The Rick Horowitz Adderall Experiment

Recently, there has been much talk in the media centered around the prescription drug, Adderall. There are differing opinions on the effectiveness of prescribing Adderall to treat ADHD, but one thing is for sure: it isn't stopping parents from feeding it to their kids by the scoop full. But not Rick Horowitz. When Dr. Thalluri prescribed my son, David, 40mg of Adderall a day, I wasn't about to just rollover and accept it. That's why I'm conducting what I'm calling, The Rick Horowitz Adderall Experiment. My aim is to publish this paper in one or any of the more progressive medical journals out there, as my methods might seem a little , "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants," for some hoity-toities in the medical and scientific sectors. I assure you, however, that there is nothing amateurish about this experiment. Coming from a steel-working background, I can affirm that the trial and error method is one upon which entire industries have been built...quite literally. So without any further preamble, allow me to introduce the test subject: My brother-in-law Tommy. The subject is 35 years old and in moderate to poor physical shape. Mentally, he is quite scatter-brained and had he been born twenty years later, might have been the poster child for pharmacopsychiatry. The experiment, conducted once before Adderall is administered and once after 40mg of Adderall is administered, consists of Tommy scribbling down his thoughts as they come to him on a piece of loose leaf taped to my kitchen table. Below are the findings.

Before Adderall:
New Night Rider. Good luck. Car looks gay. TiVo.
Economy's [doodle of phallus]
[second doodle of phallus]
[doodle of car jumping over phalluses]
Need some trim.
Could use a trim.
Trim's an airplane term.
[doodle of phallus as airplane]
Plane looks like a sandwich.

At this point, the subject asks for a sandwich.

Fuck this. I should be able to have a sandwich if I want a damn sandwich. That's just a little control issue you got there.
[doodle of phallus bearing resemblance to Rick Horowitz]
I'm thirsty too.
[doodle of a glass of liquid with arrow pointing to it.]
Lemonade.
I need a date. With a woman. What's wrong with a fella like me?
[doodle of a phallus]
This is dumb.
This is dummy. Ventriloquist.
Nyquil. I dream funny things on Nyquil. I want a lemonade.


After Adderall:
Let's see.
What am I thinking about?
Ah, I'm thinking about women. I'd like a date. I deserve a date. Possibly, I'm the only one whom can be of any help to my situation in this matter. How can I help myself in this matter? Perhaps I need to inwardly examine myself to determine where I've gone wrong in the past. Maybe a list of my strengths and weaknesses might help.

My strengths:
Tall.
25% Photogenic. (25% of the time, not 25% of my body, although 7.25% of my body is photogenic 90% of the time.[LOL.])
Persuasive. (Manipulative? What a revelation. I'm manipulative. I suppose this could go under the weaknesses column too, but really, for the purposes of securing a mate, a little persuasiveness could be just the sort of Darwinistic edge that could put a rather homely or lackluster specimen over the top into contention. Strength column)
Intimidating features. (Eyebrows come to point in the middle like the roof of a house or an obtuse letter "A", prominent cheekbones, strong square jaw—evil incarnate, really.)
Puppy dog eyes.
Offbeat sense of humor.
Comfortable with body, sexuality. (I doodle phalluses as a subconscious affirmation of my masculinity and virility. I don't believe this is lost on an objective observer.)



My weaknesses:
Comfortable with body, sexuality. (I doodle phalluses as a subconscious affirmation of my masculinity and virility. This may be lost on an objective observer.)
Tendency to overreact. Violently. (Good god. I can be a real Neanderthal. While something like intimidating eyebrows is something to be admired [because it is the implication of violence, an unspoken intimation of something {That "Je ne sais crois," perhaps, I suppose},however, violence is simply vile.])
My hands are EXTREMELY slow when it comes to writing, apparently. (I think I may be cramping in the wrist.)
Easily persuaded.
Slight paunch. (Mental note: get gym membership—got a free trial last week---check in garbage...last week's garbage is in the shed until tomorrow. Thursday is bulk.)
Balding. (Shaved head, but I still place this one in the weakness column.)
Honest. (Selfishly honest. Honest is only a double-edged sword when wielded nobly, otherwise honesty is as selfish a pursuit as the straight-laced cop-on-all-those-1970s-movies's pursuit of living by the book because he[she?] can't stand to leave him[her?]self vulnerable to the possibility of living, I mean really living. Without rules. Relying on only your emotion to guide you [has there ever been a truer compass than the heart?]. )
Optimist!
Sarcastic. (Acerbic.)
Unabashedly perverse. (Don't want to elaborate on this.)
Obsessed with feelings. (They're so interesting! Along this same line of thought—aren't thoughts just a hoot? What are they, and why are they there? Just fartin' around up there waiting to jump out of your mouth and terrify people. Wacky.)
Forgetful.
Lemonade.

At this point, the subject stopped writing and the previously furious scratching of his pencil gave way to an intense silence. Stillness. When asked what he was thinking about, he responded that with each successive minute he was coming to new revelations about the meaning of life.