It takes a village to raise a crack smoker

Or just someone who really doesn't like you.

“If you want to nuke your life, do crack.”

- Courtney Love

There are plenty of ways to do away with someone. Letter bombs, hiking “accidents,” poisoned apples.

If you really don’t like them, you might be tempted to introduce them to crack cocaine.

But I don’t recommend it. An enormous investment of time and energy is required to turn someone into a full-blown fiend.

Of course, it’s possible. Look at me. I didn’t do any serious drugs until the ripe age of 30. Then someone shoved a mound of powder under my virgin nose. Fine, fine. It’s just blow. Lots of people limp through life with a significant coke habit. Now, if you really want to nuke someone’s life, get them on the rock.

But here’s the thing. It isn’t as easy as in the movies.

It took years for my habit to fully blossom. And I’m an easy target. I’d always been looking for some kind of general anesthetic for living. Crack seemed like a good fit.

Still, it didn’t take right away.

See, this is a bespoke drug. You don’t just wake up with a hankering to be a crackhead. Someone’s got to put you onto it and shepherd you down that road. Someone who really doesn’t like you. No matter what they say.

For my descent, I had a strong technical support team. There’s a lot to learn. Secrets must be passed on. Crack doesn’t sweep you up in its arms on Day 1. It took years. And plenty of exposure and positive reinforcement.

“It’s just cocaine. Except you inhale it.”

When you’re finally ready to leave the nest and be an independent crack smoker, you’ll still need help finding a proper dealer. Every addict you meet on the street will tell you they sell. Because they have to hustle to get their fix too. Without a seasoned guide, you’ll lose a lot of money and often find yourself in peril. I used to take pride in my collection of accredited dealers —three of them, just a text message away. No more running drunk and half-cocked into the ghetto looking for it.

Then there are the countless critical details of actually smoking the stuff — from the very particular pipe to the very fickle filter. You’ll need to learn how to hold the lighter at just the right angle to ensure an efficient burn. And let’s not even get into the intricacies of cooking it in a spoon. Google it all you want, but in the end, someone has to show you how it’s done. No, crack isn’t for dilettantes. It’s a discipline. You need a mentor — someone to guide, instruct and occasionally holler, “You’re burning the fucking pipe!”

And that mentor 100 percent certifiably wishes you dead.

Sure, alcohol would have probably done the trick. But crack hurries a life along with particular efficiency, moving it from A to Z in the blink of an eye.

“What a shame,” they might say at your funeral, which will be attended mostly by strangers.

For all that, I still can’t recommend deploying crack cocaine to destroy your enemy.

Imagine putting all that work into introducing someone to hard drugs, and quietly aiding and abetting their habit for years. Finally, death is nipping at their heels. They’re knock-knock-knocking on hell’s door.

And… they check into a recovery program. Foiled!

Worse, if they manage to get clean, they’re happier than they’ve been in their whole entire life. If crack is A to Z, then recovery is Z to A++. And who doesn’t love a redemption story?

Well, maybe you. Instead of turning your enemy to dust, you’ve turned them on to the beauty of life. And you didn’t even get a t-shirt. Just a wee, slightly inconvenient drug habit.

Talk about being hoist on your own petard. Should have just taken your chances with the poisoned apple.