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 .

  1. I’m not a Medical School student.
  2. I have no formal medical training/education.
  3. I am not a Doctor.
  4. I contracted Hep C
  5. I was treated for Hep C and now am considered cured (Hep C level is undetectable)
  6. I am curious and intelligent
  7. 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:

  1. Out of them all only Caucasian actually had a shaved head.
  2. There was no Internet fueled Smartphone Social Media at the time this story took place.
  3. 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.)
  4. None of the Neo Nazis had racist tattoos such as Iron Crosses, Lighting Bolts or Swastikas.
  5. None of the Neo Nazis ever yelled “White Power.”
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. REMEMBER its what YOU DON’T SEE that you SHOULD be scared of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hijinks At Hellfest

Editor’s Note: For this piece I’m going to break protocol and I HAVE NOT changed any of the names, but you don’t have to believe me these names and places can be Googled. Now I return you to your regularly scheduled program.

The Key Players:

Mr. Glen Benton: The Vocalist/Bassist and infamous front man of the  Death Metal band called Deicide (who are considered one of the founding fathers of Death Metal). Deicide’s frequent practice of dunking their faces in a bucket of Sheep’s blood before taking the stage in the early days of Deicide’s career quickly earned them a reputation, and with their extremely brutal form of Satan Loving, Bible Hating Death Metal (littered with violent occult imagery) soon made them a Death Metal Fan Favorite. Deicide’s infamy  has only grown over the years as front man Glen Benton burned an inverted cross into his forehead, placed a 9 foot inverted cross in his front yard, and Benton occasionally dousing the audience with animals internal organs (Benton has also eluded to, but NEVER confirmed rumors of animal sacrifices), but its safe to assume they were bought from a local meat market butcher or a grocery meat department. Bottom line here I suppose is Deicide is down with the Devil, know for having gruesome live performances, and being extremely Anti Christian.

Hellfest: There are in fact numerous Hellfests held around the globe yearly be they for Heavy Metal or Hardcore Punk the point being many Extreme  Music Genres use the unlicensed name Hellfest for various different shows. . The Hellfest that I am talking about is the highest attended concert that is put on annually (June 16-17-18th) in Brittany, France featuring top Scandinavian, European Black, and Death Metal acts. Such acts have included Cradle of Filth, Mayhem, Bloodbath, Cannibal Corpse, Lamb of God, Venom, Obituary, Enthroned ,and Life of Agony over the years just to name a few.

The Controversy Begins: Back in 1995 Deicide released their new album titled Once Upon The Cross and promptly launched a tour in support of it. That year Hellfest contacted Deicide and Invited them to play, but for undisclosed reasons Hellfest then contacted Deicide again two weeks later and this time officially Uninvited them. This more than enraged Glen Benton to absolutely no end. Benton announced to the press (he believed) that Deicide had been shit canned because Black Metal Bands heralding from Scandinavia through Europe hate American Death Metal with a burning passion. Benton went on to proclaim the reason (again he believes) Black Metal Bands have such a vile disgust, rabid contempt and distain towards Death Metal was due to the fact they felt America took their musical style ,and shit all over it transforming it into an second rate, dumbed down inferior version. 

The Unofficial Reality and Reason: After Hellfest announced that they had indeed added Deicide to Hellfest 1996 local Decide fans went on celebratory vandalism rampage  by scrawling Deicide’s song title “When Satan Rules His World” on tombstones in surrounding cemeteries. This was never offered as any sort of official (or unofficial reason) for Hellfest’s cancellation of Deicides performance. Though it seems painfully obvious to see  this was in all reality the real reason. You can’t rightfully blame the promoters of Hellfest that year I mean if tombstone vandalizing started by just the initial announcement of Deicides participation, but just imagine what they must have thought would happen when the actual band showed up to play.

The Back In The Day Battle That Got Me Banned From Blockbuster

Back a Billion years ago when no one gave two shits about a burgeoning little company known as Netflix and before technology brought us the ability to stream Blockbuster ruled the world. I admit whole heartedly I’m a movie addict (a film junkie strung out on celluloid ) so I had no real alternative to Blockbuster if I wished to rent a movie I was forced to deal with them.

One day I along with a few friends went to the local Blockbuster. Its important to note at this time Debit Cards where still the new big thing in banking, and I myself had recently received my first debit card mere months ago. We walked in and I proceeded to stroll over to the check out counter and asked the man standing there how would I go about acquiring a Blockbuster Membership Card (which without you couldn’t rent shit obviously) The man told me right off the bat that I would need a credit card I have still to this day NEVER owned nor EVER will own a credit card, (but thats another story all together) ,and because as I mentioned before Debit Cards had just become a big deal because they had duel purposes. One of the cool new options Debit Cards offered was the ability to select credit as a payment option upon check out so I pulled out my Debit Card and handed to him. The employee barely looked at it before handing directly back to me saying that Debit Cards didn’t count as credit cards. He then went on to say  I’d have to have a American Express or some bullshit if I wanted a Membership.

Now to say that back in those cryptic times I had a short fuse would imply there was a fuse to begin with. Now in spite of this kick ass cool new Debit Card this Movie Moron was telling me that Blockbuster, when all other businesses were wildly embracing new banking technology, was going to refuse me over an antiquated system. I decided to turn a bad situation to a worse one because the Film Freak behind the counter was being utterly irrational so I was going to fuck up his day for being such an unarguable ASSHOLE. I aggressively asked the Blockbuster Bitch why the Hell Blockbuster wouldn’t allow the use of Debit Cards considering their backed by Credit Card Companies hence the Visa or MasterCard Logo on it. The Idiot Employee stated condescendingly that Blockbuster does not acknowledge Debit Cards as a valid form of payment as it were and if I couldn’t get a credit card (implying that I was a young punk kid who would be denied by any and all Credit Card Companies) then it wasn’t his or Blockbuster’s concern, and thats when all Hell started to break loose. I was glaring at the employee in undeniable hate while he stared at me with his best “Fuck You Face” as the volume of our disagreement was beginning to escalate. At this point it was no longer about a minor movie membership but a total battle of wills, this shit had become personal.

I launched into a full blown, brutal, profanity laced, obscene diatribe damn near screaming about how the fuck Blockbuster could be so motherfucking egotistical and blatantly deny memberships over trivial bullshit. I mean I wasn’t trying to buy a goddamn gun I just wanted to rent a motherfucking movie for fuck’s sake. I went on that I was the prime demographic that caused Blockbuster’s rise to rule ,but not only that the demographic that comprised the body ,and provided the blood able to sustain such a massive national company. I said that from now on fuck Blockbuster I was going to now refer to them as Cockbuster because thats exactly what the fuck they are. The verbal assault switched gears from Cockbuster the Crap filled Corporation comprised of Shit Sucking Soulless Sons of Bitchs to the conduct of their (specifically the guy I was/had been dealing with) employees and their eat shit attitude. It was the usual cliche shit, who did he think he was, what made him so fucking superior when in reality he rented fucking movies not like its fucking open heart surgery.

My buddies at this point knew things were way too far out of control and realized they only solution was to physically remove me from the store. The 3 of them formed a triangle around me as my buddy at the front tried to calm me down (or at least get me to shut the Hell up) and at the same time trying to placate the situation by talking over me as well as the employee to drown out the arguing. I then became aware I was boxed in by my buddies and that they were attempting to escort me off the premises before inevitably the Crooked Cops were called in. So under duress I was shuffled out all the while still continuing my venomous venting all the way out the door, and through the parking lot to our car.

After Thoughts and Facts:

  1. Cockbuster slowly died and rotted away as Netflix and Streaming became the new and far better alternatives to putting up with Rental Rejects.
  2. Cockbuster in the end before their crippling corporate demise gave me a membership with me using my finally accepted new way of the world Debit Card.
  3. I NEVER USED THE MEMBERSHIP, I got it to PROVE I could in fact get a Membership and Cockbuster could subsequently Piss Off into Bankruptcy.
  4. About a month or so after my run in with Cockbuster an article was published (and insanely popular with the general American public) about how Cockbuster DENIED TOM FUCKING CRUISE a Membership.
  5. The Cockbuster that I had my run in with closed and was bulldozed to make room for extra shopping center parking because no one else want to lease the building.
  6. I had an opportunity to return to where my Cockbuster incident occurred during a business trip and once I stood where the Cockbuster had been I proceeded to piss on it like the commercial grade grave it is.

A Nightmare’s Bad Dream

Looking back at my life a couple of centuries ago when I was a 72 and fueled by emotion not logic I met one of my best friends of all time. I lived in the apartment next door to my soon to be buddy ,and one day I was over at his apartment just killing time (which I had too much of at the time I get myself in the most trouble when I’m bored) and there was a small group of people having a lengthy conversation about Chili recipes. After approximately 20 minutes or so give or take I couldn’t stand having to listen  to their conversation a minute more. Unlike other people who would just leave the apartment and go about their day I stayed for the soul purpose of antagonizing the Chili lovers for my own amusement.

I walked over and weaved my way into their conversation only to announce that Lithuanian’s (for a while I was obsessed with picking on Lithuania for some weird reason even I’m not fully aware of) Chili is by far the strangest Chili recipes in the entire known world. I backed my statement with the claim Lithuanians used Bean Sprouts as a main ingredient in their various Chili recipes. Immediately without pause one young man called me out saying that my statement about Lithuanian Chili was absolute bullshit. I then took the offense and demanded to know how in the name of all things Universal did he know what I was saying was in fact utter horseshit. He replied quite adamantly the reason he knew I was full of shit was the simple fact he WAS Lithuanian ,and that amused me to no end.

So over the following months since the Great Chili Convention Conversation my neighbor and I grew to be very good friends. Since it turned out in a bizarre stroke of luck my neighbor was really Lithuanian I dubbed him The Nightmare of Lithuania which then was reworded to The Lithuanian Nightmare (since the second version of the nickname reminded me of a 1980’s WWF Wrestler who’d have had epic pay-per-view matches against Hulk Hogan and shit) and then the final condensed version Nightmare which was the version that lasted the test of time. One day Nightmare’s roommate up and pissed off all of a sudden and Nightmare invited me to be the roommate replacement. I of course accepted his offer without a second thought, packed up my gear, told my current 2 roommates I was moving and then promptly left them standing in the living room looking rather bewildered ,and a tad unhappy about the out of the blue announcement.

Nightmare and my friendship is based on essentially how different we are which greatly improved my life thanks to Nightmare. Nightmare is one of a minute number of people that have the unique ability to calm me down once I lose my shit (My Wife would be the best of the best as the kiddies say) ,and back in those ancient days I lost my shit constantly. A Classic example of what I’m talking about is what I refer to as “2 a.m. Anger Avoidance” which played out back in those medieval days as follows. Nightmare and I would meet up in the evenings after work and other assorted shit back at our apartment. Now at some point I would vent furiously about how someone or something had totally pissed me off because what ever happened was a Damnable Offense against me, and if you fuck with me I’m going to fuck with you 10 fold. Nightmare then would spend up to several hours as the night marched on words morning slowing the progression of my angst from Rage to Anger to Disgust to accepting that indeed shit does happen.

Inevitably in an attempt to end the discussion Nightmare would remind me that the current time of night was say 2 a.m. at which point I would start to ramp up again because now on top of whatever it was that pissed me off (whoever was to blame basically) had now kept me up till 2 in the morning. Having to work his magic all over again from basically the start Nightmare would get me to simmer down so we could try and get a few hours of precious sleep before work. We had at the time taken on 2 more roommates in our 2 bedroom apartment so Nightmare and I shared a room. Now as Nightmare was desperately longing for sleep intermittently I would readdress the issue that angered me earlier that day until finally I would run out of steam and fall asleep. Unfortunately for Nightmare he would remain up a while longer and before he succumbed to sleep he would suddenly find himself agreeing that what I had been raging about the entire night was in fact quite fucked up.

 

I’ve Been With My Wife 12 Years & Don’t Know Her Name So What?!

I was never aware of the fact until one day like another I was standing in my neighbor Joe Bob Billy Bob Jr.’s driveway shooting the shit and drinking some beers. We were taking a brief moment in our conversation (to stare menacingly in contempt and utter disgust at a mutually disliked neighbor’s house) when out of the blue Joe Bob Billy Bob up and out right asked me what my wife’s name is. This question gave me reason to pause because it was such a simple question that at first I could only look at Joe Bob Billy Bob with vacant eyes and questioning face. I suppose it was for that reason Joe Bob Billy Bob decided it was best to elaborate a bit more upon his question. Joe Bob Billy Bob reminded me that we have been  friends for 15 years or so now and during those 15 years whenever I talked about my wife I would always refer to her as just that, my wife and seemed to never use her real name. Finally Joe Bob Billy Bob’s curiosity which had grown constantly through the years as to way exactly I never called my wife by her name in conversation, and felt compelled at this point to ask why that was. I took a long drawl off of my beer and then told Joe Bob Billy Bob since he asked I’d have no problem providing an explanation for him.

Well you see I told Joe Bob Billy Bob when it comes to women I am insanely shy and quite nervous to say the least. When I realized this wonderfully wicked woman was interested in dating me (and it took forever and a day until I became aware of my Wife’s intentions were romantic)  I was extremely excited and very anxious to say the least. It was due to this initial anxiety when my Wife and I started dating that a week into our relationship I realized I had no idea what her name actually was. Luckily for me due to the fact I’m better with faces then with names (point being it’ll take me a while to learn a persons name) I had given her a nickname right from the get go. So I had to make a judgement call should I get force fed a entire Humble Pie and ask her real name OR I could stick with the nickname game and see what happens. I decided to go with the later.

Immediately as soon as I was done talking Joe Bob Billy Bob announced with great conviction that he was calling Bullshit so I was inclined to ask on what grounds. Joe Bob Billy Bob stated he was calling Bullshit because when we got married we had to exchange vows at which point I would HAVE to have learned her proper name, and thusly from that point on my initial argument is moot. Not so I replied for when we were exchanging vows I was so nervous all I could hear was the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears ,BUT thanks to plenty of rehearsals I was able to fly on auto pilot as They say.

At this point Joe Bob Billy Bob obviously didn’t believe me in the least and knew my story was absolute bullshit, BUT he had no proof what so ever which left a small amount of doubt in his mind that maybe just maybe as crazy as my story sounded it could actually be true. As I started walking back to my house I said “My Wife told me to tell you to stop by and don’t be a stranger.”

Hey Hollywood Thats NOT How You Do Heroin

Preface: Let me cut the questions of how the Sam Hell I know what I’m talking about or what kind of authority on the subject I am off at the knees.  Between the ages of 72 and 91 I indulged in bad decisions and seriously self destructive behavior up to and including (spending a couple of dire years) Shooting as much Heroin as I could daily. I’m one of a small handful of lucky ones as I’m clean, still alive ,healthy, and not in Prison or  a State run Mental Institution. So that explains that.

First off I will give credit where credit where credit is do. The following is a short list of the Heroin Addiction properly portrayed in Hollywood Films.

  1. The color is correct. Heroin comes in two primary colors those being White and the other being Tan.
  2. The wax bags that Heroin is packaged in.
  3. Stamps: Dealers stamp their bags with some insignia like a Horse’s Head or believe it or not even a coffin (theres foreshadowing for you) as a form of Advertising so if Junkies like it they know how to get the dope they want. If there is a Blue Fox stamp on the bags Junkies will refer to it as (The) Blue Fox so they not only can identify it by sight but can also request it by name.
  4. The Cooking/Preparation of the Heroin with the token spoon,water,heating, the piece of cotton (part of a cigarette filter torn in two is quite common.), drawing the Heroin up into the syringe ,and even tieing off which is the part where the Junkie uses a belt,cord or other such thing to use as a pre injection tourniquet .

But thats as far as the accurate pretrial of the Heroin injecting process goes in Hollywood. Its rather funny that Hollywood knows all the intricacies of the process YET they still fuck it up right at the very end.

Once a Junkie purchases, prepares and draws the Dope into the syringe THIS is how its done. With that I give you the Junkie Reality List or How Dopers Do It:

Note to Reader: I think its pertinent to mention WHERE Junkies get their syringes. Most people think Junkies buy needles off dealers (which is a very slight possibility) ,buy them off other Junkies or perhaps off  of Junkie Diabetics (yes they exist BUT these such Diabetics usually sell their extra syringes to supplement their almost non existent incomes POINT BEING these people are poor or have a vice of their own that needs funding (ironically 9 out of 10 times its Alcohol) NOW THE REAL DEAL IS anyone can go into any pharmacy and buy Insulin Syringes WITHOUT A DOCTOR’S PRESCRIPTION. The reason for this (especially in an age where you have to show a photo id to get cold medicine) as far as anyone can deduct is an UNOFFICIAL policy that UNOFFICIALLY ENDORSES Clean Needles (allowing the selling of Insulin Syringes without a doctor script) to prevent HIV,AIDES,BLOOD INFECTIONS,COLLAPSED VEINS AND HEPATITIS C.

With that said here is the for mentioned Junkie Injection List:

  1. The type of syringe (as I mentioned above) Junkies use are Insulin Syringes because You don’t need a doctors script to purchase and are the needles one would find being sold on the street. IN HOLLYWOOD for some ridiculous reason have their movie Junkies using a standard 3cc syringe. 3cc syringes are the syringes your doctor uses to administer vaccinations, flu shots, tetanus shot etc. It is also the syringe (If your a pet owner) used by veterinarians to administer vaccinations, antibiotic shots, pain medication among other things. THE EASIEST EXAMPLE IS THIS A Phlebotomist (a person who draws blood) uses a 3cc syringe to draw human blood ,and veterinarians also use 3cc syringes to draw blood for testing.
  2. The actual injection is the exact opposite of what is seen in Hollywood films. In films the actor Junkies inject themselves at absurdly WRONG ANGLES anything from 45-90 degrees which would make it medically IMPOSSIBLE to use for an intravenous injection. The reason that such wildly wrong degrees are medically incorrect is simple at those specified angles the syringe needle would PUNCTURE RIGHT THROUGH THE VEIN ITSELF ,and would come out the other side thus negating the desired injection. The degree that is correct (and is taught to medical students) is 15 degrees because you want to run along side the vein and then puncture it, any other angle your essential just stabbing through the vein (like Norman in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho ) and wasting the dope.
  3. THE DRAW BACK, while there a small handful of films that actually do portray this part at all an example being in Quentin Tarantino’s movie Pulp Fiction when John Travolta’s character shoots up. The draw back is when the Junkie injects and once they believe they have hit and are in the desired vein the PULL THE SYRINGE PLUNGER BACK slightly to see if a bit of blood enters into the syringe. Once there is blood mixed in the syringe the Junkie knows that THEIR IN THE VEIN.

Afterward: I wrote this because over hundreds of decades since I kicked  dope I have had the pleasure of meeting a few other ex-Junkies and just like me they all found it irritating as a mad ass motherfucker that Hollywood couldn’t get the last part of the process correct. Thusly I dedicate this to all of my fellow ex-Junkies around the world, its just one ex-Junkie’s attempt to set the record strait.

 

 

 

 

 

Eon’s Magic Mushroom Saga

It was one of those picture perfect days in the Great Southern Swamp. A crystal blue sky you could stare off into for hours, sun so bright it looked like a grotesque replica from a cheap gas station postcard and a gentle breeze to stave off the hellish heat with ungodly humidity. Eon was the only one of us (us being Eon, Armenian and myself) who had the day off from serving over priced cocktails to belligerent businessmen in over priced suits. Since the weather was so wonderful Eon decided to take a long bike ride into the center of the Swamp where there is an astounding amount of terra firma to the point it has been converted to cattle farming country long ago in a different time in the same place.

Now this wasn’t a random off the top of her head decision you see she had an exact destination complete with a obtainable goal. The hunt started  off looking for the destination which was a specific field of grazing cattle which is insanely hard due to the fact thats all there is in the center of the Great Southern Swamp are cattle grazing fields. But Eon had the upper hand because she had been given vaguely cryptic directions by a well intentioned co-worker by the name of Psilocybin. The hunt concluded with the obtainable goal of harvesting some marvelous Magic Mushrooms.

I feel its pertinent to explain the correlation between the Cattle Field and the Magic Mushrooms. Its actually quite simple biological science you see. It starts with the cows who spend all day long (at sometimes night as well as they aren’t dairy cows but rather beef cows) grazing happily in the vast open fields where one field could cover up to 100 plus aches. Since the cows eat then we all know they have to shit which they do all day long as well. With the intense heat and rabid humidity along with ample sun and rain pervides the ideal weather for nurturing the growth of funguses such as mushrooms in this case. So thusly the mushrooms sprout and mature growing in/on the cow crap in the hot, steamy environment some of which are Magic Mushrooms, but I digress.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Collecting Magic Mushrooms is EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS and could lead to SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH. Why? HERES WHY:

  1. If you don’t know the 100% positive identification of the Magic Mushroom you could pick the WRONG mushroom causing you to become VIOLENTLY SICK and in some cases they could POISON YOU AND YOU DIE.
  2. There are BULLS out in the field NOT JUST COWS. Bulls are exactly like you’ve been told they are. BULLS ARE AGGRESSIVE, EASYLY ANGERED, TERRITORIAL and PROTECTIVE OF THE COWS as he perceives them as his women who are not to be trifled with.
  3. REMEMBER YOUR TRESPASSING which is BREAKING THE LAW and can result in you being ARRESTED OR WORSE. In the Great Southern Swamps farmer’s CAN LEGALLY SHOOT TRESPASSERS, THEY CAN USE DEADLY FORCE BY LAW. Now most Farmer’s don’t want to kill anyone especially some stupid kids SO they load their SHOTGUNS with ROCK SALT. You see ROCK SALT SHOT OUT OF A SHOTGUN will PIERCE YOUR SKIN and if you aren’t aware Salt in a wound BURNS LIKE BOILING ACID though its virtually non lethal.
  4. MAGIC MUSHROOMS ARE CONSIDERED AN ILLEGAL DRUG BY THE POLICE SO YOU ALSO RISK ARREST AND PROSECUTION FOR DRUG POSSESSION.

With mission in mind and hope in her heart Eon mounted her Thrift Store Special bicycle and started peddling in the direction of the designated  hallucinogenic promised land. After an hour or two Eon finally stumbled more or less upon the desired field and leaned her bike up against a fence pole, checked her backpack and headed into the heart of the field. As the day trailed on Eon found a plethora of Magic Mushrooms along her travels in the field and was generally pleased with how things were working out. At one point Eon paused and took note that the sun was setting and that was her sign it was time to head on home. It didn’t take long for Eon to suddenly realize she was a tad bit lost as standing in the field was like standing on a life raft in open water, where there is no way to orient oneself. So Eon did all she could to try and retrace her steps through the field and its bovine residents until Eon noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was a rather large penis that belonged to a even larger Bull with a massive set of menacing looking horns. Eon froze as she and the Bull eyed one another up and then Eon started to run like hell. The Bull waited a brief minute and then decided even if Eon was retreating he stilled needed to settle the score because she had effectively broken into his house. Once the Bull made up his mind he charged after Eon in enraged at her indiscretion and intent on goring her to death or perhaps just trampling her to death one or the other it supposed. Eon saw the fence marking the perimeter of the field, but was unaware it wasn’t the side of the fence she entered through. Any who Eon fueled by adrenaline and the will to live hauled ass making it to the fence and baseball sliding under it just in time to avoid being killed by the Bull. BUT Eon had exited the opposite side of the field she had entered and this side of the field ended right outside of the fence at a 5-6 foot drop strait down into the deep dark (and more than likely Alligator infested) waters of one of the Great Southern Swamps numerous interconnecting canals. Luckily for Eon she managed to at the last possible second to grab hold of the long grass and weeds to keep from plummeting into the cretinous canal. Her body still pumped up on adrenaline managed to pull Eon up onto the narrow 3 foot embankment to safety.

Eon was now faced with a dying twilight and decided the best (and really only) option was to start walking along the massive fence perimeter until she inevitably found her bike. With a huge sigh of relief Eon hopped on her bike and peddled for the comfort and safety of home. Yet there was one trial left for little Eon to endure for as Eon was biking home with a back pack filled with Magic Mushroom (approximately a quarter pound or so) which are highly illegal she was “pulled over”. As it turned out it was just a local yokel cop who was rather bored and a decent enough person to stop Eon to see if she was alright. Eon told the officer she was all good and almost home (she was in fact only 4 blocks from the house when she got stopped) and with that the cop road off none the wiser.