I only have a few vices, none of which are entirely self-destructive. When I’m nervous I start scratching my left arm a lot. If I’m very hungry I tend to yawn like I’m tired, and if I’m... um... antsy, I think about sex a lot more than usual. If I’m bored, I run through a game of Madden (this year’s version sucks!). When I’m angry, I tend to punch walls and put my fist through coffee tables and such. Ask my old job about that one.

I enjoy some of the same libations as everyone else also, especially when I don’t necessarily have to pay for it. Doing what I do, I’ve gotten my fair share of free weed brownies and bum liqueurs, or, as I used to call it back when I was struggling to find a job after college, breakfast. Most of the time, I could do without the alcohol, though. I don’t know why people push Nuvo like it’s the greatest drink of all time (OF ALL TIME!), when the shit looks and tastes like carbonated Pepto Bismol and is as cheaply produced and wreaks as much havoc on your insides as the pink stuff.

Blame or credit my upbringing, but my debauched decadence would only stop at, at most, alcohol and weed. Not to say that I haven’t thought about trying other drugs, though. I mean, ecstasy sounds like it’d be one crazy ass trip, and sipping some lean could prove for some interesting conversation, but I’d be too scared to actually try the stuff without fear of destroying my body from the side effects. And if I were to “upgrade” to another drug it surely would not be cocaine, much less crack, as I was taught by some of the greatest poet laureates in history, Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston, that it was very unscrupulous to abuse it.

Rappers talk about selling crack as if they were pushing off dollar waters during the Puerto Rican Day Parade, which, as you know, I’m perfectly content with so long as the resulting music is listenable. Never did I think I would never see the day when artists would start essentially freebasing in the public eye, essentially violating rule number four from Biggie’s “Ten Crack Commandments,” as if weed and alcohol wasn’t doing enough for them. Even worse so, those who are doing it (or get caught doing it) are seemingly nonchalant about getting caught doing the stuff, thanks to their stature in society allowing them to get away with it.

A quote from Wale’s BFF KiD CuDi:

“I started doing cocaine to get through interviews, 'cause people wanted to know a lot about my personal life and I wasn't prepared for a 60 Minutes interview every time. Doing bumps I was able to get through the day, but then I would smoke weed to calm me down—it was the only way I could get through the day without people noticing I was doing it.

“...Just for the record, it bugged me out that people said it was liquid cocaine. No, I'm just fucking rich, and my blow comes in a jar.”

Well, damn.

Add to the mix of Lindsay Lohan constantly relapsing, Paris Hilton and Bruno Mars getting caught and Vincent Chase devolving from a promising actor on the rise to a out-of-control basehead during this past season of Entourage (mind you, the show is supposed to be “loosely based on Marky Mark’s experiences in Hollywood,” so there’s some validity to that storyline), and one has to wonder how prevalent cocaine abuse actually is within the so-called “celebrity community.” Yet when they get caught, which is a lot, the law essentially gives them a dick slap to the face.

Maybe I need to be rich. Not so that I’ll do cocaine, but for the liberty of getting away with damn near murder.

If you told me that a rapper actually did what they rapped about a few years ago, I’d have probably laughed in your face because I wouldn’t have believed it. Now that cocaine usage is afoot like this was the Studio 54, discothèque era, I’d shake my head in disgust. Yet when nobody’s getting long jail terms because of who they are, it’s only a matter of time that the shit will seep into the broker civilizations and fuck shit up even worse for us.