Crackhead Quotes

Who's going to rob us? A crackhead crab? A jellyfish junkie?

It's easy to be judgmental about crime when you live in a world wealthy enough to be removed from it. But the hood taught me that everyone has different notions of right and wrong, different definitions of what constitutes crime, and what level of crime they're willing to participate in. If a crackhead comes through and he's got a crate of Corn Flakes boxes he's stolen out of the back of a supermarket, the poor mom isn't thinking, 'I'm aiding and abetting a criminal by buying these Corn Flakes.' No. She's thinking, 'My family needs food and this guy has Corn Flakes', and she buys the Corn Flakes.

A woman is like a flower! Flowers are to be treated only with a gentle touch ~ A Child of A Crackhead

... the future is a teenage crackhead who makes shit up as he goes along.

He was taking a leap here, negotiating with a crackhead, under the table, in a dark cantina. The courage etched on his face came from loving Aidia so much he’d close his eyes and walk through fire to see her safe.

I don’t want us to be ashamed anymore (we all were crying by this point) of being pregnant or gay or poor or having a crackhead dad! I want us to be fucking proud of ourselves. (...) So we have to be proud and always remember who we are and when we make it to college, who we were.

Holy bejeezus,” Lula said, eyes bugged out, looking at the building. “This is scaring the crap out of me. This is like where Dracula would live if he didn’t have any money and was a crack-head. I bet it’s filled with rabid bats and killer snakes and hairy spiders as big as dinner plated.

... honesty is like seeing a crackhead up close: it ain’t that fucking attractive.

There's a moment when you realise all your worst fears have come true. When the fat girl stuffing her face in the corner finally recognises food gives her the comfort she can't find in anyone else. When the gorgeous man with the body of a god realises he changes women like shoes because he's scared one won't find enough reason to stay. When you see the world for what it really is, see it for all the horrors the news can't or won't report. There's a moment when you realise and accept that you are the worthless piece of shit your father always said you were, because even a diseased crack-head wouldn't kill their own sister. It was a moment Kerestyan, a defining moment...an epiphany of imperfection.

At this time of day it should have been open and full of fifty fellow smackheads, crackheads, psychotics, epileptics, schizophrenics, self-harmers, beggars, buskers, car thieves, sherry pushers, ciderheads, just-released-that-morning convicts, ex-army, ex-married-men-with-young-children-who'd-discovered-their-wife-in-bed-with-two-members-of-the-university-rowing-team-at-the-same-time.

In this town you can be a wife-beating, manic-depressive crack-head and everyone opens their arms to you. They say, "Hey, pal, don't worry about it. We'll get you into recovery. It's all part of the journey." But if you become a born-again Christian and love Jesus Christ and want to share that with other people, they say, "You've committed the unpardonable sin.

Rationalizing him and the glass pipe, Dad smoked crack, but he was not a crackhead; it was just something he did. To do something didn't define you, I thought. I saw Dad through a dusty lens that distorted our relationship, as tarnished as his pipe. He was no longer just our father; he was his own person, with an identity and label and body separate from his relationship with us. He was someone who was judged outside of the lens of fatherhood, outside of our connection. When he was in the streets, he was not Dad. He was Charlie the crackhead.

What are we looking for?" "I don't know-evidence?" Mikey said, sitting behind the keyboard, pretending to hack. I laughed. "This is so Crime Scene Extreme seriously though, is it even possible to view log-in records user-side?" "Hmm, yes," Mikey said tapping his finger on his pseudointellectually. "You're right. This sounds like a job for a Crackhead.

I had to agree with one ex-boyfriend of one crackhead complainant who'd gone missing, when he told me with disdain, 'This is a whole big bunch of unbelievable!

...but the future is a teenage crackhead who makes shit up as he goes along.

Damn, is this bitch a crackhead vampire? She stays up all night. In the morning you're looking at her like, did you ever go to sleep?

No Kenna, we aren't crackheads on flowers

Hey, man! Hey, hold up a minute!" Like many New Yorkers, he had a crackhead alert system and turned, steeling himself.

Crack seemed to have a different hold on folks than liquor did. Drunks would sober up and come to their senses in the morning. But once a crackhead got hooked all they did was chase that high. Even if it meant selling everything they owned for a hit: wedding rings, household appliances, their kids’ clothes. Anything that had been important didn’t matter anymore.

The point is, scientists have proven that every group of friends has a weak link, a DUFF. And girls respond well to guys who associate with their DUFFs." "Crackheads can call themselves scientists now? That's news to me.

It’s easy to be judgmental about crime when you live in a world wealthy enough to be removed from it. But the hood taught me that everyone has different notions of right and wrong, different definitions of what constitutes crime, and what level of crime they’re willing to participate in. If a crackhead comes through and he’s got a crate of Corn Flakes boxes he’s stolen out of the back of a supermarket, the poor mom isn’t thinking, I’m aiding and abetting a criminal by buying these Corn Flakes. No. She’s thinking, My family needs food and this guy has Corn Flakes

Touch the world, but don’t let it touch you.

The Funniest Thing I See Everyday on Hello Poetry © Come on, get real! Who the fuck's going to steal ya' shit? Like some crackheads are going to break into your house and say, 'Hey esse, let's leave the plasma TV and gold jewelry. This fucking manuscript rhymes!' O.K., some of my shit is worth stealing This is my official New Yawk copyright symbol: ლ(©ー©ლ) It means ~ 'Eh, don't even fucking thinkabodit!' (Now, my symbol may actually fucking work. For reals, yo'!)

Reina sounds awesome,” Sid says. “I’m digging her more and more.” “Were you there?” I ask. “Have you seen one of these movies?” “No,” Scottie says. “Scottie,” Alex says, kicking Sid in the ribs. “Reina is a fuckedup ho bag, and you need to stay away from her. I’ve already told you that. Do you want to end up like me?” “Yes,” Scottie says. “I mean the earlier me, when I was yelling at Mom.” “No,” Scottie says. “Well, Reina is going to be a crackhead, and she’s going to get used. She’s a twat. Say it.” “Twat,” Scottie says. She gets up and runs across the room, saying, “Twat twat twat twat twat.” “Holy shit,” Sid says. “This is some messed-up parenting. Isn’t it?” Alex shrugs. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.” “I don’t get it,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. These things she does, they keep happening.” “It will go away,” Alex says. “Will it? I mean, look at how you kids talk. In front of me, especially. It’s like you don’t respect authority.” The kids stare at the television. I tell them to get out. I’m going to bed.

A person can only have one love, Hen. People delude themselves into thinking that they can love many things, or many people, at once. It's all an illusion. A person only has the capacity to love- really love - one thing. Generally speaking, people love themselves but they play at having families and hobbies because that's what society tells us to do. Addicts and crooks are the only ones who are honest about it. Crackheads love crack. Gamblers love to gamble. They put those things above anyone and anything else in their lives. That's what love does.

It’s easy to be judgmental about crime when you live in a world wealthy enough to be removed from it. But the hood taught me that everyone has different notions of right and wrong, different definitions of what constitutes crime, and what level of crime they’re willing to participate in. If a crackhead comes through and he’s got a crate of Corn Flakes boxes he’s stolen out of the back of a supermarket, the poor mom isn’t thinking, I’m aiding and abetting a criminal by buying these Corn Flakes. No. She’s thinking, My family needs food and this guy has Corn Flakes, and she buys the Corn Flakes.

A crack rock-bottom is beneath rock-bottom. It’s a slab ceiling in every direction. A concrete box filled with guilt. During the chase you’re focused. The only thing that exists is the fix. Your mind is lost in the now, in the journey. Your life, everyone you’re hurting, everything you left behind, it all quiets down until you find this bottom, this moment of clarity. And when you find it the guilt is upon you. There’s nowhere to go. Not until the fix frees you.

My mama was a crack-head, I mean, a full-blown one. She broke into your house, stole gas out of your car.

I know she is a crack-head but if she gets arrested I will be in a foster home like the other kids from my neighborhood.       When

They even went and questioned Kool-Aid’s crackhead girlfriend. It was one person they couldn’t seem to track down and that was Sessay.  They

The drugs turned my mama this way, though. Since I was probably four, I’d watched my mother get high right in front of me like it was nothing. I remember one night when I was about six or seven, I came out of my bedroom late at night and went down the hall to the fridge just to get something to drink. Imagine being that young and walking in the kitchen, only to see three grown ass niggas with their dicks out, and my ole girl was giving all of them head. Shit like that just stuck with a nigga. I could give some never-ending stories about what I experienced growing up, but I swear, it wasn’t enough pages that could fit the shit that needed to be said. By the time I was fourteen, I started trapping. I didn’t jump into that shit because I thought it was cool, but shit, a nigga was tired of going to bed starving. By this time, my ole girl was a full-blown crack head. I’m talking about the type of crackhead who would try to sell the carpet off the floors in our apartment just so she could get her next hit.

Another thing: Mom’s taste in men is akin to a crackhead’s taste in crack cocaine. Any old hit will do. And it sucks for all nearby loved ones (me) when mi madre is hitting the man-pipe again, because she sorta loses her frickin’ mind—to put it bluntly.

It’s easy to be judgmental about crime when you live in a world wealthy enough to be removed from it. But the hood taught me that everyone has different notions of right and wrong, different definitions of what constitutes crime, and what level of crime they’re willing to participate in. If a crackhead (someone who steals things to resale) comes through and he’s got a crate of Corn Flakes boxes he’s stolen out of the back of a supermarket, the poor mom isn’t thinking, ‘I’m aiding and abetting a criminal by buying these Corn Flakes.’ No. She’s thinking, ‘My family needs food and this guy has Corn Flakes’, and she buys the Corn Flakes.

God help me,” I said before answering her. “Yes, Cupcake. You definitely better than her big neck ass. You’re a Dubois. Her last name don’t mean shit and her uncle a crackhead.

That sneaking to party shit is wild. She acting like she’s a crackhead and can’t keep away from a party.” He snickered.

The Funniest Thing I See Everyday on Hello Poetry © Come on, get real! Who the fuck is going to steal your shit? Like some crackheads are going to break into your house and say, 'Hey ese, let's leave the plasma TV and gold jewelry. This fucking manuscript rhymes!

She knew she was the anti-Christ for some feminists and to that she raised her middle finger. Women’s liberation for her was about the right to choose and she chose to dance; not because she was some vacant crackhead needing the money, but because she enjoyed it.

that

Jeff: I could go to New York if I wanted to, but what's the point? So I can learn how to order a capuccino? So I can get mugged by some crackhead? So I can see homeless people up close and personal? Sooze: So what do you want to do? Jeff: Nothing. Sooze: No one does nothing, Jeff! Jeff: Okay, well, then I'm going to break new ground. Sooze: New ground?! Jeff: Mm-hmm. Sooze: Taking one community college course on the history of Nicaragua while barely holding a job packing boxes?

As legal scholar Dorothy Roberts observes, “the powerful Western image of childhood innocence does not seem to benefit Black children. Black children are born guilty. They are potential menaces—criminals, crackheads, and welfare mothers waiting to happen.”52 Gingrich

Tell us the truth, O. What happened?” She turned away from the mirror and shook her head. “I don’t know. I kept hearing those plastic beotches saying shit about me—like I moved the Ouija marker on purpose or that I was a crackhead. Then they said I was cutting myself and Abbey told everyone." "Sluts. That Ripley is a whore. She let the French teacher—" "—Okay, gross. Dude, come on." Naoms

She wouldn’t let them win and turn her into a crackhead. Not the bad people. She had to figure out a way to make it.

The Fifth Brother lived in a housing development, and his room was guarded by a crackhead with six arms, holding (in descending order, and going right to left) a dirty razor, a scale, a crumbled wad of five-dollar bills, a Saturday-night special, a human head, and nothing. Blood dripped from its mouth. “What is the secret to life?” it asked. “Crack,” M said. “Correct!” the thing replied happily. “Do you have any?” “No,” M said, but the crackhead with six arms let them by anyway.

The future is a teenage crackhead who makes shit up as he goes along.

Crackheads destroy things. First, their lives, obviously. And then their families. But they also destroy houses. They light fires and they have poor judgment; both things are required if you're going to be a crackhead. They make houses burn down. They're not as thorough as meth heads, who have the benefit of their exploding labs, but crackheads have left a respectable number of ruined buildings in their wake. A crackhead did it is a reasonable cause of destruction on any forensic report. A history of crackhead infestation is a legitimate explanation for loss of property.

There is a rational part of my brain and it says, Don't zap them, Warren. Ask questions first, find out who they are and why they're here, on your doorstep, lurking, banging. Find out their hopes and dreams. Offer them a glass of water. And that part of my brain has control of my left hand, which is holding the doorknob. The right hand fucking zaps the crackhead.

Always remember, a woman is like a flower.  Flowers are to be treated only with a gentle touch. Knowing that, you should always treat women with a gentle touch, love her, and cherish her.

Ahhh shit! The death toll gone be higher than a crackhead on the first of the month ‘round this bitch.

Nothing,” I said, but that was actually a lie. I suspected that her mother was a crackhead, because the moment she yanked her door open, I recognized her face: Rochelle was in the crowd that gathered to watch the demolition that day. Instead of looking up at her

Then there was Obama being Obama the day after the election: "We have to remember that we're actually all on one team." A man's character is his fate, as Heraclitus said, and what a sick, twisted fate indeed that Barack Obarna-cerebral, disciplined, cool, ever seeking to reconcile and accommodate (as an African-American pastor in Charleston drily commented, once his presidency is over, Obama will no longer have "to be the least threatening black man in America't has had to contend these past eight years with a political opposition that regards him as very much not on the team. Not even American: "His grandmother in Kenya said, 'Oh, no, he was born in Kenya and I was there and I witnessed the birth.' She's on tape. I think that tape's going to be produced fairly soon.."5 Or not a "real" American, but a "man who is a closet secular-type Muslim, but he's still a Muslim. He's no Christian. We're seeing a man who's a Socialist Communist in the White House, pretending to be an American. That terrorist fist-bump, remember? Oh, and he was the founder of ISIS, an aspiring tyrant aiming for a Nazi-or Soviet-style dictatorship, and looks like a skinny ghetto crackhead.Z "All this damage he's done to America is deliberate," said Marco Rubio during a Republican debate,a which had to be one of the dumbest things anyone said during the whole campaign. If Obama wanted to destroy the U.S., all he needed to do was sit on his hands in 2009 and let the hot mess of the Bush economy melt the country down to slag. But the issue is bigger than any particular president. After his "all on one team" remark, Obama continued: The point, though, is that we all go forward with a _presumption of goodfrith in our fellow citizens, because that, of good faith is essential to a vibrant and finctioning democracy.

Then there was Obama being Obama the day after the election: "We have to remember that we're actually all on one team." A man's character is his fate, as Heraclitus said, and what a sick, twisted fate indeed that Barack Obarna-cerebral, disciplined, cool, ever seeking to reconcile and accommodate (as an African-American pastor in Charleston drily commented, once his presidency is over, Obama will no longer have "to be the least threatening black man in America” has had to contend these past eight years with a political opposition that regards him as very much not on the team. Not even American: "His grandmother in Kenya said, 'Oh, no, he was born in Kenya and I was there and I witnessed the birth.' She's on tape. I think that tape's going to be produced fairly soon...» or not a "real" American, but a "man who is a closet secular-type Muslim, but he's still a Muslim. He's no Christian. We're seeing a man who's a Socialist Communist in the White House, pretending to be an American. That terrorist fist-bump, remember? Oh, and he was the founder of ISIS, an aspiring tyrant aiming for a Nazi-or Soviet-style dictatorship, and looks like a skinny ghetto crackhead. "All this damage he's done to America is deliberate," said Marco Rubio during a Republican debate, which had to be one of the dumbest things anyone said during the whole campaign. If Obama wanted to destroy the U.S., all he needed to do was sit on his hands in 2009 and let the hot mess of the Bush economy melt the country down to slag. But the issue is bigger than any particular president. After his "all on one team" remark, Obama continued: The point, though, is that we all go forward with a presumption of good faith in our fellow citizens, because that, of good faith is essential to a vibrant and functioning democracy.

For decades, city and state politicians had vowed to purge the place of its legendary seediness, in order to make the streets safe, clean, and attractive for out-of-town visitors. New Yorkers paid no attention to such fanciful promises, for Times Square was knowledgeably regarded as lost and unconquerable; a mephitic pit, so formidably infested that nothing short of a full-scale military occupation could tame it. As recently as 1994 Times Square swarmed unabashedly with hookers, hustlers, and crackheads and was the address of forty-seven porn shops.

It's easy to be judgmental about crime when you live in a world wealthy to be removed from it. But the hood taught me that everyone has different notions of right and wrong, different definitions of what constitutes a crime, and what level of crime they're willing to participate in. If a crackhead comes through and he's got a crate of Corn Flakes boxes he's stolen out of the back of a supermarket, the poor mom isn't thinking, I'm aiding and abetting a criminal by buying these Corn Flakes. No. She's thinking, My family needs food and this guy has Corn Flakes, and she buys the Corn Flakes.

Drug dealer buy Jordan, crackhead buy crack And the white man get paid off of all of that

- Why is it that everyone from your school is a criminal crackhead? - Why's everyone from yours a Tory minister?

Crackheads were different. They’d smoke in hallways, on playgrounds, on subway station suitcases. They got no respect. They were former neighbors, ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, but once they started smoking, they were simply crackheads, the lowest on the food chain in the jungle, worse than prostitutes and almost as bad as snitches.

He knew in his heart that one day he would have to kill his son or his son would kill him.

Great question, crackhead Susan,” he replied. “Your fucking door was opened, and I was able to walk right in. You lucky you live in a good ass neighborhood because if this was the hood your ass would have probably got robbed and raped, depending on the nigga that came across your apartment.

Ella was still in love with my husband, and being around him while living under the same roof wasn’t any good. That was like letting a crackhead live in a trap house.