Since almighty God in his infinite wisdom and mercy saw fit to bless me with a penis, I’ve never seen The Hunger Games, but I saw Capote and Boogie Nights, and I thought Philip Seymour Hoffman was pretty good in both of them.
Unfortunately for him, last week he died fat and alone in his apartment with a needle sticking out of his arm and I can’t help but think that if the government had listened to me years ago and legalized opium dens, this could have all been avoided.
There is something magical about the idea of an opium parlor. A little escape from reality in the form of a room lined with silken panels of dragons and filled with couches so a man can recline as he lets the drug slowly vaporize over a nearby lamp.
I imagine a silent pigtailed Chinaman would also stand unobtrusively nearby, always ready to refill your pipe or pour another absinthe.
About a century ago, we cracked down on these happy sanctuaries in a wave of anti-drug and anti-immigrant sentiment, but with the easing of marijuana laws, it may be time to give this old idea another look.
Much like a hash bar, opium should be legal for use in an opium den, and each one would have a physician on staff at all time. It would also be nice if at least one had a playroom so my kids could flounder and flop in the ball-pit while daddy chased the dragon.