The night before he'd crushed up thousands

The night before he'd crushed up thousands of ecstasy tablets and put them in the sugar dispenser. As he gave people their Venti's he watched them load up on

MDMA. People felt their anxieties melt away with each sip of their Frappuccino. They laughed with euphoria and kept coming back to that Starbucks which was the "it spot" in town.

After the coal mines dried up the starbucks was the only thing left. The cost of supplying MDMA to the ass-end of the world got to be too much. The colombians weren't happy.

And as the phrase goes, it's not hard to distinguish between a Columbian with a grievance and a ray of sunshine. They were sitting on an MDMA mountain and Starbucks refused to stoc

k ecstasy-laced lattes or molly macchiatos. The company was just one step away from serving up some happy-go-lucky sunshine in a cup. If only

drugs were legal, then the company wouldn't have to establish itself underground & rename itself "Manhole." So now you know. The secret's out. You want an ecstasy coffee? Just step

to the left, then right & repeat like a drunk raver. That'll get you some quick e. Really, I don't get why Rohypnol gets a bad rap. What's so dishonest about altering your mental

Attitude when altered states are the politically correct thing to do (when the tellie conks out)? Sir John came running downstairs and carried his loaded pistol. His wife said,

"Honey, please don't run down the stai--", but it was too late. John tripped and spun down the next 50 steps like a tumbleweed. The gun went off 3 times before flying through the

open window and letting off a few more rounds whose staccato claps amounted to a noisy rendition of 'Funeral March'- a fitting sendoff to John and his wife's 3-bullet-riddled body.