William Walters slammed the door behind him and exclaimed, “I’m going out for a pack of smokes!” An important fact, he did not smoke, nor did he vape, nor chew, nor snort. It was a disgusting habit, and like the many who believe that liquor is quicker, or crack is whack, or heroin is harrowin’ or Cher 4.0 sucks; he believed that tobacco is whacko.
He was rudely awoken by a girl screaming right into his face. “Daddy, it’s Christmas!” Dan Rabinowitz could barely open his crusted eyes. As is implied by his name, some people called him Danny. Right now, right here, he was pissed off for countless reasons. For starters, it was 8 AM on a Saturday morning in the middle of July. It was hot; the sweaty gross bed sheets clinging to him like aggressive static hot. To say he was hungover would only be half a truth, for technically, he might still be legally inebriated from mere hours before. Lastly, he was a confirmed bachelor, who did not celebrate Christmas. So it made perfect sense that his main thought was what the fuck?
“Imperfection is a sign of humanity,” the cobbler said, as he resoled a shoe using inferior nails and terrible glue that suspiciously smelled like watermelon flavored Jolly Ranchers™.
It has come to my attention that crack is whack or crack is wack, and the first question that comes to mind is: what does that even mean? In order to sum up a reasonable definition, it would be best to define each word of the phrase in the context of 1986, when Keith Haring debuted the mural, “Crack Is Wack”.