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black label society, jack straw., nate, niggaz, epidemiology, graf, dean parisot, r.d. reid, networking, scott macdonald, david bluestein, rap music, by sue kolinsky, michelle burke, brand, blog, by eric gilliland, david sedaris, extremism,
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Sick Boy: What? Begbie: The cards, the last thing I told you was to mind news the cards! Sick Boy: Well, I've not brought them. Begbie: It's fucking boring after a while without the cards. Sick Boy: I'm sorry. Begbie: Bit fucking late, like. Sick Boy: Why didn't *you* bring them? Begbie: 'CAUSE I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO BRING news THEM, YOU DOSS CUNT! Sick Boy: ...Christ. Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the post. That's for sure. I'm in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired news to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea. Pain and craving. A need like nothing else I've ever known will soon take hold of me. It's on its way. Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Swanney taught us to adore and respect the national health service. For it was the source of much of our gear. We stole drugs. We stole prescriptions or bought them, sold them, swapped them, forged them, photocopied them. Or traded drugs with cancer victims, alcoholics, old-age pensioners, AIDS patients, epileptics, and bored housewives.
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