What Your Recreational Drug Of Choice Says About You

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What Your Recreational Drug Of Choice Says About You

We all have our vices. Many of us partake in a cocktail or two (or seven), but some of us like to take things up a notch. In life, if you want the ultimate, you’ve got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. Based strictly on my own observations, and nothing else, this is what your recreational drug of choice says about you.


We’re talking about Christmas in July, hitting the slopes in August, and shredding gnar on Labor Day weekend. You probably make more money than your friends, because in addition to being a hell of a drug, cocaine is expensive. Your profession? You’re either into finance, because you have to replenish your dopamine with something artificial after you lose some poor SOB’s nest egg, oil and gas, because you’re a landman that works (used to work) 30 hours a week and are wildly overpaid, or law, because you work at a big firm and you work 80 hours a week but make 250 a year.

You probably dabbled with Adderall in college (who didn’t?), but now it’s harder to come by. Plus, you’re looking for more edge. You owe your entire social life to this drug, because after working your ass off all week (unless you’re a landman), you just don’t have energy to hit the bars.


You went all in on the Joe Rogan podcast during your commute, and now you’re experimenting with different ways to expand your horizons. You’re definitely not missing Big G when they roll through town, and you’ll save up enough PTO to take off a few days after so you can wrap what’s left of your mind around what you witnessed. You used to have major aspirations to scale the corporate ladder, but now that you’ve left your ego behind with the help of the elves you met during your first DMT experience, you’re content with just spreading love throughout the office.


You are very much the opposite of cocaine guy, but you may also be cocaine guy. Every morning you wake up, put on some slacks and a button down, or a pantsuit, and you drive your brand new Camry 35 minutes to the office. You work hard, stay late, and kiss the right asses. But all that hard work and brown nosing has you wired all day, every day. Coffee after 4 p.m.? That’s a staple. Your once pearly white incisors and canines are now stained and rotten, but you haven’t been to the dentist since 2012.

Because you’re a hardhat-wearing, lunch pail carrying, American, you deserve a natural way to wind down at night. And as you may have guessed, that natural substances is pot. Dope. Weed. Killa. Whatever. I can’t even keep up with stoner lingo, so I’m not even going to try to understand closet corporate America stoner lingo. You’re probably very quiet about being a user, because unfortunately, there’s still a stigma with weed that management just doesn’t approve of. That, and Miley Cyrus has somehow managed to make weed seem lame as all hell.

Prescription Pills

Everyone is watching you closely. You’re noticeably absent from your social scene because it’s not easy working 50 hours a week and crushing it at happy hour while you’re a complete zombie. You keep to yourself at the office because your chill level is so high it raises red flags. Is it low T? Are you just bummed out? Feeling overwhelmed? Just do what the rest of us do and drink.


Sure, you like to party as much as the next 25-year-old corporate try-hard, but you’re not some sketchy loser that’s going to snort powder up your nose. No way. You’re more of a legal methamphetamine guy, or girl. You’ve been riding the Addy roller coaster since high school, and there’s a good chance you would’ve dropped out of college and flamed out at a local community college had you not discovered this magical stimulant.

Every few months, you’re forced to burn some personal time so you can hit up your shrink and convince him that you still need 30 mg a day. Or you just make the call to that buddy that used to hook you up in college. Never mind the fact that you have multiple blood vessels bursting at any moment in your eyeballs, and your breath smells like baby poo, you need to dominate the bar scene with the youthful exuberance of a fifth-year senior. Maybe it’s becoming a problem, maybe it’s not. Either way, you’re not meeting that deadline unless you re-up.

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