Zogenix Pharmaceuticals Meets The Country's Need For More Hydrocodone.

SAN DIEGO- In a story I am totally not making up, Zogenix Incorporated is working hard to get more hydrocodone to your customers.

The company soon hopes to market a 50 milligram tablet with no acetaminophen. I swear. That's the equivalent of 10 Vicodin in one pill without any of that pesky Tylenol to slow someone down. Early indications are that the drug, which Zogenix plans to sell under the brand name Zohydro, has the potential to be quite popular.

"If one thing has been consistent in our market research, it's that pharmacy customers are almost universally saying one thing, and that is 'we want more Vicodin'!!" said Zogenix CEO and scumbag Roger Hawley in a fictitious interview. "The demand is almost universal, reaching across all regions, social classes, ethnic groups, and even the occasional pain sufferer. So we have developed an innovative new way to get consumers what they are craving. With the dose limiting effects of acetaminophen gone, there is literally no limit to the potential use of this profit....I mean, product!!"

Early contenders for the street name of Zohydro include Supervics, Turbonorcs, Zoes, Hydros, and Yellow Death, pending final determination of the tablet color.

"I particularly like that it's a prescription product" said 63 year old Winthrop Van Drusen from his summer home in Greenwich, Connecticut. "It makes it quite convenient to obtain a safe, pure supply of narcotic to meet my needs by simply browbeating a doctor, my social inferior, into writing a prescription."

Asked about concerns Zohydro will end up simply feeding the nation's large and growing demand for narcotics, Hawley, who will never spend a goddamn day in jail, didn't say "I think the key is to build on the lessons learned with the marketing of Oxycontin, and expand on the innovative ways they have addressed these type of problems while still meeting the needs of those in chronic pain."

Deaths from narcotic overdose have more than tripled since Oxycontin came to the market in 1995, and more people now die from prescription drug misuse than in traffic accidents. A fact Hawley doesn't seem to give a fuck about.

"I wish they's hurry up and get this shit out" said drug dealer and occasional user Juan Ventimillia outside a Philadelphia housing project. "My muthafuckin customers keep riding my ass for more and more Vics, and I thought I had the problem solved when I started scoring Norco instead, but shit, it's to the point now where I gots to carry so many goddamn pills around I sound like a goddamn shorty rattle every time I move. I'm hoping the new shit will save me some space. You know what I'm sayin?"

Street level dealers such as Juan face a mandatory 5 year federal prison sentence in the United States if they sell crack, while CEO's who peddle bullshit like Zohydro generally get to retire quite wealthy. That is why most guidance counselors recommend obtaining a degree in business before embarking on a career of getting people hooked.

Asked for comment outside his Florida radio studio, Rush Limbaugh didn't seem to hear the question. Probably because he's gone deaf again.   

Think Of This As An NPR Pledge Drive. That Won't Cost You Anything.

So a friend of mine sends me a link the other day. It was from the folks at slate.com, and it was a good one. It seems they have a regular column called "The Explainer" Which takes on such topics as "How did dinosaurs have sex?" I figured this pal of mine just knew I was the type to ponder things like this for no reason. But there was more.

The explainer is having a year end poll you see. Thirty one questions have been nominated and the one that garners the most votes will be designated "question of the year" and an answer will be provided. Hang with me here.

Question 23 is "Why does it take 45 minutes for the pharmacy to get your prescription ready—even when no one else is waiting?"  You know what this means. You know this is a golden opportunity.

Because the more exposure this question gets, the more people will be searching Mr. Google and come across the real answer. We have in our hands tonight my friends, a chance to achieve an age of universal understanding, tolerance, and dare I say it,  love for our profession.

I knew when I wrote those words it was part of destiny.

So for the beleaguered technician dealing with a foaming at the mouth lunatic at the cash register, for the pharmacist at the end of his 12 hour day (14 hours at CVS. Illegal in North Carolina but not stopping them in the least) dealing with a DUR message that says "oral contraceptives should be used with caution in women of child bearing age," for the future of the profession, for all that is decent and just and good in this world. I beseech, I beg, I humbly ask, that you go here and vote for question number 23.    

Because it might help me sell some books too.

A Practical Question At This Point.

How did it work? Back in the day, when the Mormons had finally settled down in Utah after being run out of most of the rest of the country, hanging out far enough away from everyone else that they could finally just do their thing. How did they not run out of wives?

I know, I know, I know...jokes about Mormons and their wives were all run into the ground long ago. But seriously, a little math will soon show a big problem. There are slightly more baby boys born than girls, something like 51 to 49 percent, so do the numbers, and if one guy has like 10 wives, and another guy has like 8 wives, it doesn't take long before you run out of wives.

What happened? Isn't this kinda greedy? I'm pretty sure Jesus wasn't into greed. As a matter of fact, greed is one of the seven deadly sins.

It seems like there would have been a lot of fights and possibly crime among the dudes who weren't getting any wives. After all, any kind of gross inequity, whether it be economic or of access to vagina, breeds an unstable social order.

Could Donny Osmond have the DNA of a badass?

Intriguing possibility,  but back to the point.

What did they do when they ran out of wives?

A Little Knowledge Can Be Dangerous. An Illustration.

I looked up and the affluent asshole was there. This happens a lot these days. I made my move from the ghetto about five years ago and now I'm in a place where millionaires can walk right up to me as I work. One thing I've learned here is that millionaires are quiet. People in the ghetto had ways of letting you know they were coming but quite often you can be concentrating on your work in a millionaire zone, look up, and one will have appeared like a ghost. Millionaires are sneaky.

"POTASSIUM PERMANGANATE!!!!!!!" said the millionaire. Which those of you familiar with the land of affluence know was a request to purchase some.

"I don't think we carry that here sir, you might try......"

"IT'S FOR ATHLETE'S FOOT!!!!!"

"I'm pretty sure we don't have it" At this point an assistant manager offered to help the man find out for sure if the stuff was in the store.

"YOU CAN'T HELP ME!!!! Snapped the South African accented millionaire to the African-American assistant manager, in a tone that was, historically, exactly what you would expect.

Back to me now. "ARE YOU SAYING YOU DON'T HAVE IT????" and for the third time I said I was pretty sure we didn't.

"IT WAS ON GOOGLE!!!!" he said. Obviously I needed to be reminded of the strict fact checking that takes place before something is allowed on the internet.

Now, its not that I'm mean or unprofessional, but I know better than to let this man know there were several clinically proven athlete's foot remedies in the aisle right behind him. It would have been improper for me to speak out of place to the millionaire, and believe me, I've been dealing with these people for awhile now, and I know they will let their foot rot off before they will admit that their effort to consult Dr. Google might not have given them the best result. I kept to my place in the social order and the man left with fungus living high on the hog between his toes with no end in sight. I was never asked what might work besides potassium permanganate, which, by the way, Google can also tell you where to buy.

Meanwhile, in the ghetto someone just said something to the effect of "YO!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS SHIT ON MY FOOT IS?" Whereupon the nice pharmacist led the man to the Lamisil, or Lotrimin, or Micatin, which cleared up the problem in a week or so.

I'd like to think of foot fungus as a fellow member of the 99 percent.

A Rerun And Shameless Book Plug All In One. What's Not To Love About This Post?

You know, I think the ideal Christmas gift would have something like this to say about the holiday:

For someone who professes to love us all, you'd think that maybe the thought our time could be worth a little something might enter Jesus' skull once or twice. That maybe Jesus could tell us, "You know, there's no need to go all out for my birthday. Really. Me and my Dad, the all knowing, omnipotent creator of universes known and unknown, the Deity that can part seas with his breath, move mountains with his pinky and knows the exact number of hairs on your head, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Don't put yourself out just on my account." 

"And there is really no need to invent The Clapper to sell in the season of my special day. You work too hard for your money." 

That's what my Uncle Harold would say. Uncle Harold always insisted we never make a big deal about his birthday, because that was just the kind of guy Harold was. Unlike this prick Jesus who pretty much ruined my whole week with this Christmas shit. 

And by whole week I mean entire month of December. And part of November as well. Traffic gets backed up because of a goddamn parade. People everywhere I want to shop. A big pile of pine trees right where I normally park my car at work. All because this savior of mankind lets it go straight to his head. 

I got news for you Jesus. I once saved the life of a mouse we found in the backroom of the store. That's right. Instead of killing it, I captured the little guy and let him loose in the woods in back of the mall. And I don't expect the mouse to buy shit every year for my birthday either. I think maybe I could teach you a thing or two about humility Mr. Son of God. 

The sad thing is it's not just me that gets screwed. The entire goddamn planet has to put their lives on hold just for Jesus every year. Fuck it makes me so mad. I got over birthdays when I was like 9, and Jesus still gets all giddy like a girl after 2000 of them? Give me a break. Buddhism looks better every day. No wonder there are so many Buddhists.

Which is why I think my book is the ideal Christmas present. Because that was an excerpt from my book.You should totally show Jesus Christmas is just about the stuff by buying a copy. And now, finally, you can put it on your Kindle which is a bit of stuff I still don't quite understand, other than to know I get a bigger royalty when someone buys a Kindle version. So um, yeah, I'm all about the Kindle. In your face Jesus. I'm gonna make some money off your birthday.

Go here to get a copy of the greatest pharmacy book ever written for your Kindle.

Or here to get me in your Nook. Which sounds kinda fun depending on your attractiveness. 

And if you're a fan of the paper, you can order a copy here. 

From the "Someone Doesn't Quite Get The Point, And That Someone Is CVS" File.

Also from the "I'm nor surprised at all" file.

 From happyplace.com. Via @DrJRod on Twitter.

Normally I'm A Thirst For Knowledge Kinda Guy, But I'm Calling This Quest Off And Remaining Blissfully Ignorant.

It started the way most great intellectual pursuits do, by aimlessly wandering through the classified ads of Craigslist. Did you know the Internet can trace its origins to a government research project into ways to keep computers in the defense department safe from enemy attack? I'm sure the people who worked night and day with a vision of keeping the world safe for democracy all those years ago take great pride in the number of men who have been able to enlarge their penis thanks to special offers spammed to them through their creation.

Not that I'm looking to enlarge my penis or anything. I was actually looking through the real estate ads, I swear, I live in a tourist town you see, and the IRS says if you rent your place for 2 weeks or less, than the income from the transaction is tax-free. I was browsing around looking to see if anyone might be interested in taking a short term possession of my condo by the sea while I am away this summer.

I didn't really find any serious prospects, but I did come across an ad from a couple who said they would be in the area and wanted to know if anyone would be up for some "knotty" fun. Something wasn't right about this, it was clear. There was a secret here that I was not a party to, and not knowing things doesn't sit well with me. My Mom tells the world that she helped me learn to read because I would get mad that there were things on a piece of paper that other people could understand and I could not. That same intellectual fire started to well up in me as I stared at this ad that was coded in a way I could not understand.

If you do not want to be shocked, appalled, and disgusted, stop reading right now.

So I set out to break the code just as surely as I cracked the code of printed English almost 40 years ago. back then the result was gaining eventual access to the poetry of Shakespeare, the wisdom of the ancient Greeks and Romans, the modern insight of writers like Philip Roth and the practical life lessons to be had in the novels of Tom Wolfe.

Tonight however, I learned that "dog knotting" is another term for fucking your canine companion. I am not making this up. Evidently.......sigh.......a dog's penis swells up at the base during intercourse, forming a "knot"  that acts as a plug so no semen can leak out. It stays like this, keeping the two.....in a perfect world......dogs....locked together for anywhere from 10 minutes to half an hour. There are, I am saddened to report, humans who evidently take advantage of this. And for two of them, getting their own dog and sharing this among themselves wasn't quite enough. They were advertising for strange people and/or dogs to share this, hobby(?) with.

I am going to take a handful of Ambien now in an effort to forget this ever happened.