedfreak’s usual obsessive ends, probably because the 'diluents — binding agents — used to hold the little buggers are pure mung. Of course, you might get even less lucky and end up with one of the various burns which account for about 50% of the amphetamine traffic in the street today: caffeine, ephedrine, phendimetrazine. There are caffeine pills which look exactly like Obedrin LAs and Dexedrine spansules. The great days of meth shooting are apparently gone, so the needle speedsters are turning to decongestants like Ornate and Tussate for their amphetamine-like effect, as well as Vicks Inhalants. Unfortunately, when they come down they’re so depleted that they can barely stand up for about three days after. Oh well, that’s life. Or something.

COCAINE: Cold Slab of Social Amenity

Coke has been the elitist’s drug of choice for a year or two now, which is cool except for the fact that only about half the cocaine on the street today is pure. Samples analyzed by PharmChem range all the way from 89% pure cocaine down to 3% to oh, say 96% procaine, which should be more indigenous to dentists’ offices than the mirrors of rich druggies. But then most of the people who are gonna be laying it out at parties this year aren’t rich, which means a) it’s probably not very good coke and b) they’re probably not gonna lay out enough for you to get off. It’s a goddam social amenity, and ‘tis generally considered bad form to say, an hour or so later: “Hell no, I didn’t get a buzz at all! Your coke is garbage!” If you do get off, and are rich or favored enough to keep it up, you may find yourself strung out, in which case you may well OD, in which treat you get toxic paranoid psychosis and maybe even convulsions and death. Bake your septum (cartillage between nostrils) in snow awhile and you can deviate the mother, i.e. nose rot. Oh

well, maybe you can carry spare Valiums around in it. For when you get coked out, a cold slab of season-after depression that can leave you staring into listless and amorphous desolation for months.

AMYL NITRATE: Ain’t No Nutmeg

An oldie but goodie, if you like blowing your aortas up like balloons, now making a minor league comeback. A friend reports that the gay blades cruising her boutique have been turning up lately with not cokespoons this year but little imitation poppers hanging on chains around their necks. It’s hip all right, hipper than PCP but not quite as outre as oh, say nutmeg. But it can give you a real buzz, owing to the fact that it’s a cardiac vessel dilator used on heart patients when they’re having an attack. The real getoff consists of tolerance, severe headaches, dizziness and weakness, and a large dose snapped ‘n’ snuffed suddenly sans prior exposure can equal collapse and death with symptoms similar to those associated with heart attacks. You should know that that old libertine’s tale about the aphrodesiac properties of snapping one of these little nutter butters under your nostrils at the moment of orgasm has been utterly discredited.

INHALANTS: Huff V Snuff

Here’s where we get into the realm of truly inspired abuse: toluene, benzine, gasoline, glue, lighter fluid, and aerosol sprays. None of this shit was ever remotely designed for internal human consumption, so naturally you can smithereen yourself most deftly with any one of these fumes.

You can buy pure toluene in five gallon cans, and it’s also the ingredient found in glue. It can make you lightheaded, blur your vision and slur your speech, induce hallucinations, make you forget who and where you are, cause drowsiness, coma and death. Sniff as a career and kiss off brain cells, liver, kidneys, and the blood-forming function of the bone marrow.

Same goes for freon, which is what you get in all those aerosols like Pam, a current high school favorite. The big danger here is that freon is so cold coming out of the can that it can literally freeze your throat, causing rapid and highly uncomfortable death by suffocation. It does have its drama though, like the case of the kid in San Diego who, sitting on the beach one day,'took a whiff of hairspray, snapped up and rah across the sand breaking the world’s record for the 30 yard dash, then falling dead in his tracks. TURN TO PAGE 80. Nitrous Oxide, a colorless gas with a sweet odor that’s been used for mild anesthesia and entertainment by medical students for years, makes people laugh a lot. It also depresses heart activity, increases blood vessel contractions, can make you puke, and depresses the immunizing responses of the body and bone marrow, stopping the production of white blood cells which are what keep, you from getting infected with all kinds of crap. Inhalation of 20% nitrous with oxygen is as effective as 15 mg. of morphine, and it has the same potentation for respiratory failure in combination with downs that alcohol does. There is also the possibility of doing like a guy in Toronto, who got so gassed he forgot to /take the bag off his head and died. He went but on a perfect Carpet of cosmic giggles.

WHERE TO GET BUSTED

If you must, do it in the ghetto, or at least an urban area. Reason: they got so damn many smack cases down there they generally transfer the grass busts to traffic court and slap ‘em with a fine of fifty dollars or so, and most pill cases don’t even get. that far. They’re overloaded, as opposed to the suburbs, where there’s less action, so the local authorities have more time and means to prosecute on a variety of charges. That’s right, an upper middle class white kid from suburbia stands a much greater chance of getting the book thrown at him for being nailed with acid in his pocket than a spade in the inner city. Sometimes justice

functions (or disfunctions) in strange ways.

On the other hand, most of the suburbs are so inundated with grass busts that they’ve taken a moderate approach to it almost approximitating hippie politicos’ fondest dreams. In Birmingham, Michigan, where CREEM is published, for instance, you do a mandatory five days in jail for a first shoplifting offense, but a first grass offense is either a small fine or dismissed altogether. Some things are more easily deterred by punitive extremes than others. Of course, they tend to deliver you to your arraignment in much better physical condition in the suburbs ...

WHERE TO GET IT TESTED

If you’ve got street drugs you re wary of taking because you’re not sure what they contain (which is how you should be), you can find out free by sending them to PharmChem Laboratories, 1848 Bay Road, Palo Alto, Calif. 94303. You can’t get your pills back, but you can’t get busted either, and they’re absolutely accurate. PharmChem also publishes a regular newsletter reporting on the content and quality

of street drugs from grass to Ibogaine, sent in from all over the U.S. If you’re into drugs, you should be on their mailing list.

There are also various kits marketed with which you can test drugs yourself; the best are available from Western Scientific Products, 5424 Vineland Ave., North Hollywood, Calif. 91601.

TURN TO PAGE 80.

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 45.

NITROUS OXIDE: Bite the Bag

OVER THE COUNTER: Pukadelics on Parade

If you guess that you just don’t know or you just don’t care at all, why not go real suburban sleaze and get with the myriad brands of lobe-clot available sans script in your corner drugstore? Yes, just sitting there awaiting your appraising innards are Romilar, Robitussin, Terpin Hydrate, Sominex, Marezine and a host of other cheap thrills ranging from under a dollar on up. They’ll bomb your ass, give you everything from chills to hallucinations, but just so’s you don’t miss out on the full fusillade of fun here’s what to expect:

Romilar CF, the teenage would-be junkie’s friend, runs on a potion known as Dextromethorphan Hydrobromide. Now this is a synthetic, but its effects are roughly comparable to a heavy down with a strong dose of psychedelic delirium thrown in for seasoning. In other words, you won’t know what the hell you’re doing, nor much care. Also containsechloroform for that extra dose of stumblebumism, and stumble around like a gameleg dog is what you’ll do, slouching short of nod or alternately going through entertaining muscular spasms which cause you tb twitch and bug out your eyes. Only hitch is you gotta drink a whole bottle to get there, and it tastes like diarrhea, and Dextromethorphan Hydrobromide is a strong emetic, meaning you’re quite likely to puke. Likelihood of pukage is increased with Robitussin and Terpin Hydrate, because they each contain two emetic ingredients; Your stomach can take it; just pretend it’s a blooper ball full of mercury. Oh, I also forgot to add that extensive use of the antihistamines, mostly based on belladonna, in these cough syrups can twang your nervous system into bent bicycle spokes, blur your eyes to grease, ruin your digestive tract and make you constipated all the time as well as unable to take a piss or get a hardon ... is there something I’ve left out? .

ANTIDEPRESSANTS: Two Day Crash Course

A burgeoning fad. Finding it increasingly difficult to procure ludes, yesterday’s downer freaks are turning to these medications, formerly used primarily on schizophrenics in nuthouses. Stelazirie, Thorazine, Tofranil, Elavil, Triavil, Mellaril, etc. won’t really get you that high, but they can make you mighty zoned if being unable to raise your arm is your idea of a party. They can also fuck up just about every other part of you in most of the ways possible, and our favorite story in this still limited field concerns the young citizen who swallowed a couple of Mellarils as a cure for insomnia one night. He felt a mildly unsettling tranklike buzz, but still was unable to go to sleep for three hours, so he drank a couple of beers, and finally crashed, not at all high. He woke up two days later, black of eyesocket.

PAIN PILLSjT Mild Delirium

Talwin, Percodafi, Codeine, Morphine and Paregoric pills are available and abused via prescriptiort for a wide array of ailments from headache to tonsils-out to a crushed leg. They’re all fairly punk, they can all make you mildly delirious and/or noddo (although the caffeine often added can induce paradoxical and not always comfortable speedlike effect), and they’re all physically addictive just like the big league shooting dope they’re based on.

SMACK AND NEEDLES: No Salad Days

Junkies do lack a certain joie de vivre.

Other than that, though, they’re cool. For one thing they’re predictable, as opposed to alkies, who are always going out and getting: into mischief, or downer freaks, who have a tendency to become obstreperous. Beside's, they tend to die young.

There are a few misconceptions about junk use, though. Like the notion that you can’t get addicted by snorting, or that other than withdrawal junkies suffer no physical damage a la alkies, speedfreaks, efc. The truth is-that junkies, as well as needle freaks in general, gets lots of abcesses from dirty needles. These can lead to subacute bacterial endocarditis, or bacterial vegetations on the valves of the heart / — you could raise a pot plantation on some junkies’ aortic bivalves. Heroin addicts are also more prone to TB, because it’s an opportunistic bug and they have a tendency toward nutritional deficiencies and sleeping in places like vacant lots. As far as cure, many authorities believe that methadone may well take over completely in the next few years, although whether a methadone addict represents much improvement over a garden variety junkie is open to question. Has anybody ever seen a 50 year old junkie?

These aren’t exactly salad days for the rest of the needle freaks either. You may recall .when there was all manner of shootables around, but these days needle freaks, ever ready to shoot water when all else fails, are getting as indiscriminate as everybody else. Trouble is they don’t know the difference between swallowing something and putting it in their veins. Sfo they^~ get lung problems of a distinctly pernicious nature, because of particles from all the other crap accompanying the drug getting trapped in the lungs, where they gradually wipe out the blood vessels so your breathing apparatus is severely compromised. (Condition also known as “Darvon lung.”) The next step will probably be shooting Romilar.