Today marks the twentieth anniversary of John Belushi’s overdose via Speedball. His last days on earth went something like this:
Belushi sits fat, naked and bloated on the toilet of some random, fleabag hotel in Southern California. He is hanging out with a dirty crack whore who he met the week prior and has been up for the past three days with her mainlining whiskey, pot, coke and smack. “Hey, I got an idea,” remarks the junkie whore. “We should start speedballing so we no longer feel the depression of coming down from our high(s) anymore.” Belushi agrees. “Great idea. We will be so high. Fix me up!” Hijinks ensue.