Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Films, Movie makers  Film Mafia

Depp, Johnny
Thompson, Hunter

[vid] Adrenechrome

Reptile eyes (slits)  Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas


next watch this youtube clip on adrenochrome, that is fritz springmeier talking in the background about the black market drug.


click here to watch the video

quotes from FEAR AND LOTHING IN LAS VEGAS (pay attention to 'child molestation, and sacrifice, in this first set quotes he made references to selling a young girl into white sexual slavery)

He shook his head, struggling to focus on the question. “Shit,” he said finally. “I met her
on the plane and I had all that acid.” He shrugged. “You know, those little blue barrels. Jesus,
she’s a religious freak. She’s running away from home for something like the fifth time in six
months. It’s terrible. I gave her that cap before I realized… shit, she’s never even had a drink!”
“Well,” I said, “it’ll probably work out. We can keep her loaded and peddle her ass at the drug
convention.” He stared at me.
“She’s perfect for this gig,” I said. “These cops will go fifty bucks a head to beat her into
submission and then gang-fuck her. We can set her up in one of these back-street motels, hang
pictures of Jesus all over the room, then turn these pigs loose on her… Hell, she’s strong; she’ll
hold her own.”

"We coaxed Lucy down to the car, telling her that we thought it was about time to “go
meet Barbra”. We had no trouble convincing her that she should take all her artwork, but she
couldn’t understand why my attorney wanted to bring her suitcase along. “I don’t want to
embarrass her,” she protested. “She’ll think I’m trying to move in with her, or something.”
“No she won’t,” I said quickly… but that was all I could think of to say. I felt like Martin
Bormann. What would happen to this poor wretch when we cut her loose? Jail? White slavery?"


"But the room was quiet again. He was back in his chair, watching Mission Impossible and
fumbling idly with the hash pipe. It was empty. “Where’s that opium?” he asked.
I tossed him the kit-bag. “Be careful,” I mattered. “There’s not such left.” He chuckled. “As
your attorney,” he said, “I advise you not worry.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Take a hit
out of that little brown bottle in my shaving kit.”
“What is it?”
“Adrenochrome,” he said. “You won’t need much. Just a little tiny taste.” I got the bottle
and dipped the head of a paper match into it.
“That’s about right,” he said. “That stuff makes pure mescaline seem like gingerbeer. You’ll
go completely crazy if you take too much.” I licked the end of the match. “Where’d you get this?”
I asked. “You can’t buy it.”
“Never mind,” he said. “It’s absolutely pure.” I shook my head sadly. “Jesus! What kind of
monster client have you picked up this time? There’s only one source for this stuff…”
He nodded.
“The adrenaline glands from a living human body,” I said. “It’s no good if you get it out of
a corpse.”
“I know,” he replied. “But the guy didn’t have any cash. He’s one of these Satanism freaks.
He offered me human blood – said it would make me higher than I’d ever been in my life,” he
laughed. “I thought he was kidding, so I told him I’d just as soon have an ounce or so of pure
adrenochrome – or maybe just a fresh adrenalin gland to chew on.” I could already feel the stuff
working on me. The first wave felt like a combination of mescaline and methedrmne. Maybe I
should take a swim, I thought.
“Yeah,” my attorney was saying. “They nailed this guy for child molesting, but he swears
he didn’t do it. ‘Why should I fuck with children?’ he says; ‘They’re too small!’” He shrugged.
“Christ, what could I say? Even a goddamn werewolf is entitled to legal counsel… I didn’t dare
turn the creep down. He might have picked up a letter-opener and gone after my pineal gland.”
“Why not?” I said. “He could probably get Melvin Belli for that.” I nodded, barely able to
talk now. My body felt like I’d just been wired into a 220-volt socket. “Shit, we should get us
some of that stuff,” I muttered finally. “Just eat a big handful and see what happens.”
“Some of what?”
“Extract of pineal.” He stared at me. “Sure,” he said. “That’s a good idea. One whiff of that
shit would turn you into something out of a goddamn medical encyclopedia! Man, your head
would swell up like a watermelon, you’d probably gain about a hundred pounds in two hours…
claws, bleeding warts, then you’d notice about six huge hairy tits swefling up on your back…” He
shook his head emphatically. “Man, I’ll try just about anything; but I’d never in hell touch a
pineal gland. “Last Christmas somebody gave me a whole Jimson weed – the root must have
weighed two pound; enough for a year – but I ate the whole goddamn thiung in about twenty
minutes.” The slightest hesitation made me want to grab him by the throat and force him to talk
faster. “Right!” I said eagerly. “Jimson weed! What happened?”
“Luckily, I vomited most of it right back up,” he said. “But even so, I went blind for three
days. Christ I couldn’t even walk! My whole body turned to wax. I was such a mess that they had
to haul me back to the ranch house in a wheelbarrow… they said I was trying to talk, but I
sounded like a raccoon.”
“Fantastic,” I said. But I could barely hear him. I was so wired that my hands were clawing
uncontrollably at the bed spread, jerking it right out from under me while he talked. My heels
were dug into the mattress, with both knees locked... I could feel my eyeballs swelling, about to
pop out of the sockets.
“Finish the fucking story!” I snarled. “What happened? What about the glands?” He
backed away, keeping an eye on me as he edged across the room. “Maybe you need another
drink,” he said nervously. “Jesus, that stuff got right on top of you, didn’t it?” I tried to smile.
“Well… nothing worse… no, this is worse…” It was hard to move my jaws; my tongue felt like
burning magnesium. “No… nothing to worry about,” I hissed. “Maybe if you could just… shove
me into the pool, or something…”
“Goddamnit,” he said. “You took too much. You’re about to explode. Jesus, look at your
face!” I couldn’t move. Total paralysis now. Every muscle in my was contracted. I couldn’t even
move my eyeballs, much turn my head or talk.
“It won’t last long,” he said. “The first rush is the worst, ride the bastard out. If I put you
in the pool right now, sink like a goddamn stone.” I was sure of it. Not even my lungs seemed to
be functioning. I needed artificial respiration, but I couldn’t open my mouth to say so. I was
going to die. Just sitting there on the bed, unable to move… well at least there’s no pain.
Probably, I’ll black out in a few seconds, and after that it won’t matter.
My attorney had gone back to watching television. The news was on again. Nixon’s face
filled the screen, but his speech was hopelessly garbled. The only word I could make out was
“sacrifice.” Over and over again: “Sacrifice… sacrifice… sacrifice” I could hear myself breathing
heavily. My attorney seemed to notice. “Just stay relaxed,” he said over his shoulder, with out
looking at me. “Don’t try to fight it, or you’ll start getting brain bubbles… strokes, aneurisms…
you’ll just wither up and die.” His hand snaked out to change channels."