Living Life On a Razor's Edge - The Startling Conclusion

As I pondered Lindsay Lohan and how despite her drug issues and consequent fluctuating weight her boobs always stay the same delightful size, a mustachioed masterpiece of a man approached me where I sat.

If only...

"You Travis?" He inquired with a smile that spread his magnificent face-forest and sent tingles of joy through my racing heart; Lindsay Lohan could not have been further from my mind. This man was the epitome of masculine perfection. His beard flowed down around full lips like twin waterfalls, no soul patch. Broad shoulders draped in a navy sports jacket met a powerful torso, down to a swollen beer gut which sent my budding arousal to an early grave, and not in a good way.
"Hey, buddy, you listening to me?" I realized I was staring with a disgusted look on my face. I definitely needed to say something, anything. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
"Are you fucking crazy?" He pressed. It's Hot Seat time, if I didn't say anything, I probably wouldn't be getting stoned later.
"I prefer Lindsay Lohan's unusually consistent breasts to your spectacular mustache!" Well done. I hoped I was done looking crazy.
"Excuse me?" He was clearly confused.
"I really thought I could love you." Why wouldn't I stop? "You aren't even Tom Selleck."
"Are you buying drugs or not?" Drugs! Yes! Drugs brought me back to reality. I cleared my throat and focused.
"I'm sorry. I get fluttery around drug dealers and mustaches. You being both seems to have broken something in my brain." He looked at me the way I suspect anyone would, and I continued. "Yes, I will be buying drugs from you, are you Dushane's guy?"
He stared at me for several moments. Agonizing moments. He seemed to be reconsidering selling me drugs. I would not accept that.
"Um, you caught me on a bad day. I woke up in the wrong dumpster and brutally murdered an angry homeless woman in a strange apartment where I took a shower so Steve wouldn't know I was high last night, he's such a fucker. I'm not usually-"
"That'll be 40 bucks" He interrupted, holding out two baggies. I slid off my dumpster and thrust the money in his hand.

Five minutes later I was in my apartment smoking what turned out to be Japanese Maple, which looks a lot like weed but isn't.

I smoked it anyway.

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That night after violently vomiting for several hours and being told to fuck off by my friend Mike Izuzaki (who I thought must know something about what I was going through) I vowed never to buy drugs again, only mooch off my friends. That reminds me, I should give Mike a call.