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What is the most excruciating way anyone has ever died?
Scaphism, otherwise known as “the boats” is possibly one of the darkest and grossest ways of ending someone’s life. Scaphism was developed by the Persians and described by the Greeks who were normally the intended victims of the procedure.
So this is how it worked: the poor person to be killed would be securely tied between two wooden canoes (or hollowed out tree trunks) with their head and legs protruding. So the trunk of their body was basically encased and sealed in a wooden box. The executioners would then force feed them milk and honey until their bowels were ready to scatter violently. More honey was then applied to any sensitive areas to attract insects. At this point they would take the suffering man to either float on a stagnant pond, or just leave him out in the sun.
The victim’s more than swift bowels would quickly fill the container he was stuck in with excrement allowing insects to breed and feed on his living flesh. Gangrene would set in as burrowing insects started to interrupt blood flow.
The force feeding would be repeated every day so that the hopeless man couldn’t even look forward to death by starvation and dehydration. The honey and milk would give him more than enough nutrients to survive and live through the ordeal.
Death would be slowww…
Delirium would set in after a couple of days and death would eventually come from septic shock (and dehydration if they were lucky). They were basically eaten from the inside out.
Here’s how Zonoras explains the procedure of scaphism: “two boats are joined together one on top of the other, with holes cut in them in such a way that the victim’s head, hands, and feet only are left outside. Within these boats the man to be punished is placed lying on his back, and the boats then nailed together with bolts. Next they pour a mixture of milk and honey into the wretched man’s mouth, till he is filled to the point of nausea, smearing his face, feet, and arms with the same mixture, and so leave him exposed to the sun….
… this is repeated every day, the effect being that flies, wasps, and bees, attracted by the sweetness, settle on his face and all such parts of him as project outside the boats, and miserably torment and sting the wretched man. Moreover his belly, distended as it is with milk and honey, throws off liquid excrements, and these putrefying breed swarms of worms, intestinal and of all sorts. Thus the victim lying in the boats, his flesh rotting away in his own filth and devoured by worms, dies a lingering and horrible death”.
The famous Persian soldier Mithradates was killed by scaphism and according to legend was kept alive for 17 days.
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What’s it like to attend a Multi-Level Marketing meeting?
I was at a point in my life where I was trying to start my career, and my professors were telling me “network, network, network…” So, as an eager college student, I was just saying “Yes” to things. A friend of mine and i were talking about getting internships, getting jobs, it’s so stressful, this and that; then he tells me that he’s joined a business group thing that I may benefit from. He framed it the right way for me at the time, so I said yeah, I’ll check it out. “Cool, there’s a meeting on Tuesday.”
So Tuesday night, I show up.
The thing is, I got a weird vibe from the very beginning. I felt so stupid; they weren’t *telling* us who they were, what their purpose was, or anything. I felt like everyone else in the room knew, but I didn’t. Was I supposed to just know? I just rolled with it. These people were just trying to get people so *excited* about something, without even telling you *what* you’re getting excited about. I went to the first meeting and this guy just talked in circles, on and on about how McDonald’s is successful because of X and Coca Cola is successful because of Y and *you* can be successful like that too because you’re a like minded individual, and we see potential in you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, you can make your dreams come true.
My friend asked me how I felt about the whole thing. I just kind of gave some “uh, yeah, it looks great” response. I was too embarrassed to admit that, actually, I had more questions than answers; the most important question being, “So, what *is* this?”
I went to another meeting a week later after being encouraged to listen to some CD’s of people who “went platinum” or whatever. I didn’t listen to them, but my friend asked about them. I forget what I said, but I made up some bullshit answer like “oh, yeah *him*, he’s great, really gets you to think.”
Now this is where things started to get even weirder. This second meeting, was the same speech as the guy from the week before. Except this time, the guy claimed to have been a dentist for a long time. He said “now that I follow these methods, I no longer had to deal with people’s spit all day.”
This didn’t make any sense to me. A dentist, isn’t this typically a 6 figure job? I still have no clue what this is, if it’s a network, or a job, but if they can’t even tell me what it is, I can’t imagine it’s going to bring more success than being a freaking dentist. But he was talking about dentistry as if it was a “dirty” job where he just deals with people’s spit.
I ignored the red flag and a week or two later I was at that guy’s house. Except, I don’t actually believe it was his real house. It was me, my friend, and a couple other people, and we were at this courtyard house that was furnished with the absolute basics, and considering much of the street was still under construction, this was probably a model home. I guess the message was supposed to be “look at this *awesome* courtyard house…. You could have this….” We were being encouraged to call friends and family to get people onboard, and given a script to read from. I didn’t end up calling anyone
My friend started selling their energy drinks. There was a funny incident where he tried to sell them to another friend of mine, who was blind. My blind friend, he tried it and hated it, and made an awful face (he doesn’t have to read facial expressions so naturally, he made a disgusted one, probably not realizing that he was offending our Amway guy). Our Amway friend, of course, looked *pissed*, but what are you going to do? Tell a blind person they can’t make a face? It was priceless.
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What’s it like to smoke crack?
It still feels bizarre to say that I have a crack problem. How the hell did I get to this place? I’m a white professional 20 something. I started doing coke when I graduated college and fell in love with it quickly. Than one Saturday night about 2 months ago I was doing what I usually do, sitting at home blowing through an 8-ball. I was already in a grips of a healthy coke habit. None of my usual party buds was around and I was horny as hell (I’m gay as it happens) so I went online to find a dude who was partying and wanted to fool around. I found a guy, went to his place and started chopping up my lines when he whipped out a burned looking glass stem and a bag of rock.
I should have ran, but I was already high and my curiosity was piqued. Besides I was getting a bit bored with sniffing coke and figured why not, something new. I screwed up the first few hits and didn’t get much. Finally he lit one for me….WOW. What a high. I was into it immediately. It’s tough to describe…as close to a “full body rush” as I’ve ever felt. I took a long blast and held it in, as much as my lungs could absorb. I didn’t feel it instantly, but as I blew the smoke out the crack hit. I tingled all over, my heart raced, waves of energy and euphoria rushed through my body. I lay back on his bed and couldn’t move for a minute or two. It was unreal. It wasn’t “speedy” the way coke is, I didn’t get the urge to run around the block like when I sniff coke. I just felt totally energized and somehow relaxed in a weird way. And after about 5 minutes I really, really wanted more.
Crack, I soon discovered had one big difference for me from coke. When I would binge on coke I would always reach a point where it just didn’t do anything for me. After 6, 7, 8 hours of partying, each new line just didn’t get me high and I would really feel like shit and stop. Crack was different. Each hit got me high. Only as the night goes on the high last for less and less time each hit. But each hit holds the promise of a new high. That’s what makes it so addicting. That and somehow after smoking rock I feel better the next day than when I sniff coke. No crap in my nose, no congestion, I don’t feel great, but not a shitty as after a coke binge.
So I left this dude’s apartment with a number for his hook up. Soon I was smoking crack every weekend. I didn’t stop using powder, but every time I blew a rail my mind would instantly leap to my pipe and want a hit. I quickly started to smoke rock on weeknights, something I never did with coke because of the morning after effects. But I could smoke a gram on a Tuesday night, be on the top of the world for a few hours and go to work the next day without looking like I had the flu!!! Awesome, right?
So 2 weekends ago I scored an 8-ball Friday night as usual. Scored some crack in the middle of the night. Stopped partying around 6AM Saturday. Met up with my best party buddy around 4 on Saturday and started skiing again. Finished around 1 Sunday morning. Woke up on Sunday feeling like total shit and thinking man oh man have I got to quit doing this crap. But I had 3 twenty bags left over. I couldn’t resist so I swore up and down “These are the last hits for a while” and I railed one of them and freebased the other. I pledged that was the last coke I would do for at least two weeks (can you imagine two weeks being a lofty goal?? HA!). I got high at about 3:30PM. Around 4 I get an email from a buddy…he was smoking some seriously good crack and wanted company. Shit. Fuck. Put on my jacket. Paced around my apartment. Should I go? Looked at my pipe. Had one more hit in there plus some powder left. Railed a line. Took a hit. I was screwed. Pretty high, craving more, excited, energetic, feeling dangerous. I have to stop but I cant fucking resist. Promised myself I’ll go there, have a few hits and be home by 10 at the LATEST. Out the door I go.
I get home at midnight. Stoned out of my mind. We smoked I don’t even know how much. We ordered more. I bought 3 rocks (baggies) for myself. Took a giant hit when I left and I run into my apartment to start hitting my rocks. Fuck. Where did my night go? So I’m at home in the wee hours of a Monday morning glued to my coffee table hitting my pipe. I quickly finished off one rock (in about 20 mins) and start in on the second. Finished that in an hour. It’s almost 2AM and I realize I’m going to be out soon. FUCK. I call my dealer, no answer. I keep on smoking. I’m getting paranoid, I keep looking at the clock…so late…gotta work…but just one more hit, just one more…fuck. I realize I can’t stop. I load up the last of my rocks for a big ass hit a little after 3. I hit it and feel amazing. But I’m out. I panic for about 15 minutes, try unsuccessfully to jerk off. I sit on my couch depressed, wired, coming down. Unable to sleep, unable to jack off, wracked by quilt, craving more but vowing to myself that this is the last time.
About 3:30, maybe 3:45…I’m crashing hard…trying to get to a place where I’m ok to sleep…to my gigantic astonishment my cell phone rings. MY DEALER!!! Instantaneously my heart races…my palms sweet, my mouth dries up like the Sahara…do I answer? Do I score more?
The decision takes about 3 seconds. “Hey man. You got any? Yeah I can go to your place. Be there in 15.” FUCK. I’m disappointed, guilty, excited all at once. I rush into the bedroom, throw on a sweatshirt, throw on my big hooded coat (it was fucking freezing out)…heart racing I scrape the remainder off my mirror into a little line…inhale…check my pipe…scrape & push…I hit it…fuck yeah! To my surprise a pretty good hit. I run out the door, zip up my coat…man it was freezing. My heart pounding, palms sweating, my mind going a mile a minute, chain smoking, out of my head with a slight high and crazy anticipation and wild cravings. I’m a middle class white 20-something walking through the ghetto at 4 in the morning looking disheveled and out of place in a thuged-out parka…paranoia creeps in…man I look suspicious!!!
I get to the dude’s place, go upstairs, he looks pissed…maybe he’s high too? Probably. I can’t tell and don’t really care. I buy two rocks, ask if I can do a hit there. He has a seedy, nasty apartment but I don’t think twice. I sit on his couch, break half a rock and load up my pipe. My hands are shaking, he is staring at me. I hit it…giant hit…I lean back deep into the couch…still inhaling until I can’t take any more in and I let it out slowly. With each breath escaping I feel higher and higher,and something I never felt before…overwhelming relief. I got my fix. I’m fuckin’ flying. Leaning back on my dude’s couch, sinking into the fur lining of my hood, feeling warm and electric.
I manage to get back up and load the rest of the rock into my pipe without even thinking. My dealer goes “Oh man thought you was doing only one hit…I gotta sleep…” I say “Just one more than I’m gone.” No sooner do the words escape than I realize I only have 1 rock left. I reach into my pocket and get some cash. I buy another rock…I take my hit…I’m fucking FLYING…I’m shaking, energy and euphoria are washing over me in waves…my dude looks at me and says “Man you got a serious problem.” I just ignore him, thank him and leave. I think to myself I got at least 5 or more good hits left in my pipe so I walk down instead of taking the elevator. I stop halfway and have a blast. On the first floor I stop. I need a blast before the torturous walk home…paranoia again…I could get caught…but I want it…fuck. I flatten myself against the wall…look around over and over and hit the pipe. Big hit. Nice. I walk out into the ice cold night. Chain smoking, high as a freaking kite, I start heading home.
Walking home, in about 10 minutes, maybe 15, I’m feinding again. Gotta get home and hit. Gotta get that next big fuckin’ hit. I instinctively walk a block out of my way to a quieter, more industrial street. Nobody around, can I take a hit here? Fear and excitement and paranoia wash over me and mix with the crack high. There is a deep-ish, unlit doorway…I duck into it…pressed against the wall. I’m fucking terrified. I could totally get caught but I want it bad, bad, bad. I zip my coat all the way up, my hood is huge and it’s inside out and when I look over my shoulder I can’t see past it. I feel like I’m going crazy. I think I should just go but I reach in my pocket for a cigarette and feel the pipe…FUCK…waves of cravings…I pull it out and hit it…hit it again…than I hit it one more time. And I turn to go. I did it!!! No cops. I’m a fuckin’ bad ass and higher than I’ve ever been. It’s amazing. It’s thrilling. I’m strangely freezing as I light a cigarette, tug the fur of my hood around my ears and think to myself “This is perfect.”
It’s absurdly early on a Monday morning, I’m smoking insane amounts of crack and feeling amazing, nobody is out, I’ve got the city to myself and I’m untouchable…I can’t get caught…I’m on top of the world. This is what I’ve always looked for, this is how I want to live the rest of my life, I think to myself man, I’m totally hooked…I’m a total crackhead…how did I get this way? Thinking I’m addicted makes me aroused somehow…I’m living totally dangerously and all I want to do is get home and have my next hit.
I get home…don’t even bother to take my coat off…I break up the second rock and start hitting big, giant hits. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 hits…It’s after 5 now and I’m feeling super paranoid and starting to feel sick. This has never happened before. My eyesight is blurry, I can’t talk, can’t think straight, heart pounding…I’m terrified that I’ve ODed. I try to think how much I’ve done but I can’t remember…it only makes me feel sicker. I get a bucket from the kitchen and dry heave for 30 mins. Than I pass out.
I wake up in a few hours…fuck! I have to go to work!! What did I do??? I’m in my living room, still wearing my jacket!!! Almost instinctively I reach for another hit. Still got a rock left. I feel awesome again. I manage to shower, have another hit, go to work, get home and finish off the rock. I manage to make it to bed at 1 on Tuesday morning. I called in sick on Tuesday. I must have slept 13 or 14 hours. I have no idea how much I smoked, or if I really did OD. Sure as hell felt like it. It was a crazy experience. I felt terrible for the rest of the week. I’ve vowed to never smoke crack again.
That was two weekends ago…I haven’t smoked crack since. I did 1 gram of coke last weekend but that was it. It’s Sunday night and I’ve been clean of any coke whatsoever this weekend for the first time in 3 months. But I’m craving it really, really bad…I’m horny and turned on writing this and thinking about it. I’m going to do some shots, jerk off and go to bed. Hopefully I’ll get through the next month clean.
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