Spencer Morgan's newest Profile of an Odd Man is good enough to make you throw up, because you can almost hear the crack bubbling in a fucked up corner of a too-cool subculture. Ugh. Crack.
Morgan hangs out for a bit with the "Last Crack Hipster," a 30 year-old L.E.S. graffiti writer (this piece originally said he's in the Disco Vandals crew, but that line seems to have been deleted now) who somehow got convinced crack was the last transgressive drug, after yuppies claimed coke and heroin got passé. He's convince crack's not as bad as it's made out to be; then again, he's a crackhead. Let's hope this is the last crack hipster. Jesus.
When you're smoking crack, ideally you want to keep the flame on the crack and away from the Chore Boy: You want the rock to heat up and cook down into it. It starts to melt and then it slides down and that's when you go boom and level it out so it stays right at the screen. It's right there bubbling and you're not sucking like a cigarette or a joint; you're basically like inhaling as little as you can. You just want to direct the flow into your mouth; you don't want to suck the liquid down. Once the burning crack passes through the Chore Boy, it smokes as it cools. That's the smoke that you want. Most people don't seem to get that. It looks like the crack is gone, but you can kind of see it in there, in the Chore Boy, ideally it sits there and bubbles. The brown juice that drips down and looks like a film of motor oil on the side of the glass is the crack rock's sweet nectar.
The crack hipsters obviously missed the lesson of hip hop, which is that Crack is Wack. Thank you. This is a great, stomach-churning piece of crack journalism. CRACK, UGH, god, go straight to hell, collect $200 and spend it on crack. Read it.