I'll tell you what I'm looking forward to most about becoming a complete degenerate: exposing my children to my heinous lifestyle.

By the time I even have kids, I'll be sucking down so many of those fentanyl lozenges that it'll look like I'm addicted to otter pops.

"Daddy, why aren't you wearing lipstick today?"

"I'm tapering, son.  Now help me mix this Xanax into a tequila sunrise."

Of course, I would have to be honest with my kids about it all.

[Me cutting a line of coke on the night table]

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like?"

In a way, the best part would be that I would supply my children with priceless material for their memoirs.

[Excerpt from "My Dad Made Nikki Sixx Look Like a Puss," by Omar Kitrich]

"It wasn't easy growing up with Omar as my dad.  I remember one Christmas morning when he didn't come out for hours, and finally someone went into his bedroom, and he thought he was paralyzed. Luckily it turned out that he had just done a lot of coke and his entire body was numb for two days."

"Dad had a real sense of pride.  For instance, he would never fill a prescription under a 120-count.  I remember when he would send me to the pharmacy to fill his scripts.  I had to use a paper clamp to keep them all together."

"There were a couple times I was worried for my dad's health.  One day, he filled a bathtub with several hundred bottles of cough syrup, and climbed in.  He let himself slide down until his mouth was at the waterline.  Then, he just started drinking.  After a few minutes, he asked if I would get him a turkey sandwich.  I got the sandwich.  When I got back, the level of syrup  barely covered my dad's ankles and buttocks.  He was unconscious, and his entire body was green.  His penis and testicles had actually receded into his body."

"My dad used to like to visit the hospital a couple times a week in order to get hooked up to a dilaudid IV.  For him, it was like going to the club.  He would say hello to all the doctors and nurses.  They had a special room for him in the leukemia ward where he could just plug in and kick back.  I went with him a couple times.  He would page through a magazine and glance at his watch impatiently.  Then, after a couple hours, he would unplug himself and we would go.  He would not to the doctors on his way out.  It was just like a health-club.

Sometimes he would say, ‘I had a real nice schvitz.'  Other times, he would walk out of the door unsatisfied.  ‘That dilaudid drip is for grandmothers.  Take me to the fuckin' liquor store; I'm too fucked up to drive."


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