AMSTERDAM - HOW TO MAKE YOUR OWN DRUG SUPPLY

Lately when someone is puking in a club in Amsterdam, the relevant question is no longer “Too much booze?” but “Too much G?” And the answer is either a new wave of vomit or a weird facial expression from someone who a few seconds later falls asleep. GHB is no longer for lower-eschelon suburban 16-year-old wiggers looking for any role in the date rape at a house party milieu--it’s the new Ecstasy and the new Heineken.

SYDNEY - MOVING TO KINGS CROSS

My girlfriend Kristen and I moved from the "dangerous" streets of Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn and the East Village of New York City to the seemingly safe and tony neighbourhood of Darlinghurst, Sydney. Our new home was at the tip of the dick of Darlinghurst, where the girls walking the streets at night cross over to girls that are really boys that ply their trade in the aptly nicknamed Ten Buck Alley. Its real name is Premier Lane; and from what we've heard at night, as the sounds of slurping and sucking blow up to our balcony, those are some premier ten-buck blow jobs. It warms the heart that in these times of recession and inflation that the price of a blow job remains steady and true.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - GANJA PORN NOVEL

I’ve seen from some of your comments that some of you are wondering, “Why in the hell doesn’t he fuck some of these girls?” The first reason is that I see more pussy in one year than most of you will see in a lifetime, and I’m not a desperate, nutless jack-off like some of you! I get plenty! So I don’t need to lose my shit every time an opportunity presents itself.  

AUSTRALIA - TASMANIA BEATS WORLD AT OPIUM, WALLABIES GET THE SPOILS

There’s been a fair bit in the news about vast poppy fields in Afghanistan, but if you think most of the world’s opiates come from the Middle East you’re around 10,000kms off the mark. An interesting fact tailor-made for dinner party conversation is that over half of all pharmaceutical-grade alkaloids are derived from crops grown in Tasmania. How do we know this? Because stoned wallabies have started making crop circles.

LONDON - HOW MUCH COKE IS BAD FOR ME?

A dentist friend treated a woman who had done so much cocaine it had rotted a hole between her nose and mouth, as well as perforating her septum. This woman had a three-centimeter-by-1.5-centimeter-wide black rancid pit on the roof of her mouth through which her rotting nose would drip. Her mouth was her brain’s own colostomy bag.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - PUSSY ON THE BRAIN GIVES ME RED-ZONE PAINS

Every time you smoke a joint of sensimilla, you’ve got pussy on your brain! The resin female plants excrete is their sex juice, and these lovely ladies can reproduce from almost any point on their body. I know this is super basic shit that just about everyone who’s ever taken a bong rip knows, but it leads me to an important pair of questions: Is this why the clientele of almost every weed dealer I know is predominately male? And is the copious amount of marijuana I ingest the reason why I’m willing to bend the rules and deliver my goods to women who live in extremely dangerous “red zone” areas? We’ll probably never know for sure, but what I am certain of is that New York’s high-volume drug business means that these red zones can be found in every borough of this heavily policed city.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - WELCOME TO NEW YORK, FUCKFACE!

It took less than a minute for two guys and their steel-reinforced Timberland boots to kick in my friend Marvin’s door. Neighbors said they both had handguns drawn and ready for a shootout if necessary. But whoever stormed in and stole a pound of weed and about 80 grams of primo hash probably didn't expect a fight because they knew Marvin and his schedule pretty well. These guys hit his place hard, exactly at the time he left every day to meet his girlfriend who worked in Manhattan.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - A NAKED GIRL AND DIESEL FATIGUE

If you live in New York (or any big city for that matter), you know how much of a bummer weed-delivery guys can be. They're always showing up late, skimping you on the weight, and are generally pretty miserable human beings. But not Sneaky Leaf, our resident "guy" with Santa Claus-sized sacks full of marijuana. He shows up on time (and has the courtesy to call you if he's going to be even five minutes late), has a multitude of varieties to choose from, offers referral discounts, and is just one hell of a nice guy. So one day when we were buying something with a name like Blueberry Pink Skullcrusher 2000X Beast Stink Marmaduke Midge Tickler, we said, "Hey, Sneaky Leaf, why don't you write a column that simultaneously expounds your weed buff tendencies while exploring your undoubtedly interesting backlog of drug-dealing stories?" And to our surprise he said, "Sure." So here it is... the first installment of Sneaky Leaf's Diary of a Dealer. Enjoy!

NEW YORK - BEGRIMED TOKENS

The big excitement of my first high school trip to New York was the eager buzz concerning who would be the first to find a crack vial on the sidewalk. I don't think I saw anything but ground the entire time we were supposed to be admiring all the civilized fuss. On the bus, heading back home to West Virginia, this one gal continuously trumpeted having found that empty vial. She failed to cough up the evidence though, pleading that if she procured the sacred curio, she'd be facing some stone cold jail time. And we were all like, Bitch, you know you'd be dangling your vial on a necklace string if you had the shit. Despite all the cool things I had seen, and the energy, lights, and people, I still felt completely gypped by my New York experience not rewarding me with true druggie grit. I wanted to smash my new Hard Rock Cafe shot glass in brutal disillusionment!

SPAIN - PICOGRAMS FOR EVERYONE

Two years ago we woke up with news stating that Spain was the world leader in cocaine and whiskey consumption (take that, Scotland), so a research the Centro Superior de Investigaciones Científicas (CSIC) recently published shouldn’t surprise anyone. The folks at the CSIC’s lab stated that they have detected in Barcelona’s and Madrid’s atmospheres traces of cannabis, cocaine and heroin—the latter found only in Madrid, which must be remains of the 80s Movida punk scene. But before anyone hits the roof over these declamations of consumption, we should probably read the statements of the research and see what it says, exactly...