Hello, cocaine experts? Any thoughts?
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FAVOURED DAUGHTER OF REKIETA WHO WILL ONE DAY BRING BALANCE TO ALL COCAINE: What are metabolites?
REKIETA: Metabolites are a microscopic lifeform that reside within all cocaine. You have to take a fuck load of different drugs before you can see them with the naked eye, but they're there. Mark my words, they're there alright.
That's why you have to be really careful what you cut your cocaine with, or you'll kill all of the metabolites and it won't work any more. If your cocaine breaks down like that, then you'll have to take it to a licenced cocaine dealer to get it fixed. It doesn't have to be the dealer who you bought it from, but it does need to be a licenced dealer who can order parts from the manufacturer in Columbia and who carries cocaine insurance, which means that you have to drive an extra five miles after you drop your kids off at soccer-flute practice, and then sit in a waiting room with a broken coffee machine and CNN blaring at you from a TV in the corner of the ceiling, while you stare at a Pride flag sticker that somebody attached to the window, wondering what spectrum of gender or sexuality the colour puce is supposed to represent.
FAVOURED DAUGHTER OF REKIETA: Are their metabolites inside of me?
REKIETA: Inside your cells, yes, mostly your hair cells. They've probably rewired parts of your brain, so you're like a superhero, like one of the X-Men if the X-Men did cocaine. And we are symbionts with the metabolites, like Venom, the negro Spider-Man. It's not racist for me to say that because I have a black friend who introduced the daughter of one his occasional fucks to the world of BDSM. Like how fucking awesome is that? High Five! Don't leave me hanging!
FAVOURED DAUGHTER OF REKIETA: [Reluctantly returning her father's high five] Symbionts?
REKIETA: Life forms living together for mutual advantage. Without the metabolites cocaine could not exist, and I would have no knowledge of how completely fucking awesome I am all the fucking time. Disco would have never happened and many of the top-selling rock albums of the 1980s would never have been made. I would never have had the confidence to give those two really fun Jamaican dudes carte blanche to bareback me like a catholic schoolgirl, while your dead-eyed mother sat in a chair in a dark corner of our poolside junior hotel suite, staring vacantly into the middle distance. The metabolites continually speak to me and your mother, telling us what great, totally reprehensible, I mean responsible, parents we both are. Like, do you also hear a multitude of voices, like right now?