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June 05, 2006

 
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Killer Drug Fodder for Hipster Humor?
FUCKED UP + FUNNY + FATAL = FENTANYL

Officials in Detroit, Philadelphia, Chicago and New Jersey say that overdose deaths from a lethal cocktail of heroin mixed with fentanyl, a painkiller 80 times stronger than morphine, are finally slowing down after a few hundred deaths although exact numbers are unavailable right now.

It’s Monday; we’re pretty beat up from the weekend.

Though good news for junkies, the real danger is just beginning at comedy clubs where stand-up comedians are killing with fentanyl jokes.

Over at Hardeehar’s in Terramonte, Ohio, Click Vikkers is onstage.

“How’s everybody doing tonight? Anyone here on fentanyl tonight?” Click asks.

A woman tries to shake her date awake. It doesn't work so she raises his hand by the cuff.

“Hey, you might be better off renting Drugstore Cowboy and drinking a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon,” he smirks to the couple, “I mean, that might kill you too, but it’s cheaper than fentanyl and you don’t have to go to the bad part of town to get it, ha, ha, ha.”

The Hardeehar crowd laughs and applauds.

“It’s the goddamndest thing,” says John Tremain, the club’s assistant manager and barback since 2006, “Weed and cocaine jokes have been a comedy staple since 1966 but that’s changing now … all of a sudden it’s fentanyl, fentanyl, fentanyl. It's edgy is my guess.”

Back onstage, Click is murdering club clientele with the lighter side of the dark painkiller.

“Hey, why does the chicken cross the road in the baddest, roughest part of town?” he asks.

“Why?” the audience asks in sloppy unison.

“To get a beakful of fentanyl … unless you’re a chicken, you wouldn’t understand,” the funnyman shrugs. The crowd howls.

No laughs from chickens, though; there aren't any there.

“But seriously, folks …” Click explains, “If I was a chicken and Colonel Sanders was chasing me with an ax in one hand and a limited-edition Mashed Potato Bowl in the other, I'd lace my feed with a pound of fentanyl and peck it like a motherfucker.” The audience is in stitches.

The pain-killing drug, manufactured by pharmaceutical companies since 1956, is now made in basement labs and used to cut heroin by dealers to increase their profit margin and to give junkies a more potent high.

“Yeah, if I’m going to spend the day sniffing or shooting a fentanyl / heroin cocktail, it’s impotent that I get real high!” Click rolls his eyes back so far in his head he can see hair growing and falls to the stage clutching his heart.

“I’m comin’ to join you, ‘Lizbeth,” he mutters using ‘junkman’ Fred Sanford’s funniest line.

With the audience in tears, Click gets up and takes a bow.

““You’ve been a kind audience and I thank you,” the comedian says sincerely.

“I’d like to leave you with a poem if I may: Roses are red, Violet is blue … quick, take Violet to an ER … she took too much fentanyl!”

The crowd gives him a standing ovation and Click Vikkers takes his killer jokes backstage where he liberally sprinkles a post-show smoked turkey sandwich with lots of fentanyl.

Ha, ha, ha, just kidding … it was fresh-ground pepper. ... (LYZAKO)


A.) I don’t think I’d like that fentanyl stuff.
B.) Fuck that. That shit is for losers.
C.) Exactly. Let’s make a pact: We will only drink alcohol and smoke crack.
A.) Done.
B.) Now you’re talking.
C.) Amen.




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