Tag: life lesson

f-yourblog Readers Lend Me Your Eyes

First I would like to personally thank all the readers for the kind comments, compliments,  enthusiasm and support, I truly do appreciate it. I am just sorry that due to a recent and RESOLVED technical issue the current comment section were lost.

While there is a handful of readers who find the time and attention put into each and every article, and I am also fully aware that the quite timely posting of new articles can irritate some readers as well. So I will do my best to help explain my slightly lengthy writing process and give the official f-yourblog mission statement.

f-yourblog’s Mission Statement is as follows:

I will put 100% into each and every article or I simply won’t post it.

I will NEVER produce content for contents sake.

I fully believe my readers are much smarter then the average individual and because of this I will NEVER force feed my readers meaningless,bland,boring,generic,mindless or vacantly fickle fluff.

I will be adding Pictures as well as Videos, BUT I must inform you they will only be posted as an intricate part of the article to add a new aesthetic dimension. You will never see pictures of celebrities, what I ate for lunch or some bullshit top 10 list (example-Top 10 crazy Hollyweird couples of 2000 whatever or top 12 bad haircuts of famous people etc.) Nor will you see mundane videos such as a cat trying to get into a tissue box or some poor schlub getting hit in the balls/getting fucked up doing some asinine stunt. Shit like that is why I abandoned FaceBook several years ago at this point. I have no plans to return to Facebook UNLESS I need too to help promote this site which I realize will more than likely have to be done.

If any reader has a question, inquiry or suggestions and are wondering how to reach me outside the perimeters of this Weblog please refer to the article “Smoke signals don’t cut it anymore” and thanks again for the continued interest.

The Writing Process Explained:

  1. I send 120 to 144 hours thinking about topics and content of the upcoming article.
  2. After I have selected a topic (in all honesty I have a note book with well over 100 future topics) I spend the next 72 to 96 hours mulling the article over in my mind formulating a outline of sorts.
  3. I then I actually write the article which takes around 24 to 36 hours.
  4. I then subject the new article to an insanely intense and rigorous editing process (I have edited a article so seriously that by the time I was done writing it it was in fact an entirely different article) The editing process alone can take 24-48 hours.
  5. After all that if I feel the article is up to f-yourblog’s rather high standards then and ONLY then will I post the article.

NEW DEVELOPMENT here at f-yourblog:

For the 1st and ONLY time I will be bringing in a contributing writer known only as Spacedog. I am doing this for 3 very simple reasons which are the following.

The first being I have been good friends with Spacedog for more years then I can accurately calculate though  its been since High School, and trust me that was several centuries ago.

Second Spacedog and I have had multitudes of late night intoxicated conversations that were so entertaining that first thing when I woke up the next day, we also have been mulling over the idea of starting a podcast, but I digress for now.

The 3rd and final reason is this Self Preservation allow me to explain further. I am not ignorant to the fact especially as the weblog grows,develops and evolves it will be increasingly hard for just one person (and that person being me) can logically and realistically handle alone. I learned this from the cautionary tale of former ECW (Extreme Championship Wrestling) owner the legendary Paul Hayman. Paul tried to solely remain running his organization as it grew and thusly was responsible for every aspect of his company. Paul booked shows and talent, produced their weekly television show, all promotion of ECW and was in charge of merchandising, accounting, venues and much, much more. While this endeavor was admirable it was futile as Paul became  increasing over whelmed (not once asking for help) and the pressure got to be to much ( it got to the point Paul’s health was declining significantly, remember kids STRESS DOES KILL.) and he ended up having to sell the company or close up shop once and for all. To everyones surprise, mine included, Paul sold ECW to the WWE who then ran the company into the ground eventually dismantling ECW all together.

Obviously I don’t want to end up in the same Paul Hayman Boat, BUT at the same time I don’t want a whole group of people trying to influence f-yourblog and generally mucking things up as well as getting in the way. So the only sensible solution was to take on a collaborating partner that way f-yourblog can continue to produce superior content without the aggravation or detriment. I would hate to see f-yourblog close its doors for good and am trying to keep it actively relevant and myself as sane as possible along the way. Spacedog has already sent me a giant gaggle of articles which I will reading and reviewing for content/writing standards that match those here at f-yourblog, and then periodically post them in the upcoming weeks.

Ladies and Gentlemen That is All (for now)

Sincerely,

Less Sober Head Writer and Administrator of f-yourblog.com

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? 

 

 

 

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.

Socrates, The Oracle of Delphi and a Stranger Named Phil

One cool fall night in ancient Greece Socrates was sitting in the kitchen of his new luxury condo sipping wine. Socrates was thinking to himself how egotistical Pluto had become since they named a planet after him when a unknown peasant came barreling through his front door. The peasant was in the middle of a righteous panic attack without his Xanax so Socrates helped the peasant calm down using philosophical controlled breathing techniques. Once the man had regained his composure Socrates asked him what the hell barging into his home was all about.

Socrates: Whats your name bud and how can I help you this lovely evening in ancient Greece?

Peasant: My name is Phil and I implore you PLEASE HELP ME! I don’t know SHOULD I SHIT OR GO BLIND?!

Socrates: What seems to be the issue at hand Phil my man???

Peasant: I have a question, the most vitally important question, I can’t   afford to be wrong! I went to the Oracle of Delphi to find out who the smartest man in the WORLD is and she said it was you Socrates.

Socrates: I’m a bit confused as to why the Oracle told you it was me, but being a philosopher I’m pretty laid back. So heres whats gonna go down Phil. First I going to whip up a pot of chamomile Tea and then I’m going to go see what is the Oracle’s major malfunction . Phil my friend while I’m away you can just hangout and chill here at my condo. The WiFi is shit since it hasn’t been invented yet BUT my High Def television is insane so check out the olympics and shit.

Phil thanked Socrates for his time and attention in this matter as well as his kick ass hospitality. Socrates then put the ankle express in action and headed off to converse with the Oracle about what in the name of Zeus what was going on. It took Socrates quite a long while to reach the Oracle’s Studio apartment located at the top of a mountain, and the subway  was closed due to being flooded by the underlying river Styx. Finally Socrates made it and politely knocked on the Oracle’s door because unlike Phil the peasant he had manners.

Oracle: Come on in its open, just take a seat on the couch and I’ll be right with you as soon as I’m done this conference call with the Gods!

Socrates: Z’up Oracle its just me Socrates.

Oracle: Socrates good to see you as Leonardo da Vinci hasn’t invented social media yet. Tell me what can I do for you as I’m an Oracle with a direct line to the Gods.

Socrates: Well I was relaxing at home a few days ago when this crazed guy named Phil came crashing through  my door babbling incessantly about having a HUGE problem, and I’m the smartest man in the fucking world so I’m obligated to provide Phil with the answer. I mean I’m lost on this one.

Oracle: Oh hell yeah I remember Phil he was a anxious and fidgety fellow he was. Yeah he came to me to find out who the smartest man in the world was because Phil had an extremely important question. It was an easy answer to the question for me its you Socrates, your the smartest man in the world.

Socrates: WHAT THE FUCK! Oracle what the fuck is wrong with you man? Why you telling people I’m the smartest fucker in the world as we fucking know it here in ancient Greece?! Oracle no disrespect motherfucker but your WRONG, I’m NOT the smartest man in the world or any fucking where for that matter! I DON’T KNOW SHIT! I Socrates DON’T KNOW ANYTHING, ANYTHING AT ALL! I KNOW NADA! So why, why are you telling people that smartest man shit, I really don’t dig the idea of frantic people crashing through my front door! You know how much that shit would end up costing me? I don’t as I don’t have any idea how our ancient Greek monetary system works!

Oracle: Socrates take a deep breath and count to ten, and I’ll explain things for you. See Socrates the fact is by ADMITTING you KNOW NOTHING that makes you the smartest man in the entire world.

Theres a fucking twist for you. Think about it for a minute.

The PCP Party and The Pizza Delivery Prank

For a period time when I was 21 I was living at my moms house spending my free time sitting on my mom’s backyard porch drinking beer with friends. One evening it was myself and three friends Drivel, Cult and Ms. Razor. In addition to a 30 pack of Red Dog they had also brought a couple of dime bags of PCP which we preceded to roll up and smoke both bags. For our millennial readers PCP was a street drug that had its 15 minutes of fame hay day in the 1970s. The Irony is PCP is a veterinary drug (can you say foreshadowing? Special K.) that was/is a horse tranquilizer ,but in humans it can cause violent, unpredictable and aggressive behavior lets just say PCP was the Bath Salts of the 70’s.

Well the night finally ended as they always do with Ms. Razor, Drivel and Cult stumbling off into the night to raise more hell by morning. I was sitting in the kitchen after turning off every single light in the house off when their was a knocking at the front door. I stood up, grabbed a 12″ butchers knife and went to answer the door. I flipped the porch light on and whipped open the door to find some teenage pizza delivery guy holding a pizza of course. When I opened the door the delivery guy jumped back a few feet and was looking as nervous as a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. I glared at him with such intensity I’m sure that between the look and large butcher’s knife he thought he was going to end up dead, devoured and have his skin worn as a smoking jacket. I demanded to know what the fuck he wanted and he replied someone ordered the pizza so obviously he’s delivering it. I informed the delivery guy that I was the only person here and I didn’t order any goddamn pizza. He replied in a shaky voice that he was wondering what the knife was for ,apologized and high tailed it the hell out of there.

Interesting prolog:

  1. I went to the pizza place where the delivery guy worked to apologize ,but he didn’t want to come up front to get it stilling being a tad bit frazzled.
  2. I found out over a decade later that this rancid twat of an ex girlfriend who intellectually  reverted to 12 years old and decided to play the call in a fake pizza order gag.