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A-Clockwork
I'm sober for two years, stopped my drugs, settled down with my wife and kids, and then this happens! Rugrat gets busted down in Miami, and guess who happens to be with him? Saurel! That's right, out of all the Swiss bankers in Miami, it had to be him! Even more fucked, is that he got busted for shit that had nothing to do with me. It had nothing to fucking do with me! Some stuff about running drugs with Rocky Aoki, you know, the founder of Benihana? Benihana... Beni-fucking-hana? BENI-FUCKING-HANA? WHY? WHY, GOD? Why would You be so cruel as to use the king of Japanese restaurants to take me down?
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A-Clockwork
The real question is this: was all this legal? Absolutely fucking not. But we were making more money than we knew what do with.
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A-Clockwork
See those little black boxes? They're called telephones. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret about these telephones. They're not gonna dial themselves. Okay? Without you, they're just worthless hunks of plastic. Like a loaded M16 without a trained marine to pull the trigger.
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A-Clockwork
You wanna know what money sounds like? Go to a trading floor on wall street. Fuck this, shit that. Cunt, cock, asshole. I couldn't believe how these guys talked to each other! I was hooked in seconds. It was like mainlining adrenelin.
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A-Clockwork
Even though I own 85% of Steve Cocksucking Motherfucking Madden Shoes, the shares were in his fucking name!
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A-Clockwork
I'm not ashamed to admit it: my first time in prison, I was terrified. For a moment, I had forgotten I lived in a world where everything was for sale. Wouldn't you like to know how to sell it?
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A-Clockwork
The world of investing can be a jungle. Bulls. Bears. Danger at every turn. That's why we at Stratton Oakmont pride ourselves on being the best. Trained professionals to guide you through the financial wilderness. Stratton Oakmont. Stability. Integrity. Pride.
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A-Clockwork
So you listen to me and you listen well. Are you behind on you credit card bills? Good, pick up the phone and start dialing! Is your landlord ready to evict you? Good! Pick up the phone and start dialing! Does your girlfriend think you're fucking worthless loser? Good! Pick up the phone and start dialing! I want you to deal with your problems by becoming rich!
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A-Clockwork
Donnie and I were going out on our own. And the first thing we needed was brokers. Guys with Sales experience. So I recruited some of my home town boys. Sea Otter, who sold meat and weed. Chester, who sold tires and weed. And Robbie, who sold anything he can get his hands on, mostly Weed. This is Brad, and Brad is the guy i really wanted. But he didn't go along with us. He was making so much money selling Quaaludes that he become the Quaalude King of Bayside.
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A-Clockwork
Oh my God! You had to deal with the Golf Course people too! What a greek tragedy! Honey oh my God!, you probably had to pay them in cash with your hands! What a fucking burden, and actually had to do some work besides swiping my fucking credit card all day? Huh? Cause I can't keep track of your professions honey! Last month you were a wine connoisseur, and now you're an aspiring landscape architect, Isn't that right?
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A-Clockwork
On a daily basis I consume enough drugs to sedate Manhattan, Long Island, and Queens for a month. I take Quaaludes 10-15 times a day for my "back pain", Adderall to stay focused, Xanax to take the edge off, pot to mellow me out, cocaine to wake me back up again, and morphine... Well, because it's awesome.
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A-Clockwork
Let me tell you something. There's no nobility in poverty. I've been a poor man, and I've been a rich man. And I choose rich every fucking time.
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A-Clockwork
The decision to flee came suddenly. Or maybe not. Maybe I had planned it all along, subconsciously waiting for the right moment. The bill was a factor, I think because I had no money to pay for it. Our room service tabs had been running somewhere between 29 and 36 dollars per hour for 48 consecutive hours. Incredible. How could it happen? But by the time I asked this question, there was no one around to answer it. That rotten attorney of mine, Dr. Gonzo, was gone. He must have sensed trouble.
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A-Clockwork
You people just don't understand! This car is property of the World Bank, that money goes to Italy!
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A-Clockwork
The ether was wearing off. The acid was long gone. But the mescaline was running strong. Good mescaline comes on slow. The first hour is all waiting. Then about halfway through the second hour, you start cursing the creep who burned you because nothing's happening. And then - ZANG!
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A-Clockwork
Eat some reds and try to calm down. Smoke some grass, shoot some fucking smack! Shit man, do whatever you gotta do.
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A-Clockwork
My attorney had never been able to accept the notion, often espoused by former drug abusers, that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them, and neither have I for that matter.
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A-Clockwork
I'm a relatively respectable citizen. Multiple felon perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.
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A-Clockwork
That'll blast you right through the wall. You'll be stone dead in ten seconds. Shit, they'll make me explain things!
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A-Clockwork
Yeah, I know. I'm guilty. I understand that. I knew it was a crime, and I did it anyways. Shit, why argue? I'm a fucking criminal, look at me.
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A-Clockwork
What the fuck? That's fucking machine guns, man, they're firing at us! Machine guns! It's a goddamn war zone, man! Get us out of here, quick! Quick, man! Quick, we're going to be killed, for fuck's sake! Oh no, oh God oh God oh God...
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A-Clockwork
Who are these people? These faces? Where did they come from? They look like caricatures of used car dealers from Dallas, and sweet Jesus, there are a hell of a lot of them at 4:30 on a Sunday morning. Still humping the American dream.
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A-Clockwork
Our vibrations were getting nasty. But why? Was there no communication in this car? Had we deteriorated to the level of dumb beasts?
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A-Clockwork
Panic. It crept up my spine like first rising vibes of an acid frenzy. All these horrible realities began to dawn on me. There I was. Alone in Las Vegas, completely twisted on drugs, no cash, no story for the magazine, and on top of everything else, a gigantic god damned hotel bill to deal with. How would Horatio Alger handle this situation? Stay calm. Stay calm.
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A-Clockwork
There's one thing you should probably understand... *Can you hear me?* Good. I want you to have all the background. This is a very ominous assignment, with overtones of extreme personal danger. I'm a Doctor of Journalism! This is important, goddammit! This is a fucking true story!
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A-Clockwork
If the pigs were gathering in Vegas, I felt the drug culture should be represented as well. And there was a certain bent appeal in the notion of running a savage burn on one Las Vegas hotel, and then just wheeling across town and checking into another. Me and a thousand ranking cops from all over America. Why not? Move confidently into their midst.
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A-Clockwork
In some circles, the Mint 400 is a far far better thing than the Superbowl, the Kentucky Derby, and the lower Oakland roller derby finals all rolled into one. This race attracts a very special breed.
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A-Clockwork
[passing the real Hunter S. Thompson as an extra at the Jefferson Airplane party] There I was... Mother of God, there I am!
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A-Clockwork
Those of us that had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts, we wanted strong drink. We were, after all, the absolute cream of the national sporting press.
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A-Clockwork
All energy flows according to the whims of the Great Magnet. What a fool I was to defy him.
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A-Clockwork
Now this was a superior machine. Ten grand worth of gimmicks and high-priced special effects. The rear windows lit up with a touch like frogs in a dynamite pond. The dashboard was full of esoteric lights and dials and meters that I would never understand.
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A-Clockwork
Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Vegas. Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.
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A-Clockwork
The store was closed, but the salesman said he could wait if we hurry. But we were delayed en route when a stingray in front of us killed a pedestrian.
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A-Clockwork
What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole lifestyle that he helped create. A generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old mystic fallacy of the acid culture: the desperate assumption that somebody, or at least some force, was tending the light at the end of the tunnel. There was only one road back to L.A. - U.S. Interstate 15. Just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo. Then onto the Hollywood Freeway, and straight on into frantic oblivion. Safety. Obscurity. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.
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A-Clockwork
That bastard isn't gonna get away with this. I mean, what is going on in this country when a scumsucker like that can get away with sandbagging a doctor of journalism? Can you tell me that?
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A-Clockwork
What was I doing here? What was the meaning of this trip? Was I just roaming around in a drug frenzy of some kind? Or had I really come out here to Las Vegas to work on a story? Who are these people, these faces? Where do they come from? They look like caricatures of used car dealers from Dallas, and sweet Jesus, there were a hell of a lot of them at 4:30 on a Sunday morning, still humping the American dream, that vision of the big winner somehow emerging from the last minute pre-dawn chaos of a stale Vegas casino.
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A-Clockwork
Know your dope fiend. You will not be able to see his eyes because of tea shades, but his knuckles will be white from inner tension and his pants will be crusted with semen from constantly jacking off when he can't find a rape victim.
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A-Clockwork
There was only one road back to L.A. - U.S. Interstate 15. Just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo. Then onto the Hollywood Freeway, and straight on into frantic oblivion. Safety. Obscurity. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.
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A-Clockwork
I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo, and somebody was giving booze to these goddamn things. Won't be long now before they tear us to shreds.
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A-Clockwork
Ah, devil ether. It makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel. Total loss of all basic motor skills. Blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue. The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. Which is interesting because you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control it. You approach the turnstiles and know that when you get there, you have to give the man two dollars or he won't let you inside. But when you get there, everything goes wrong. Some angry rotarian shoves you and you think "What's happening here? What's going on?" And you hear yourself mumbling...
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A-Clockwork
You scurvy shiester bastard. I'm a doctor of journalism man! Get in there and clean your shorts! Clean your shorts goddammit like a big boy!
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A-Clockwork
How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?
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A-Clockwork
When I came to, the general back-alley ambience of the suite was so rotten, so incredibly foul. How long had I been lying there? All these signs of violence. What had happened? There was evidence in this room of excessive consumption of almost every type of drug known to civilized man since 1544 AD. What kind of addict would need all these coconut husks and crushed honeydew rinds? Would the presence of junkies account for all these uneaten french fries? These puddles of glazed ketchup on the bureau? Maybe so. But then why all this booze? And these crude pornographic photos smeared with mustard that had dried to a hard yellow crust? These were not the hoofprints of your average God-fearing junky. It was too savage. Too aggressive.
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