One Comedian’s Arguments Against What We Were Taught to Believe.

Have you shamed anyone lately? I sure haven’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. See, I myself am shameful. Therefore, I would love to shame others. It’d make me feel better about myself: my attitude, physique, mental state, and every other part of me that’s riddled with shortcomings. I’ve always had one simple philosophy in life: Why try to climb up to their level if you can drag them all down to yours? The latter is much easier. Unfortunately, it’s a strategy that gets condemned these days. We’re all supposed to be uplifting one another — never labeling, never judging, never asking, “Why the fuck did so many of you think How I Met Your Mother was a good TV show? Because it reminded you of yourself and your friends?” It reminded me of all of you, too. It was fucking inane and boring.

I should clarify: I’m not of the opinion that acceptance is a dirty word. I actually think it’s terrific to finally live in an age where we try to say “Welcome” before we say “Ew.” No, this isn’t a think piece, longing for a simpler time when folks used to “call a spade a spade” and we'ren’t afraid to “shoot from the hip.” And yes, despite the fact that it’s an old cliché, I was nervous about typing the word “spade” just then. In any case, I’m writing this not to condemn shaming, but to ask why drugs didn’t get the same hall pass that fat people, crazy people, slutty people, and people playing clarinet on the street for money as if it were an actual job did.

Drugs are the one thing people can still turn their noses up at without anybody getting offended or pitching a fit. For Christ’s sakes, even the drug users don’t stand up for themselves. They walk around shamefully at parties, referring to their favorite substances as “shit,” requesting them with whispers through clenched teeth. Ever see a guy talking like a ventriloquist at a get-together? He’s trying to score blow.

It all stems from a health-conscious movement that started many, many moons ago. When I was six years old, way back in 1982, Nancy Reagan — amongst the array of her other boner-killing behaviors — told a bunch of grade-school kids in Oakland, California, that when it came to drugs, they should “JUST SAY NO.” Drugs would ruin them. And goddamnit, it stuck.

That anti-fun philosophy was nationally drilled into the minds of children for the next ten years. Many of us then feared that one puff of weed would turn our brains into fried eggs, or that — God forbid — one line of coke would cause our hearts to explode, spewing blood fountains from our chests. It wasn’t that certain drugs were bad, it was that all drugs were bad. Equally. None was better than the next. So I steered clear of anything smoked, sniffed, popped, or huffed. Until I went to college.

Never do a drug whose name sounds like an old Burt Reynolds movie. “China White,” “Rocket Fuel,” and “Super Ice” all come to mind.

It was spring 1995 when marijuana first entered my lungs, turning a visit to an ATM into a hilarious, breath-stealing adventure — the buttons were SO BIG! — and elevating the French Toast Slam at Denny’s into an orgasmic, quite possibly religious, experience. That next spring I tried mushrooms. And acid. And then mushrooms again.

The following fall, I sat up in my dorm room bed and said to my roommate Jerry, “Dude, do you realize that we do drugs?” We cackled in agreement. Here we were, knee-deep in the muck that every adult had warned us to avoid, and we were fine. We had good GPAs, we showered regularly, we weren’t ever caught up in late-night, back-alley transactions, and, best of all, neither of us had resorted to prostituting ourselves to feed the monkey. And here I am now, 40 years into my life, still someone who enjoys some recreational funny stuff now and then, without one single occurrence of drug-related job loss, money problems, failed relationships, or missed deadlines. I even delivered this article three days early.

I should clarify something else: I don’t think all drugs are equal. There are a few — I call them the Big Four — that I avoid at all costs: heroin, crack, meth, and angel dust. Why? Because those are the ones that actually do horrific shit to people, like kill them. Here’s a rule: Once Hollywood makes a bunch of TV shows and movies about a certain drug, you should steer clear. There’s no such thing as “a little light PCP.”

Now, I know a lot of you are wondering, But what about cocaine? Well, I, for one, don’t think it’s that dangerous a drug if you can manage to use it responsibly. Every overdose story I’ve ever heard started with, “He passed out.” Never heard one that went, “He was awake all night talking about how the Star Wars prequels were actually pretty decent, then he died.” And as much as you’re thinking John Belushi! right now, no. He mixed cocaine and heroin. That’s called a speedball, which just sounds bad.

Here’s another rule: Never do a drug whose name sounds like an old Burt Reynolds movie. “China White,” “Rocket Fuel,” and “Super Ice” all come to mind.

So drugs can ruin — or, more importantly, end — your life. But not all of them, which is why I don’t understand why there’s such a stigma attached to anything heavier than pot. (By the way, pot is legal, or just about legal everywhere now, so it doesn’t really count in the drug discussion anymore.) As for the others, if you choose to believe that the use of such unspeakable products will destroy any semblance of your own personal stability, fine. But shame is shame, fair and square.

If a person is morbidly obese because they think cookie-covered frozen yogurt is a breakfast option and none of us should exclaim “Gross!” as they fill their entire mouth with utter crap, fine. But then none of us should call someone creepy who chooses to fill just one single solitary nostril with a magical, fat-free powder that makes them feel like the Flash. After all, who stands a greater chance of ruining their life: the person who pops the occasional Molly pill so they can finally appreciate those Pink Floyd albums, or the person who won’t take the coffee shop job because it will stifle their true calling of writing a zero-salary, vegan-centric blog?

Actually, they might just be the same person. What a shame.

Photo: Getty Images/ Lawrence Schiller