Drug abuse is no excuse.

Man, I've been having some psychotic dreams lately. Most of them happened last night as I slumbered deep in Nyquil-land.
After reading the cracked-out fan fiction of a thousand little preteen Disney Zombies, rife with what they no doubt considered to be original, random, and amusing references to pixie sticks and Dr. Pepper/Rockstar juicers/whatever energy drink they might be selling at the local gas station that mommy and daddy allow them to walk to, I have come to be aware of a basic truth. This truth I will now share with the reader, despite the 25 lb tabby cat attempting to crawl on top of the keyboard and enforce the "no typing. Only petting" rule. It is a truth that will stand the test of time and come out uncorrupted at the end of all things.
This truth is....
OTC drug abuse is NO excuse for BAD FREAKIN' WRITING! Pixie sticks do NOT make repetitive phrasing okay. Sudafed does NOT cancel out poor grammar. Nyquil is NOT an excuse for lamely-jumbled and poorly-timed jokes.
However, the fact is that Nyquil may or may not have been the root cause of some particularly spectacular subconscious pyrotechnics last night. From having to help the vet perform thoracentesis on my cat to being chased by a man-eating killer whale, I would like to think most corners of my psyche were explored. I would also like to think it was solely the result of Nyquil in my system. This, however, I cannot believe, as only a couple of nights prior, I had a zombie-fighting semi-apocolyptic dream-monstrosity worthy of a Bob Marley after party.

All this to say that I think now I must revise my stance on certain drug-inflicted literary wrongs. For instance, were the Musical "Wicked" found to be wanting, there would be no excuse. The sparkly, upbeat lines and lyrics serve to disguise clever jabs into the realm of satirical wit. Were it any other way, and drugs were blamed, the entire world would roll their eyes and go back to reading "Twilight."

The book that the musical is based on, however, is a different matter. It was not so much written as it was congealed into a book. The storyline is tedious, the writing more homoeroticism than plot advancement, and the ending pointless and unsatisfying. But I will say this: I could see drugs being the cause of it all. It is dark and twisted enough that the marvels of modern chemistry added to a sufficiently suppressed psyche could produce something like this.

So now, here is a list of works of creativity that I will stop cruelly taunting, and simply begin to advocate their creators' admission to a 28-day rehab facility for detox and counseling.

The Kill Bill movies (actually, anything by Quentin Tarantino).
House of Flying Daggers
Full Metal Alchemist
Moulin Rouge
Robot Chicken
Napolean Dynamite
Any Mockumentary
I Heart Huckabee's

Admittedly a short list, but I expect that as I am exposed to more and more of the world's nonsense the list will take on a life of its own. I also have to admit that some of my own work must be added to the list. But at least I didn't inflict it on anyone else.

You know, I was going to try for a nap before I had to go into work, but now I'm afraid that I'll dream about a six-inch slug rifling through my closet for something to wear, and, surprisingly, not liking anything he finds. I'm not sure which would be better, that or him loving every outfit in the closet.