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Quotes / Hookers and Blow

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And if I joined the social whirl,
Became procurer of young girls,
Then I would have my own bordellos
My record would be number one
And I'd sell records by the ton
(All sung by many other fellows)
My name would then be Handsome Jack
And I'd sell boats of opium
Whiskey that came from Twickenham
Authentic queers
And phony virgins
Scott Walker, "Jackie"

Lawyers. You can always recognize them by the bad pockets. Lawyers always carry drugs. Ruins the line of their pants.
Spider Jerusalem, Transmetropolitan

Cocaine is God's way of telling you you make too damn much money.

I'm not addicted to cocaine, I just like the way it smells.

We are in the entertainment business and I would suggest in that era, it was literally sex, drugs and rock and roll. You could compare us to a rock and roll band in the early '80s. The performers were making exorbitant amounts of money. Not all of them took steroids. But, later, if you added prescription painkillers to the mix of sex, drugs and rock and roll, it was a deadly cocktail. For some, habits never changed. They continued with the same lifestyle. You can't do that at age 40...

Jhonen Vasquez: I needed to find an evil way to spend it so that Nickelodeon would be contributing to something unholy in the world.
Interviewer: What'd you spend it on?
Vasquez: Just whores. Whores over on Sunset Boulevard and Santa Monica. Whores and robots. Some of the whores were robots.
— On the royalties from Invader Zim

Mike: Moira McTaggart? More like Moira McTagalong.
Jay: You're just full of 'em today. You're just full of them puns.
Mike: I hope Bryan Singer was excited to be working with James McAvoy.
Jay: Why do you say that?
Mike: Well, he originally thought his name was James Mack-a-Boy. "Oh, hey, we got a lot in common."

Jay: Maybe all the money went to Carrie Fisher's coke habit.
Mike: Alleged coke habit.
Jay: It's "alleged" (by Carrie Fisher herself) that she had a coke problem from around the time of this special. Nothing's confirmed (except from Carrie Fisher herself).
Mike: She snorted more coke than Jabba ate frogs.
Rich: You think the car accident was, like, a cover? Like Mark Hamill spilled some coke on his cheek and—
Mike: He was playing 'Hide the Coke' with Carrie Fisher, and she mauled him. She won.
Rich: If you move the hair that's on his forehead, there's nose indentations.

Another quiet Thanksgiving at Woodland this year. We’ve gone low key, baby! Champagne? YOU BET! Naked Cirque de Soleil? NOT IN THE BUDGET THIS YEAR. It’ll be just me and Nicholson and 600 of our closest drug dealers. No word on if we’re re-enacting the first Thanksgiving again. We usually do it, only in the nude. It’s a great number! Nicholson really DOES give everyone smallpox at the end of it. Keeps a vial of it in his safe at home! I’m not sure that’s legal!
Robert Evans, Deadspin

"There is something more than faintly reasonable about the droves of Tories attempting to spin the news that David Cameron fucked a pig with variations of “well who hasn’t?” After all, that’s basically why the story was so viscerally enticing - the fact that nearly everybody’s reaction to the news is complete credulity. Simply put, fucking a dead pig is the sort of thing you expect someone like David Cameron to do."

"I say all this as someone who likes Manziel. I would prefer to ignore the rather obvious fact that Johnny is here for the money and the girls, and just pretend he's some magical throwback that can turn it on when the game starts, like John Belushi hitting every line in a sketch after shooting 50 speedballs. But my inner football tightass knows this isn't how it works. My inner football tightass knows that Manziel is about to get his ass kicked."
Drew Magary, "Why Your Team Sucks 2014: Cleavland Browns"

Something seems off about these pictures of Leo on Babe Island. First of all, there are less than a dozen babes in bikinis. I mean, in this picture alone, I can only count four. FOUR?!? What happened? Did the S.S. Snatch Catcher capsize on its way to St. Barts and they all had to swim to Babe Island? Are there 35 to 40 model types currently lost at sea? Should someone send out in a search and rescue helicopter?
DListed, "Leonardo DiCaprio Celebrated New Years Exactly Like How You’d Think He Would"

I have often found it true of humanity that the more powerful the kine, the more he is ruled by unusual passions. The Zantosa know such people: they throw parties for them at their estates in New York and Mexico City. The jet-set Arab sheik that snorts a significant fraction of his country's GDP up his nose every year. The Viacom CFO who always has that thing up his ass. The mob capo who offers a share of the rackets in exchange for a mistress named Zantosa. The editor of the New York Times who collects photos that his paper would never, ever print. The Senator who staffs his meth lab with young girls from Indonesia and Paraguay. Allow these humans to indulge their passions discretely, and you are their most valuable association: their dealer.
Vampire: The Masquerade - Clanbook: Tzimisce (Revised)

Every so often, some politician or footballer or actor or whoever it is is caught in a hotel room, surrounded by hookers and cocaine. And everybody else goes: "Oh, the shame of it! How could he? How absolutely dreadful! I'd never do that! I've never had a chance, but I would never ever do that! Oh, the disgust that courses through me right now — you could bottle it!" But... what else are you supposed to give hookers in a hotel room? "Yogurt, anybody? I made some yogurt this morning, would you like some? It's got Granola and everything. You sure? Go on, have a bit."
Dylan Moran, Monster

God knows how much scotch I'd tossed down or how many grams of dodgy cocaine I'd snorted by that stage. I crawled about the room, a jumble of overturned chairs and empty bottles and filthy plates and torn bed sheets, praying there was still some alcohol surviving somewhere. Of course, the room had been like that even before the cyclone hit. Julie and I had been living it up hard. For the resort had actually welcomed two guests before its untimely demise. Me, and my assistant publicist, Julie Favmore - twenty-eight years old, cunning as the devil, and horny as all hell. The pair of us had set ourselves up in one of the suites - indeed, the only one that had been properly fitted out for display purposes, before financial reality sank in and construction ceased. All that time and effort deserved at least one party, I'd decided. And what a time we had, with the whole place to ourselves. Oh, Julie... I wonder where you are now? My old balls are still aching from the things you did to them.
Underground, by Andrew McGahan

Hey, Mr D, I think we're nearly out of cocaine and heroin. Not much Special K either. I think I'm down to my last hooker, too. She stopped convulsing about an hour ago.
War, Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse: Segue To Destruction


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