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Poetry Corner (Warning XXX Explicit Material. Parents Be Warned!)

     Leering Letches and Creepy Crawldaddies,

     Today we ask our Gentle Readers to harken back to those wonderful days when porn was on paper and could be hidden under the mattress. The Golden Age of Porn produced many unique publications, such as the pictured issue of Al Goldstein’s National Screw.

     National Screw, like Playboy, was not only rife with lascivious and salacious material but was found to be ‘socially redeeming,’ thanks to essays by contributors such as William S. Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and other highly-respected literary figures of the time. The upcoming issue of Beatdom takes aim at the same concept, only without showing close-ups of moist, pink labia in between photos of serious authors. With magazines like these, the joke used to be“I only buy it for the articles.” 

     Good, old smut has pretty much gone the way of the web, with programmes available which allow a user to insert penis into a device which simulates the sensations of the sex act, while watching a video that is synched-up to the ‘pleasure portal’. Just too weird for us at CFYSA…not only does it take away the fantasy that served as stimulus to ‘yank the carrot’, it masturbates you, too.  There are limits to what is good about being a DIY, ‘Do It Yourselfer’.

      That said, we are not sure what kids do these days. In the waning decades of the last century, sex was a popular way for men and women to pass time together. A common way to find and engage a partner in sex was to go to the public park system with beer and pot. Sitting on the lawn, near the parkinglot, a hedonistic type could smoke pot, become inebriated and when an attractive member of the opposite gender passed, ask her if ‘you want to party?’  Most often, we sat on the lawn along the lot, inbetween the parked cars and the Ladies rest rooms, in order to catch more traffic.

     One bright, sunny day, in the company of an idiot and former acquaintance named Chuck, we sucked down Rolling Rock beers and waited to meet some ‘company’. We were rather drunk that early Spring afternoon and our luck was not with us. Halter tops were a popular article of clothing for women to wear at the time and they were a good thing, in that they allowed a partial view of the breasts of the woman who wore one.

     A number of beers into the ‘party,’ Chuck (who is now a red-nosed, fat bastard who cannot even see his toes without a mirror) had a revelation, an inspiration…an original thought! Original thought can be a good thing in the minds of some people. In his mind, the logical conclusion formed that since we, as men, enjoyed the soft, white skin revealed by the halter, then it was only normal that women take just as much pleasure in seeing a bit of scrotum. If they show us theirs, they must want to see ours…this was his logic.

     While the display of wrinkly flesh did not yield results, it was worth a try. Your Humble Narrator did not try sunning his scrotum for fear of blistered balls but did record a partial account of the events of that day. And, so, My Confidantes, today we present a poem which takes us back to those Golden Days of the early 1980s… 

A Day At The Parkway

Jaws of flocks

of the shocked


as Chuck’s cock flopped

onto the top of the rock.

Like prunes?” he mocked.

The eyes of the cop


as loose cumdrops slopped,

then dripped down the walls

of his fetid balls.


I read a book

and pretended not to look.

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Redhead Granny Defies DEA, Smokes Mr. Nice Guy Strawberry!!!

     I predict in the near future right-wingers will use drug hysteria as a pretext to set up an international police apparatus. Williams S. Burroughs in Drugstore Cowboy, 1989

     Dearest Kittenz and Katz,

     As our hero notes in the quote above, we are in the middle of a war, perpetuated and visited upon us in the guise of protecting a nation of people from their own desires. One hundred and ninety million people in America smoke marijuana regularly, yet they are cowed by laws dictated by a lying bastard of a president and a legislature full of pocket-lining, self-serving spooks.

     To further agitate the situation, the geography of the USA is such that, a person living in New Jersey on the East Coast, a person in California on the West Coast and any politician with an address in Washington, DC, including (and especially the potsmoking president) are allowed to legally get pot from the doctor, while most of the poor schmucks who are resigned to life in the heartland do not have the privilege. We live in a land of privilege, where the rich and connected get what they want and the people whos’ sweat they live off of are denied those same pleasure. Privilege leads to class warfare and like Bob Dylan once said, ‘ a lot of people don’t have much food on their table but they got a lot of knives and forks and they gotta cut something…’ People may be gullible and easy to control but they DO catch on sooner or later and it is going to be a mess when it happens. It is already starting, as you can even see in the media they allow us to watch.

     To point out how ridiculous things have gotten, let’s look at the latest action by the DEA to stop people from smoking K2, JWH, Spice or any of the sythetic THC blends. They said that in one month, they will take all such products from vendors and stop sales for exactly one year. At the moment I type this, I can hear a commercial on the stock channel, CNBC, saying how pot is the largest cash crop in america, bringing in billions of dollars to millions of americans…yet we are going down the fiscal tubes and our asshole in chief will have nothing to do with it ~ aside from smoking it like former Presidents Clinton, Kennedy and who knows who else, Jefferson, Washington…too many to name…

    So when the DEA said stop, I stocked up and tried some new stuff since the thrill may soon be gone. The always-lovely Tara, as usual, made a good suggestion and told me that strawberry-flavoured ‘Mr Nice Guy’ was on sale…buy two, get one half price. I bought some and it tasted really nice. As I had noted to Tara, when i went to buy some at the gas station the last time, a guy came bursting through the door, almost shouting, ‘…any strawberry Mr Nice Guy left???’…so that had given my curiousity a shot and I tried three packages.

     Ferd coughed on his first hit because he is used to cigarettes and I had a clean screen but he liked it immediately. But that is Ferd. Also in attendance was a sweet woman, a grandmother of four, in her fifties, who had never so much as smoked a single hit of pot in her whole life. She was curious, too, so I held the container of strawberry blend under her nose and asked her how it smelled. ‘Nice’, she replied. So I filled a bowl.

     We offered her the bowl and held the lighter. She asked ‘how to inhale’ and I said to just hold it in. She took a little puff and blew it out. “That tastes good,” she said, watching as I filled my lungs and held it, then breathed it out heavily. “Want some more?” I asked and she nodded to the affirmative. She took another hit but this time, she held it in and seemed surprised to see the smoke when she exhaled. The bowl kept smoking and she took one more hit. Three hits.

     Never having been high in her life, she was not sure what to expect but when I saw the funny little smirk appear at the corners of her mouth, I knew it had worked. “How do I know when it works,” she queried, with a wide grin. “I think it already did, from looking at you…what are you smiling about?” I asked if her stomach felt better and she said it felt warm and cozy and just kept smiling.

    I asked her about anxiety…did she feel funny…was she scared…would she freak out like all those kids in the newspapers…”Let’s have spaghetti,” was her logical reply, chuckling. I am not sure how long it lasted but it was pleasurable. She told me that once she was sitting on her step with a guy she was dating and her daughter-in-law came and yelled at her because her date was smoking pot. She had no idea. This made her the perfect subject to show just how harmless and over-played this whole ball of crap about THC is.

    Wake up America! The smokers outnumber the lawmakers but we don’t have what we want because the lawmakers have trained us into an army of lazy, facacta fools.

    Stand up and do something. Don’t let grandmoms be denied the right to get high after watching over two generations and deserving a little pleasure. Don’t let lawmakers fool you into thinking you are wrong. They are power hungry pols with nothing in their heads except how to keep the poor people down. It used to  be black people that got this treatment but the archaic drug laws are fairer than the Congress when it comes to equal rights…as long as it is the right to be equally guilty. Blacks (come on… some are from other countries than Africa, so black is more true than ‘african-american’ when speaking of dark-skinned people from other countries. Wake up to that, too.) have been scapegoated and persecuted, making our prisons a burgeoning industry and for the most part, because of simple possession of pot.

     Look at Willie Nelson…he gets arrested with six ounces and is free to walk around. In the same state, Texas, men sit behind bars for 20 years for possession of two joints, or less than a gram of the same stuff. The difference? Privilege, of course. Willie is not poor and black. He plays at the White House every so often. He started Farm Aid (at the suggestion of Bob Dylan) to help the poor farmers in america.

     The best and fairest thing would be to lock Willie up with the same sentence a young black man would get…a life sentence!  Then his fanbase would be upset, stage a big concert with a lot of celebrities and ‘Free Willy’ while showing Washington that a vote for pot can put you in the big office for eight years…a fact that Obama is sorely missing.

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