Narcos is addictive, so if you haven’t already binged this Netflix series based on the life and escapades of one Pablo Escobar, master criminal, cancel all your plans next weekend and have at it. It gave me great pleasure. Then again, back in the ‘80s, so did cocaine.

Like cocaine, my initial feeling of “Oh my god! This is better than sex!” quickly wore off with no afterglow. By episode seven, I was still interested but no longer infatuated.

To read the total skinny on why you should waste or usefully spend your time overdosing on this quality or trash programming, and why it might leave you with a hangover and the feeling that maybe you should have been doing something more worthwhile, take a look at my detailed overview/review at  Happy Nice Time People — the folks (like me) who are always watching.

(When you’re done with THAT, you can slip over here and read my very authentic novel about the 1980s pre-gentrified East Village, which also features a lot of drugs, some money, and also gratuitous (probably) sex and violence.)

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