Month: May 2017

Hmmmm What That Smell?! By Spacedog

MARIJUANA!!!!!

When times are tough and times are dull, I think back to the life I once led in the south of Columbia. Sure it was difficult. I mean there was enough cocaine to help me stay awake for weeks upon end. That was always fun. Even just chillin with Pablo and Juan Valdez made for some good times I’ll never forget. There is one person though I will never forget. Her name was Mary Jane.

My own personal Mary Jane was a big, tall strong woman. Sure I don’t have much of a proclivity towards women but she was twelve feet tall and smelled like no other woman I have met since. I even liked her seed and well that’s not the kind of seed that ole Jeffy usually takes a likin too.

She kept me safe and warm. Whenever I got home from a night at the theatron de pelicula and had bad things squirt in my eye, she was there to heal my infection.

The night I saw all of Pablo’s men get mowed down in a rain of gunfire, Mary Jane was there. I just put her in my bong and smoked her down and off I went to the club. I could already taste the rainbow even though well that was for later. Shhhhh…… And she never told any of my secrets.

She was my mother, my sister, my dominatrix, my bulldyke, and my fag hag all rolled up into one great big, bright ass spliff.  She let me tolerate more Britney Spears then any human could just so I could bring the next Juan or Carlos or Juan Carlos or fuck why not all of them back to my humble mud hut.

Eventually though we grew apart. My funds in Colombia were confiscated and back off to New Jersey I so went. That was in 1980. Oh how I miss 1980. Those were the days.

Mary Jane?

So then I was walking down the street yesterday and saw this midget girl (aptly named Midge) I knew from the club. She was a fun one to know, I mean anyone who smokes out of a bong taller then them is alright with me.

Midge introduced me to her friend. His name was Kyle. He smelled of dirt, he smelled of mud, he smelled of naughty things. So he smelled like Mary Jane. So then we smoked and then we went back to my place and Midge took pictures. She wanted to join in but I have a moral code up in this bitch. If I can teabag you standing up it’s a no go. That is my number one moral in life.

You may say I’m a dreamer. I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.

Structural-Functional Theory Vs. The Conflict Theory

Note To Reader:

Before or while reading the following article you must remember its based on a random photography of a “Typical American Family”.

The photo is a simple one, a family portrait.

The Mother and Father are standing side by side with their arms around one another. Positioned in front of them are their 3 children. The eldest child their son, 2 young daughters one around 10 years of age is the middle child, and a the youngest child a girl aged about 5 years. Also in the photograph are the family’s 2 Golden Retriever sitting in the lower right hand corner.

The 2 sides of the photo’s story:

The family in the photograph are an example of an American traditional nuclear family. It consists of a father, a mother, the son (the eldest of the three children) ,and the family’s two young daughters ( the middle child and the youngest/baby) along with two golden retrievers. Now the question at hand is how would this family in the photograph stand up to The Structural-Functional and Conflict theories, what could they tell us about this family?

The Structural-Functional theory would champion the family in the photograph, as the Structural-Functional theory believes that the traditional nuclear family is the only family that provides social institution, social solidarity, shared values and socialization. The biological father is the bread winner/sole income, the biological mother stays at home raising the children and managing household duties, and they have three biological children. The parents are providing (at least as we can tell from this single photograph) the three essential functions of a family which are raising their children responsibly, providing economic support (from the fathers work outside of the house) and giving emotional support. The traditional nuclear family is so instrumental in the structural-functional theory that according to said theory all other family models are considered to be detrimental to society and smooth functionality.
On the other hand, the family in this photograph would detested by the conflict theory specifically due to the fact that it is a traditional nuclear family (though 77% of all American households are not the traditional nuclear family model). Conflict theory would state the problem with this, or any, traditional nuclear family lies in the gross power imbalance between the father and the mother. Conflict theory would say society gives the father more power outside the home as the sole bread winner, but also the father subsequently has more power in the home as the “Man of the house” while the mother is resigned to being a second class citizen who’s only responsibility is to take care of children and clean the house. Not only is there a definite power imbalance between the two parents, but there is also an unfair power imbalance between the family’s three children. Traditionally male children are given significantly more freedom and female children have many more restrictions placed on them. Thus according to the conflict theory all other family types are far more preferable as opposed to the traditional nuclear family.

The Deviant Detective Ep 3 : Looking For The Cock Rock King

Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.

Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper.  At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.

Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.

Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.

Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.

The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.

On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.

“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock

“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie

“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”

“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”

“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.

“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is  essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”

“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.

“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.

Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.

The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.

The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.

The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes  and ran just as deep.

The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.

Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.

“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.

“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”

“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”

“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”

“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”

“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.

“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.

“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”

Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.

Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.

Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.

In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”

Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.

“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.

“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.

“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.

“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was  lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.

“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”

“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.

Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.

To Be Continued…

In

The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special