November 2016 – f-your blog

Canine Carnage: Looks Can Be Deceiving

About 12 years ago I was working as a Veterinary Technician (Vet Tech for short) at Eccentric Animal Hospital run by Dr. Eccentric. It was business as usual as Dr. E saw routine morning appointments. The 11:30 appointment was for a dog who had been excessively dragging its ass across the owners pricy carpet and was increasing obsessed with it’s butt. When the dog showed up for its appointment it turned out to be a very friendly and affectionate ( I’m talking Disney cartoon level cute till you puke here) 5 year old,67 pound male Golden Retriever named Tucker who was not neutered. Tucker’s owner was a rather pleasant middle aged woman named Ditsy who was a bit mentally out to lunch.

I escorted Mrs. Ditsy along with Tucker into one of the exam room where Ditsy filled out the new client paperwork, and I took Tucker to get weighed. Now the layout of the exam room is key. There was the first door leading from the waiting room into the exam rom, and a second located at the back that lead to the Lab, Surgical prep, Xray,Surgery room etc. The room’s measurements are approximately 8 feet long and 5 feet wide I know that sounds more like prison cell then an exam room, but checkout your veterinarian’s exam rooms for comparison purposes. The middle of the room had a 3 1/2 foot examination table protruding from wall that was around 4 feet in height. This made a for very close quarters when with a dog that size the owners’s sitting on the exam room bench, and the Doctor,dog, and I are on the small floor space in front of the owner (to say wiggle room was scarce would be a humungous understatement.)

After a basic once over Dr.E stated his primary diagnosis was a impacted anal gland. For those who aren’t in the know when it comes to anal glands they are 2 glands located just inside a dog’s rectum. The anal glands express the most foully vile smelling fluid (like the farts of SATAN) If you have ever had the displeasure of not only smelling, but never forgetting that pungent oder you know what I mean. The reason for this is when your dog takes a crap and the feces is excreted past the anal glands it causes them to express( the putrid smelling) fluid that serves as a personal calling card. Now if the anal glands are impacted they can’t express the anal gland fluid which then build up like water behind a dam. If untreated the anal gland becomes extremely infected and will then rupture like a giant shit filled blister. In Tucker’s case it was so early in the game that if it was a impacted anal gland was the problem then it could be solved right away by manually expressing the blocked gland. Granted this is not a the most pleasant of problems to solve, and to the animal it feels like the equivalent of your Proctologist trying to pop a pimple inside your butt during a prostate exam if you will.

So with that said Dr.E and I got ready do to the deed. Dr.E put proceeded to put on the classic latex gloves, grabbed the tube of lube (because animals don’t need to be treated by animals.) and a couple sheets of paper towel to catch the expressed anal gland fluid. Tucker was facing towards the wall with his rear facing the exam table directly behind him so I squatted down on the balls of my feet and placed my left arm around his neck and my right arm around his waist to properly restraint him. I’m well aware that this restraint technique looks like a combo of a wrestling move and an MMA choke out hold, but I assure you it all serves a purpose. If you control the head you control the body and to help control the body you have one arm secured around the animals waist. As soon as Dr. E took a knee behind Tucker I felt Tucker tense up and then become absolutely rigged as if he was flexing ever muscle in his body simultaneously. I knew things were getting off to a potential dangerous start then Dr. E touched Tucker’s rectum, and Tucker royally up and lost his shit as fast as a starter’s pistol and the clash of carnage was on. I knew I couldn’t escape out the 1st door into the waiting room because it was behind me, and even if I did reach it I’d have to open and close it allowing more time to get injured. When I knew I couldn’t restrain Tucker any longer I announced that I had to let go, waited for Dr.E to back off to safety, eyed the owner and let go. At this point Tucker was growling loudly and aggressively while showing his teeth all which means a high risk of attack.

As I was releasing my hold on Tucker I shifted my weight so I had a strait shot out the 2nd door into the Lab/Surgical area, and not only that the 2nd door was a sliding pocket door which as even open at the time. Now as I started to stand up Tucker swung his head wildly to his left in a violent U-turn type motion just in time to severely bite at my left ear. Now I say “Bite at” because Tucker didn’t move quite as fast as me he couldn’t bite down directly on my ear. What did happen was his Canines caught my outter ear. TO CLARIFY what you think is your ear is actually called THE AURICLE and the VESTIBULE (depressed part of you outer ear directly outside the ear canal. As Tucker was closing his mouth his aforementioned canines (upper and lower) tore the top of my inner and ripped it down so it looked like a theater curtain that had fallen to expose the bare cartilage wall behind it. Once I was upright I strode out the 2nd door slamming it behind me. I remember just standing there while stating in a raised voice just under a yell “My fucking ear, he bit my fucking ear now I’m bleeding all over myself.” As you can imagine my heart was POUNDING as the adrenaline surged through my veins like 100,000 volts of electricity being that head wound in general bleed like a son of a bitch my ear was no exception. I could hear the owner Mrs. Ditsy asking repeatedly if I was alright and was extremely concerned I’l give her that, but I was aggravated as all get out and tuned her out.

Well the receptionist got a photocopy of her driver’s license before Mrs. Ditsy took Tucker home. Since that had been the last appointment of the morning there was time to figure out what the hell to do next. I hate hospital’s and I hate emergency rooms even more as I think they both are essentially EXPLOIT PATIENTS FOR PROFIT institutions. So in spite of having rather good health insurance I wasn’t going to an ER hell or high water. Dr.E volunteered his services as he could do exactly the same thing the ER would do, but Dr. E would do it absolutely free where its a $900 ER bill for literally walking in the door (which automatically starts your bill at $900. ) I agreed and Dr.E numbed up my ear with Lidocaine and simply stitched my ear back into one singular piece. I then called my mother because it occurred to me I hadn’t a clue when I had my last Tetanus shot, and good thing I called because it turned out my last Tetanus shot was 10 years in the past so I went with my Wife to the local MD Now walk in medical clinic and told them I had been bitten by a dog while at work, and I would thus be needing a well over due Tetanus shot. I noticed that after the informing them I was first and foremost bitten on the ear by a dog (I explained I worked as a Vet Tech and it was an owned animal code for rabies shot is current) the front desk personel where staring intently at my ear until realizing I wasn’t bleeding because I had stitches in my ear. So of course out of curiosity and a bit of concern they repeatedly and excessively asked who in fact had stitched up my ear for me. I was aware that in Canada if a Veterinarian works on a human they lose their vet license, are heavily fined and possibly could face some jail time. If I’m anything I’m insanely loyal (I say insane because even loyalty can be too much of a good thing if shit gets out of hand) I finally answered them and all I said was “a friend” helped me out. Several other staff members asked me the same question over and over again (sometimes they would just reword the question before asking it for the thousandth time) and all I would say every single time without fail was a friend helped me out and stitched me up.

NOTE TO READER: If your thinking how in a (fully staffed )professional medical clinic no one there could piece it together? I told them I got bitten at work. I also told them I’m a veterinary technician. I told them I work for a Veterinarian in his Animal Hospital. Yet NO ONE could figure out the blatantly obvious that the Veterinarian was the one who did the stitched me up. CONGRATULATIONS YOUR NOT INSANE. Its just the god’s honest truth, no one there could put it all together. Its like the most fucked up game of Clue ever.

One of the Strangest Memories of Mine from Childhood

When I was growing up I attended a Private School from kindergarten through 8th grade, but this wasn’t in any way to do with my family having money. My father was the Head of the English Department so I got a free ride that I never wanted. Part of this elitist idiots institution of privilege was that they had an ice skating rink so ever winter for P.E. we would walk over and ice skate for class. Now knowing that kids grow quick and that outside of P.E. I’d never use them my father found away around needlessly spending money on new ice skates. He quite simply located a man who lived near by who rented ice skates during the winter months.

The elderly gentlemen who ran the rental operation ran it out of his house. Now I can’t tell you what the house even looked like as we always went after dark, but in all due fairness it gets dark by 5 p.m. during winter. What I remember is the following. I remember my father making a right hand turn off a residential street and driving down a short driveway were he parked the car. Once we got out of the car the house was on the left and when you looked over you saw your basic 2 car garage with a plain old run of the mill white exterior door. We would enter through the plain white door into a completely dark area about the size of your average closet. To the right once you stepped through the door was a doorway that led to a set of steps (approximately 5-6 steps in total) that we’ed walk down into base of the operation if you will. The room was dimly light by outdated and well worn florescent lights who’s originally sterile soul sucking silent office light had degraded into a flickering odd shade of grey with a loud humming buzz. The floor was bathed in a 1970’s Ultra Shag carpet of dark brown with flecks of deep yellow and orange through out. The walls were completely bare with off white paint that during countless years had developed a time worn yellowing. The only other thing in the entire room was a home made wood bench that was wrapped around the walls and had some poor excuse for padding. There was a small laundry room directly across from the steps that housed a washer, dryer and an ice skate sharpening machine like the one you see at regular ice skating rinks. There was in fact a 3rd room but we will get back to that in a minute.

Once you sat down on the bench it was vertically identical to buying shoes. The Old man probably mid 60’s standing about 6 feet 3 inches tall wearing a plaid shirt, suspenders, work pants (Dickies) and a pair of beat down construction boots would gather up 3 or 4 pairs of skates. After collecting the skates he would walk over and kneel down as you tried on the skates he would lace them for you. While lacing and unlacing the skates until finding the right pair would exhale heavily through his nose periodically like a long nasal sigh. Now I don’t believe this was out of discomfort (i.e. old joints, bad knee etc) or emotion (anger,irritating,disgust etc.) ,but rather a peculiar personal trait the man developed over his life time, and more then likely wasn’t even aware at his advanced age he was even making a noise. Once the correct and proper pair of ice skates was found the Old man would collect the rental fee and that was that until returning them in Spring.

Now remember that 3rd room I said we’ed get back to well we’re back to it. See just like with shoes you have to walk around a bit in a pair of skates as you would a pair of shoes to insure they fit correctly. I had always wondered since the beginning of these yearly rentals exactly where the skates to be rented where. So while testing out a pair of skates one year to see in they fit I got up enough nerve to really walk around the room. I normally you see would only take a few steps as not to be too far from my father or the exit door as I found the whole situation creepy as shit as a kid, and as I write this I have the same feeling. As I walked around the room I noticed there was a slight 3 foot long extenuation coming out of the wall to create a degree of privacy, (I don’t know why someone would build a basement with a privacy wall of sorts unless your a serial killer) and around on the other side was the 3rd previously unseen room. I teetered and wobbled around until I could see in the 3rd room and what I saw is the strangest part of the story. The large room was filled to capacity with pairs of ice skate, hundreds upon hundreds of them like it was the Fort Knox of ice skates. There were pairs of skates lying side by side in row after row covering the entire floor, and there were cubbies lining the walls from the floor to the ceiling each one housing a pair of ice skates.

To this day my one and only question has created plentiful hypothesizes BUT NEVER answered is simply “Where the Hell did this Old Man get Hundreds and Hundreds of pairs of ice skates?” How did he amass so many pairs? This question alone only brings more questions and no answer.

Definitive Proof Even Apple Doesn’t Know How The iCloud Actually Works

Note: The Gentlemen who left comment about how he was hacked resulting in the loss of years of work I’d like to dedicate this post to you.

A Couple of years ago when My Wife and I got new Smartphones we decided for safety reasons we would get the “Find My Fucking Phone For Me” App, BUT to do so one was required to sign up for the omnipresent mystery known as the iCloud (I believe the i stands for Idiotic) so we did just that. Everything was totally normal for the next couple of weeks as life continued unobstructed . Then one day I woke up, had my coffee, smoked a joint ,and then I picked up my phone to check one of my never ending lists of possible work projects and the list was gone. In fact all my lists had vanished along with all my work files from the last 2 1/2 years. I dropped my phone and ran to find our Iputts and all my work had disappeared there as well. I then began grabbing any and every linked computer driven device in the entire house, but every device I checked was blank my work was now officially missing in action.

I called the Apple help line and explained that I’m very pissed and even more confused as to why a service thats SOLE FUCKING JOB is to store information/photos/videos is unable to find even a single shred of my work. Obviously the Customer Service Drone was completely baffled and quickly called in a Supervisor. Again I explained the situation and again this time the Supervisor told me how utterly odd my debacle was. Over 90 minutes later I got off the phone with the Supervisor not having accomplished a single damn thing, I didn’t even get a basic explanation as to what the hell was going on.

Over the next 6 weeks I was constantly on the phone with the Apple people daily and was getting nowhere fast. Each time I’d call it was the same story all over again I’d let them know the problem, the Phone Drone would throw their preverbal hands in the air, transfer me to slick Supervisor who would tell me “This has never happened before…” and that was it. I talked to 7 different Supervisors in total none of which had a single clue as to what the problem EVEN WAS none the less attempted to fix it. Finally I had it and told the 8th and the last Supervisor that at this point not only am I extremely angry over the initial problem, but now I was equally pissed off at their company’s complete and apparent incompetence as nothing had changed since my 1st call. The 8th Supervisor had the ingenious idea of calling upon their extensive IT Department to see where they weighed in on the subject at hand. Within 3-4 days I called the 8th Supervisor (she was the only one that had the wherewithal to give me their extension so I could contact them directly, and avoid the excessive bullshit of constantly repeating my self to the front line Phone Drones.) to check in for hopefully some sort of progress report and she actually had news for me.

What Supervisor 8 told me was that the iCloud had in fact done its job which was to back up and store my shit at which point I felt a bit relieved because it sounded like finally could be fixed. I was totally wrong. Supervisor 8 continued to inform me that the IT Department had contacted her earlier in the day and gave her their official report. In their report the IT Department stated again first and foremost that the iCloud had done its official and designated back up job, BUT the problem was that instead of storing my work in its proper spot the Cloud in its infinite wisdom stored it somewhere else. The IT Department concluded their report with that as of now they had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHERE THE CLOUD STORED MY WORK so they obviously can’t do shit until they located where my work was indeed stored at within the Cloud.

This is where our story ends readers because to this very day years later The Apple IT Department has been absolutely unable to locate a single piece my work not a single word.

Out Sourcing Becomes In Sourcing

We all are well aware allowing Large Companies and Corporations to outsource jobs to other (lets be real 3rd world counties, I mean you never see them send jobs to Europe or Asia) foreign countries champions America’s capitalist beliefs bastardized back in the 1980’s. It subsequently utterly destroyed the American Middle Class ironically rendering America closer to a Third World Country with a severe separation gap between the poor and the rich. Anyway you look at it America’s holding on to the antiquated belief system (once again) of decades past didn’t help the already massive financial and economic shiticane that was slowly forming over the American people.

So again we all know that the reason(s) Corporations and Large Companies wanted outsourcing for one reason alone MONEY. In Third World countries you can literally pay slave wages, provide absolutely no benefits or 401 Ks etc. you can work the people exhausting ours, and there are virtually no labor laws to restrict medieval practices (abuses is more accurate). They didn’t have to worry either about complaints of any kind because the people of that country are so fucking desperate they’ll eat whatever shit sandwich you serve them.

Now as if that wasn’t a totally fucked up concept of capitalism IT GETS WORSE (remember it can ALWAYS be worse even if its shit to begin with.) See the endless appetite of glorious greed wasn’t satiated, the gluttonous desires of the Large Companies and Corporations still begged to be fed. The only issue with outsourcing was while the labor force was cheap and exploitable SHIPPING costs could get quite pricey for having the finished products shipped state side. Then one damnable day the Corporations and Large Companies realized that after several years of on going outsourcing the American people had become as desperate and expendable as those citizens in the Third World Countries. So they could bullshit the lemmings of the American public, receive some good PR, exploit a expendable work force, AND SAVE MONEY ON SHIPPING COSTS.

Armed with this new despicable knowledge the Corporations and Large Companies under the bullshit banner of patriotism for “Bring Jobs Home” started exploiting the American work force almost identical (because America has enforceable labor laws) to those they employed in the Third World. American workers were now willing to do 3 times the amount of work for 1/2 the pay and no benefits so the Cooperations and Large Companies took full advantage of the fucking crisis they created. They didn’t have to worry about complaints or pressure for more money/better benefits because if any employee said shit you just remind them “There 100 people who are ready and willing to do your job.” With that a real life reality virtually NO EMPLOYEE would even THINK of saying SHIT again because they’re terrified of losing their job in such a fucked up part of American History.

Bottom Line here is:

Insourcing or Outsourcing ITS ALL EXPLOITATION. Capitalism run rampant will be the final blow that Murders America.

How I Crashed My Dad’s New Car And Got Away With It Scott Free.

Just like every high school student since the dawn of the high school I took Drivers Ed when I was a junior. Now by the time I took Drivers Ed. the training equipment had surpassed old into ancient, and was now teetering on being completely antiquated. Back in those days the internet was in its infancy so I’m sure today Drivers Ed. must be like going to a fucking theme park, but I digress. Anyway when I was taking Drivers Ed. you sat in a “driving simulator” which sounds way fucking cooler than it was, remember again this was before the Internet and its technological spawn. The “Driving Simulator” was just an uncomfortable seat in front of a mock dashboard (Speedometer, Wheel, Ignition, Review mirrors, fake break/gas peddle basically everything but a shitty mock radio.) and stared at a crappy worn out movie screen. As you stared at the screen a variety of driving scenarios played out like driving in a residential neighborhood when all of a sudden a kid’s ball bounces into the road, and you act accordingly by using the fake brake. Now the fake peddles on the simulator required a good bit of leg strength to operate due to the fact the peddles where rusting most likely do to poor maintenance (the gym teacher and substitution for a real driving instructor must not of known about WD-40). In the end of all of this fantastical automotive madness passed the class and along with it earning my drivers permit.

IMPORTANT NOTE: There was a small part at the end of the class you, the driving instructor (Gym teacher) and a fellow student would get in and take turns driving an actual car . There was a secondary break for the instructor to use incase shit got out of control. With that said my high school’s Drivers Ed. interpreted this part as tooling around the school’s parking lot practicing K turns and parallel parking. The rare time I did drive on an actual street all I was instructed to do is drive down the small town’s main street (who’s speed limit was a whopping 25mph) 10-11 blocks down to the tiny strip mall and directly back to the school.

The next step in the learning to drive process was to bug the shit out of my parents until (inevitably I wore one of them down) they agreed to teach me to drive. In my case it was my it was my mother who gave in and agreed to teach me whatever I needed to know. Now the conditions around my first actual driving lesson with my mother should have made for enough sufficient foreshadowing to have called it off immediately. You see just a few mere months before the lesson my father had finally bought the sports car he had always wanted ,(and of course my brother and I were not allowed anywhere near it under penalty of…well we never found out because obviously it be bad.) My mother made the decision that it was time for lesson when my father was out of the country in Ireland ,AND that it would be quite a good thing I learn how to drive a stick shift which makes sense on paper. I say that because my mother owned a manual minivan so if I was to learn how to drive stick it have to be in my father’s new sports car.

Much like my high school driving class the first place we went was to a large and completely empty parking lot by a bunch of innocuous office buildings. Now this parking lot had a particular architectural design difference then the parking lot of my high school, and that would be the systematically placed islands with a bit of grass, small buses/scrubs and a sampling tree smack in the middle of them. The islands were surrounded by a massive cement curb that must have been at least 5-6″ high. My mom parked the car at one end of the lot, and I eagerly jumped into the drivers seat with building excitement. After adjusting the mirrors and buckling my seat belts it was time to get on with the real driving, and thats when all hell broke loose going from bad to worse to worst in a matter of split seconds.

Remember the aforementioned Driving Simulators with their corroded peddles that made then difficult to push down well heres where they came into play. The peddles in my father’s prized new sports car were the exact OPPOSITE of the Driving Simulator’s (they were sensitive and required little more then just placing you foot on the gas) and just the weight of your foot would get the car going. So needles to say the car engine roared as it revved up and took off like a Cheetah with its ass was on fire. I’m not going to say I had the wherewithal to shift gears, but I did manage (by shear coincidence) to get the car into second gear when I pulled back, jammed even further on to the gas peddle, and stomped on the clutch violently. I remember hearing my mother’s voice yet to this day I don’t have a goddamn clue what she said not a single word. I did upon hearing her voice look up and saw the end on the parking lot which we were hurdling towards as the asphalt of the parking lot disappeared beneath the wheels as if in fact the tires were feeding upon it. In this case I did the most natural thing one can do and I banked a almost 90 degree right hand turn to avoid crashing head on into the thick woods that lined the perimeter of said parking lot, but thats not all. When I whipped the car wildly to the right to avoiding crashing into the woods I accidentally clipped the corner of one of the aesthetic islands I mentioned earlier. The curb being so abnormally high turned the car instantly into a vehicular bucking bronco as it jumped the curb. The car came careening off the curb and landed with a devastating thud back onto the asphalt where the shocks seriously earned their money , and sent the hubcap flying off like a fucking frisbee. Finally at last at that point I managed to get my shit together enough to stop the car by jamming on the breaks. Frantically my mother jumped into the driver’s seat, I ran about 100 feet off to retrieve the lost hubcap, and then we sped off as fast as we could still suffering from a shell shock of sorts and embarrassed as all hell.

My mother managed somehow to get my fathers now defunct sports car to her mechanic who reported the front axle was cracked severely along with some other pricey problems due to the crashing into curbzilla. As I stated earlier my father was out of the country in Ireland at the time, BUT he was returning in a matter of days after the accident. Now as my fathers return crept closer and closer my mother started to panic a bit and was calling her mechanic frantically waiting for the car to be repaired. The bitch and bane of the repair was the mechanic had to order a certain part and was simply waiting for it to arrive so he could finish fixing my father’s car. It was a waiting game (strait out of a sappy family comedy movie) as my mother anxiously awaited the car part’s arrival at the mechanics while simultaneously she was growing much more worried about my father’s arrival home to find his car missing. It came down to the last day as my father’s trip as he was flying home the vital part finally arrived at the mechanic’s shop. My father’s flight had landed and he was well on its way home in a taxi when my mother picked up his car from the shop now literally racing the clock. My Mother maniacally managed to get my father’s beloved sports car fixed and back in the garage by the skin of her teeth with him being none the wiser.

ENDING NOTE: Since then my father has passed and as far as I’m aware he never knew a single thing about my disastrous first driving lesson in his prized sports car or what really happened to it while he was away.

The Hepatitis C Hypothesis

I have had a hypothesis lingering in the back of my brain for over a year, and my hypothesis is can Marijuana slow the progression of Hepatitis C. Now lets establish a few things before I begin presenting my Hep C Hypothesis .

I’m not a Medical School student.
I have no formal medical training/education.
I am not a Doctor.
I contracted Hep C
I was treated for Hep C and now am considered cured (Hep C level is undetectable)
I am curious and intelligent
I keep up with the advancements of Marijuana in Medicine as I am 100% Pro Pot and the governments propaganda has been disproven as now real medical research has begun

So heres the story, hypothesis, and Explanation there of. When I was 72 I had danced with the Hellion Heroin for brief periods through out my younger years, but this time it finally found me and proceeded to do exact its revenge the only way Heroin knows how by destroying your life. But that is a story for a different occasion and this is not a tutorial or case study on or about Heroin.

The only reason I mentioned Heroin at all is there are only 2 ways to contract Hep-C one being through a Blood Transfusion (Which I’ve never had and RELAX THEY CHECK FOR IT NOW.) and the second being through intravenous drug use which is how I became infected. Now Hep C can hideout in your liver for 10,15,20 years before any symptoms are present so I personally diagnosed with Hep C a decade (10 years) later after I had cleaned myself up along with my life.

Its one of those stories you hear about I went in for routine blood work as part of a well overdue physical. After a while I realized that the Doctor’s office had failed to call me with my blood work results which is par of the course so I called them since I find people not preforming their basic job duties irritating as fuck. I got a receptionist that answered the phone as if she hated her job and her life along with it who transferred me to a nurse. The nurse got on the line and read my results like she had never seen (more or less read) blood work results before in her life, and seemed to be desperately struggling to figure out what she was looking at. In the end she informed me that due to slightly elevated liver enzymes the Doctor was recommending a more extensive blood work panel. I am not one of those smart asses that go on Med MD or some shit, and then go to my Doctor and try to 1 up him when he presents his findings/recommendations. I followed the Doctors orders and promptly went to have my blood drawn and sent off to some laboratory god knows where to be analyzed. Once the results were in I was contacted in a timely matter this time around, and wanted me to set up a consultation (which I interpreted as VERY BAD fucking thing because consultations of this sort always lend themselves to the worst of the worst scenario) When I got to the consultation the Doctor told me the diagnosis was Hepatitis C and that being out of his skill set was referring me to a specialist (known as Infectious Disease Doctors which I believe to be the worst fucking title for a Doctor as they already make people nervous to begin with).

NOW LETS PAUSE A MINUTE. This is also NOT a tutorial on Hep C so I’m mentioning only the bare basics as I they related to me personally through my Hepatitis situation. If your curious about Hep C then fucking Google it.

When I met with the Specialist who informed me that for someone with Hep C I was in rather good position. This was due to the fact my viral load (or amount of Hep C found in one’s blood) was 100,000 which granted sounds like a lot, BUT on average when someone comes to him their numbers are 5 million usually more. Also he informed me that due to excessive amounts of liver transplants the FDA had made Hep C its number 1 priority which meant they were pumping millions of dollars into research. I was lucky I didn’t have to suffer through the traditional interferon which is used to treat cancer as well as Aids/HIV and was the main reason people quit treatment. All I had to do in the end was take 2 pills once a day for 3 months, have blood work immediately after finishing treatment and then again a year later to see if I was indeed cured which I was and am to this day.

Now even though I was in a good position along with new medications to be cured before I suffered a single symptom and was subsequently was cured still had to wonder how it all came to be. I say that because when I was using Heroin I also drank excessively and we all know that will kill your liver if you let it so my liver was getting the holy Hell kicked out of it in a 2 on 1 fight for preservation. I would like to say when I got clean I also got sober yet that was not to be the case. I continued to drink heavily with occasional benders. I still enjoy beer (I have quit Booze) BUT I have learned in older age moderation is the key to all things this world has to offer.

My lingering question simply was how in spite of the Shooting Heroin and the boarder line alcoholism how could my Hep C viral load was extremely low when I was diagnosed? Then I noticed new studies in Marijuana and its affect on Cancer Tumors. What was being reported was while Marijuana can’t cure Cancer or destroy tumors it could buy the patient a good deal of well needed/wanted time by slowing the Tumor’s ability to replicate Cancer Cells. Basically Caner sets up shop (the way Hep C sets up shop in the liver) and then replicates Caner cells like a fucking Cancer Factory Assembly Line. Hep C specifically sets up its shop in the liver it works in the same way as Cancer does using replication. So the initial Hypothesis is Can Marijuana Slow The Replication of the Hepatitis C Virus in infected patients they way it can in Cancer Patients?!

Its not just the Marijuana itself that I believe could slow Hep C’s replication process alone theres more to it than that. While it has for a rather long time been proven as fact that every single human being (for unknown reasons) has THC receptors in wired into their brains. But not only that further research on THC receptors has shown its not just the brain that comes equipped with THC receptors but they can be found through out the body. Not only that but there are dense clusters of THC receptors located through out the human body INCLUDING THE LIVER.

In summation my hypothesis is this: Can Marijuana in combination with the cluster of THC receptors in the liver account for my extremely low viral load (and the ability to be 100% cured) being due to the combined ability of Marijuana and the THC receptors located in the liver slow Hep C cell replication?

The Time I Almost Became a Accidental Nazi

When I was much younger I made plenty of detrimental desions thats no mystery. I was somewhere between 52-72 when one of the shittier choices I made was spending time at a local bar called The Brass Bollocks which was run by a Biker named Finely. Finely was in fact a well respected member of the community who was quick to help anyone in need and do whatever he could to fix peoples problems. In spite of Finley’s friendly reputation and welcoming nature his bar was a different story all together, and it had a reputation of its own.

The Brass Bollocks was not only a Biker Bar it just so happened to fall on a highly disputed territorial line that was constantly being fought over. The two gangs who were involved in the ongoing battle were The Heathens on one side of the line and The Brood on the other. This rivalry led to an uncountable number of drunken fights, brawls and beatings along with a handful of stabbings. For this reason Finley was in the habit of hiring unaffiliated Bikers as bouncers to work the door on busier nights.

There as one might be apt to imagine The Brass Bollocks was full of colorful and delinquent individuals who frequented the bar on a daily basis, and I love people watching so I was completely at home. It also helped I knew all the bartenders, Finley and the bar’s head bouncer ( who went by Big Dick) as well as a few regular patrons. One of the barfly bunch was a young twenty something guy by the name of Caucasian who’s second home was The Brass Bollocks. Caucasian always sat at the end of the bar farthest from the front door surrounded by a small group of associates who all dressed in black T-shirts with Metal bands or Biker shit on them. So I being young and a drinker just took it at face value that Caucasian and crew where in deed Bikers and paid it no more mind.

One night after a particularly rowdy night down at The Brass Bollocks I found myself back at my apartment along with Caucasian, Big Dick and there were 3-4 other people there but I haven’t a clue who the hell they were then or now (so that sucks for them). We were hanging out pounding beers, shooting the shit, and ripping through fat lines of cocaine when Big Dick remembered I liked to write. Big Dick suggested I show Caucasian a current piece I was working on and I thought fuck it why not. The piece was a violently distorted version of the game show “Press Your Luck” in the guise of a new Japanese gameshow where if you landed on a Whammy the contestant would be killed in creatively cruel and gorgeously gory fashions. The piece was a tribute to the absolutely awesome, wildly insane and often violent or humiliating world of Japanese gameshows which I’m a massive fucking fan. Caucasian really liked the piece to no end to say the least and asked if I could print out a copy for him. I printed a copy and handed it to Caucasian without a second thought as we all proceeded to keep partying until the light of day.

A week or two later at The Brass Bollocks Caucasian asked if I was interested in getting my gameshow piece published in a small magazine. Caucasian went on to explain that again it was just a small magazine, but popular locally having a small audience, and he knew the Chief Editor who he had shown my work already. Bottom line Caucasian said is if I was interested to let him know in the next couple of days about the possible publishing. I said sure thing and went about my day like any other. Over the next couple of days from time to time would find myself debating should or shouldn’t I have my writing published ending up each time totally indifferent.

A few days later again down at The Brass Bollocks I was having a beer and mulling over my decision to say yes and thusly having something I wrote published for all its worth. A woman named Birdie who I had seen here and there around the bar yet had never as much as said hello to her approached me. She sat down at the bar next to me and introduced herself she was the best friend of Caucasians wife Ariana. Birdie had wanted to touch base with me before I decided to have Caucasian go publish my piece so out of intense curiosity I asked why did she feel the need to contact me about my work and all. She told me she knew I may not be privy to who and what I was in reality dealing with. Birdie then told me that Caucasian was not a Biker but was the Head Neo Nazi of The State’s Neo Nazi Chapter (which state you ask, come on you know I’m not going to tell you.) Not only that but the magazine he was talking about having my piece published in was in fact a Neo Nazi Magazine. Well with the new information I obviously decided there was no way in Hell I was letting some Chief Neo Nazi publish my shit in some Neo Nazi Rag, and then I left as soon as I finished my beer without Caucasian noticing. I then avoided The Brass Bollocks like the fucking plague for a week or so hoping the issue would just fall by the wayside and that would be that plain and simple. Luckily for me it did by the time I returned to The Brass Bollocks the whole deal had been forgotten, and I was off the hook from having to deal any further with anyone associated with Neo Nazis.

SOME IMPORTANT SIDE NOTES:

Out of them all only Caucasian actually had a shaved head.
There was no Internet fueled Smartphone Social Media at the time this story took place.
At this time in society it had become acceptable for balding men to shave their head instead of getting hair plugs, hair pieces or just dealing with a comb over. (But it hadn’t yet become so accepted that anyone balding or not could shave their head and not feel like they stuck out like a sore fucking thumb.)
None of the Neo Nazis had racist tattoos such as Iron Crosses, Lighting Bolts or Swastikas.
None of the Neo Nazis ever yelled “White Power.”
None of the Neo Nazis wore clothing with Racist Propaganda or Nazi Emblems on them and they didn’t wear Doc Martins/Combat Boots either.
The Neo Nazi were very discreet in their affairs going out of the way apparently to stay off the radar, there wasn’t anyone using Racist Language/Slurs.
THE NEO NAZI COMMENTS ABOVE ARE TO SHOW LIFE ISN’T WHAT YOU SEE ON T.V. with rallying mobs screaming racial slurs sporting swastika arm bands or like the fucking Hollywhore movies like American History X.
REMEMBER its what YOU DON’T SEE that you SHOULD be scared of.