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How Much Coke Is Bad for Me?

Hey, you rapidly decaying protoplasmic sacks of calcium and shit, my name is Dr. Mona Moore. Obviously, that is not my real name, but I am a real doctor. Don’t feel bad for me, though, because it means I will always have a job, an apartment ten times bigger than yours, and the right to tell you what to do simply because I will always know better. Enjoy my column!

BOLLOCKS TO THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH - HOW MUCH COKE IS BAD FOR ME?

A dentist friend treated a woman who had done so much cocaine it had rotted a hole between her nose and mouth, as well as perforating her septum. That shits on Daniella Westbrook. This woman had a 1” by .5” wide black rancid pit on the roof of her mouth, through which her rotting nose would drip. Her mouth was her brain’s own colostomy bag.

She was in her 40s and had been using cocaine every day for 18 months, which doesn’t actually seem like long enough to have hollowed her skull. They repaired it using a chunk of her tongue, which they flapped over and sewed to her palette. She also had damage to her lateral nasal walls, which will lead to what is called saddle nose deformity. In other words, her nose will fall in on her face, that is unless she stays off the marching powder.

If this has made you delete your dealer’s number and stick your fingers up your nose to test the integrity of that delicate divider, then don’t worry, you’ll get a few warning shots before you wake up with the better part of your nasal cavity in a bloody lump on the pillow. First your nose will feel itchy, then you’ll start getting great crusty goliaths of scabs up there irresistible to pick, then recurrent nose bleeds—particularly in the morning, maybe some facial pain caused by blocked sinuses and eventually some bits begin to fall out, long before which you should have just stopped taking the shit.

Most people in London seem to take cocaine and so I guess many of you do too, and everyone asks the same question: How much do I have to take before the 30-minute rave in my heart will actually kill me?

CONTINUE

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Girl News - Girls and Being a Teenager

Who else knows every single thing about music and books and movies but also knows how to use hash oil but also houses a private, expanding and infinite constellation of feels and thinks? Nobody! Weirdly, teenage girls have it the hardest: nobody likes them, because stop shotgunning one another with loud inconsequentials on the subway, OK? And because they are messy and self-serious and uncontained and are always, like, stroking their filthy accessories and iPhone charms in this grossitating way. I’m a professional girl, and when I am with two or more teenage babies I feel like they’re going to combust and just period and period and period all over me. But, but but but, they’re all anybody thinks about, looks at, looks at with their dinky in their hand, wants to be, has shit to say about. Teenage girls are as full of secrets as Gretchen Wieners’ hair but exist at the center of contemporary society, which is fucked, right?

Also, for every post-teenager girl, her teenager-self is a lodestar. The interim between adolescence and a 21st birthday, or whatever, is characterized by absorption and experience and wrongthink and total psychic, psychotic distress, true, but every year after that is just editing. Actually, yeah: Adulthood is just making a Pinterest out of what you liked when you were 15, basically. Shit, guy.

A DAILY SCHEDULE

If you are a teenage human girl, hi. I love you. The squeezes I want to give you, girl… I’d crack your bones like Nicki eats your brain, dig? Anyway, it’s Friday, and what you need to be doing is downloading Do The Right Thing, which is not specifically a Teenager Movie but that is as or more crucial an experience as any rando Selena Gomez vehicle, and then text your friends to come over way later. Then I want you to get the fuck on your bike or skateboard and side-wind somewhere to commune with your girls and just, like, rub your sweat on each other and seal joints for each other with your tongue-tips and probably go swimming naked with boys because you want to look at them but only go with boys who pretend not to look, or look with the dignity and respect of a blind elder statesman, and then way later after you’ve watched Do The Right Thing and had multiple, mental les petite morts about ice (trusssssst me) go out to the yard and sink in, watching stars or satellites or just your phone’s screen, fading in and out in the dark until morning, when you go eat some pancakes to come down a little softer. There’s other stuff, about watermelons and cooking syringes and vodka, but learning how to be bad is even funner than being it, dangerous angel. Anges dangereuses! Ooooh, that’s even better.

CHARACTER

Usually my, like, advice-manifesto is to emulate the behavioral patterns of rich old white men. Like this:“When you get old and confident it’s so great because you do whatever the shit you want, like rich old white men. Seriously? Let rich old white men be your Spirit Animals when it comes to pursuing only and all of what amuses you.” Maybe that’s too triple-black-diamond for the moment? Look, I like every new year that I am because “more” is a better birthday present than a telescope and water skis (that is a reference to the 1980s, but I’m not sure why?), AND if you’re a certain/the right kind of person your eventual oldening will mostly be an opportunity for better material items and (the price you pay is sometimes sobbing in parking lots, and you have to try harder at having friends, but otherwise it’s cool), rendering teenager-ness a period only distinct because of how you remember exactly where and how that dude rubbed your pussy-area outside of your jeans because something about how your hormones operate makes any and all sexual encounters imprint on your memory, forever and ever and ever, with total recall whenever you close your porcelain doll-eyes. Anyway, that feeling of tilting your face out the window of a car on a 6 AM hot-white highway isn’t about “16,” it’s about “choices.”

BODIES

It’s not how skinny you are that makes grownup women want to be you (after all, the skinniest skinnies are born-again Orange County fortysomething moms of ten who have actually but secretly accepted Lululemon as their lord and savior); it’s how much you don’t know what you look like.

CONTINUE

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Following from the Shit Pro Skaters Say video they produced, Crailtap have made a Shit Skateboard Photographers Say featuring Michael Burnett. "Shall we go long? Shall we go fish?" Watch below!


www.crailtap.com

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New Stranger!

It’s a new year, and we’re happy to bring you the newest member of the strange.rs family - Justin Vogel.

Born and raised in Hells’ Kitchen, NYC, Justin’s street work is at once classic and contemporary, and his strange.rs portfolio is a perfect example of that. This interview is a good starting point to understanding the mind of our newest, and perhaps strangest, recruit.

“I like all types of people. I like the “haves”, and the “Have-nots”. Anybody interesting, anybody with style. I like the people who walk around with a big FUCK YOU on their faces. I like the people who walk around with their hearts on their sleeves. I guess you could say characters or whatever, but I kinda hate that term. I shoot the same Streets day after day, year after year, and I shoot the people who I share those streets with. The people’s style’s change, but the Street stays the same. They clean shit up, raise the rents etc. it doesn’t change things. Back in the eighties this world down here was an immense shit hole. Now it is super fancy. 10 years from now it will be a shit hole again. Part of me cant wait.”

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Krooked Montage + Mike Anderson • 411

“Different styles. It’s like Picasso vs Gonz. Different shit, but both sick.”

P.S. What happened to Luke Croker and Andrew Pearl?

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oddfuture:

FUCKING FINALLY!!!!! Mellowhype Releases The Visuals For ‘64’ From The Re-Release of BLACKENEDWHITE. (Directed by Matt Alonzo) The Album Comes Out July 12th With A Couple New Songs And Some Other New Shit. Pre Order Here.

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