Town's 'Crystal Meth Daze' Celebration Fails To Draw Expected Turnout
Summer time has arrived, and along with cookouts, beach parties, volleyball, and fun in the sun come the ever-popular parades that celebrate freedom, sacrifice, and all that makes each American town special. To celebrate one of its most unique and characterizing features, Pensacola held a "Crystal Meth Daze Day" parade over the weekend to laud its renowned status as the Crystal Meth Capital of the World. But although a large number of attendees and participants were expected, few actually turned up to the festival.
"Given the vast quantity of meth addicts in our great city, we had expected the turnout to be very high," said Mayor John Fogg, "but what we didn't take into account is that the would-be participants would also be very, very high themselves, thus reducing the span and scope of the parade."
"Ah herd 'bout it from a few peoples -- friends, the dealer, mama -- and I was gonna go," said unemployed auto mechanic and meth addict Seth Hatfield, "but after bein' inside fer three days and awake fer over 48 hours, I's just in no condition to go outside public-wise."
Eyes suddenly widening and his body recoiling in horror, Hatfield began demanding information from this Enduring Vision reporter, such as, "Who the hell are yeh? What you doin' in my place? Who fuckin' told you that you could fuckin' come into mah livin' room?! Oh, fuck! Snakes!"
The few crank users that did show up soon left for home upon realizing that the floats representing the various forms of the drug and its corresponding paraphernalia were made out of flowers, and not the typical combination of ephedrine pills, Coleman fuel, sulfuric acid, anhydrous ammonia, and other potentially lethal ingredients.
"I done come back from the bar and saw my oldest of three [boys] sittin' on the couch, head jerkin' around and changin' channels like he were giving his thumb a workout -- I know what he done did," said part-time palm reader Janet Henson. "I heard 'bout this parade and figured I'd have a good chance at a score, but all they did was tease me with rocks the size of yer head made outa cardboard boxes, painted white and even smelling of ammonia. You know what I could do with a rock that size 'f it were real?"
After scratching her neck raw and noticing the blood under her fingernails, Henson proudly announced, "So I come right home and beat that little pecker with a shovel until he told me where he hid the rest 'o the shit. I'll be damned if I knowed how he got into my stash, but I got it back."
Despite reports that thousands of crystal methemphederine users live in the metropolitan area of Pensacola, a meager 15 persons showed up to ride the floats and cars down Main Street while approximately 70 watched as the procession began from City Hall, down Jackson Street and ended at the Harris Building on 10th Street, the basement of which had once been the lab and residence of former meth lord Aaron Gilliam. Most of the onlookers were store owners that walked into the street in mere curiousity upon seeing the line of cars and floats made to resemble meth rocks, pipes, syringes, mountains of white powder and gigantic bloodshot eyes.
"I was minding my duties, cleanin' tables and such, until my eye caught something riding down the street," said Sim [last name unknown], owner of Sim & Sal's Diner. "Now I seen some crazy shit in my time, I wasn't prepared by a damned sight to see a float resembling a boiling kettle bein' stirred by a decimated and toothless mannequin made out of multi-colored gardenias and daffodils."
"I got me a brother down in county [jail]," said landscaper Doug Mortenson, another parade viewer, "plus a friend in the clinic and an old ex [girlfriend] whose kids 'er higher than she is. So I'll watch the mayor ride down the street next to his wife and convicted crank pusher Horace Hibbert, but I'm not goin' to go out and get me a new roll of aluminum foil and butane lighter or anything."
The parade ended with speeches given by the mayor, police chief and assorted meth alchemists, dealers and abusers -- current and recovered.
"I'd like to thank the city of Pensacola for recognizing our very important cultural contribution to trailer parks and low-income housing all across the great state of Florida, the Southland and the nation at large," said Gilliam as he spoke in front of his former residence and drug factory. "When all else fails in this community, one thing can all unite us under one flag, and that flag is called crystal methamphetamine by some, rock or chalk by others, or -- my personal favorite -- go-juice."
Though protests raged near and around the podium, they too were small in number and impact, consisting mostly of members of the Pensacola Baptist Church. Members flooded the streets in protest of the parade when a red convertible, in which rode the members of local 505 of Crank Labs Incorporated, crashed into their bake sale as the driver attempted to snort some meth powder off the sleeve of his shirt.
"Meth Means Death!" shouted members of the church and other citizens that came to confront the procession. Their cries, however, were silenced when the mayor rose to the podium to deliver the day's closing speech.
"Pensacola has struggled hard to find a way to revitalize its downtown, to put itself on the cultural map of America, to rise to the forefront of any industry, and so now it's time for us to say, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'," said Mayor Fogg. "So unless any of you peanut heads have better ideas of ways to bring business back into the city, we'll keep pushing this annual parade like how these here dealers push rock onto your sons and daughters who are too stupid to Just Say No."
City officials have indicated that there are no plans to discontinue next year's scheduled celebration.
