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Who Sent the Private Investigator To Check Us Out??? Where Is Old Snarly?

Gentle Readers,

This message is not really for you.

We are dropping the editorial ‘us’ in parts to make it less confusing. We think Cynthia Oldsnarly may have sent them.

On Friday, a private investigator named Kellie showed up at our Motel. She checked in with no luggage or purse, wearing a short-ish white dress and stylish hair and nails.
She came out of the front desk office and wandered the parkinglot aimlessly for an hour and then went to her room, near mine, when I came out on the balcony to see which room the possible hooker was going to visit.
As it turns she kept obviously spying on me, looking through the open spaces of a luggage rack on a car parked between us.
So, I decided to STARE at her to let her know she was not un-noticed. This prompted her to come over and up the steps to the balcony, where we sat drinking and chatting…about me…all about me…she said she would be gone in the morning and i watched her leave on foot, no luggage or purse, just a copy of Beatdom we gave her to read…

She kept me up talking about myself until 3am. We did not talk adult topics or any such shit…so why do people spy? why do they lie? why do they not be real in 2014????

funny thing is…we hide nothing, as all you kind readers know…and any import given to us is undeserved, since we are morons.

best from the staff!

*tis is a free blog…if you see typos, live with it or contact us about our exclusive paid blog!!!!!

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One From The Poetry Corner

bullwinkleEsteemed Readers, Bottom Feeders and Counters of Meters, today we bring you an installment of the Poetry Corner. We promised to keep this blog going, so we are happy to be in your face.
The following poem is the first in what will be known as the ‘Yakima Cycle’ by Michael Hendrick, a drunken friend of ours who can’t be trusted with your daughter…a sad one, boys and girls, sniff, sniff. He redeems himself with his poems…maybe not this one but he seemed quite insistent that we publish it for him and it is a ‘limerick’ really. As per our buddies at the Encyclopedia Brittanica a limerick is a popular form of short, humorous verse that is often nonsensical and frequently ribald. It consists of five lines, rhyming aabba, and the dominant metre is anapestic, with two metrical feet in the third and fourth lines and three feet in the others.
These short rhymes often involve a city name. We chose Yakima as our city and Mr. Hendrick, in his infinite kindness, offered to share poems written just for this blog…a saint of a man, is he.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A certain young woman from Yakima
got randy but had quite a hacking cough.
Though she sounded a fright,
she loved a new man each night.
Her ten kids proved that she did not whack’em off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now, Kids…it is nothing against women, nothing against Yakima and most certainly not against masturbation…if anything, is insulted here, it is the Rhyme itself, but it endures, year after year.

Oddly, though…the most popular blogs here are the ones having to do with insults and words and we find that to be very interesting and think we will do our best to include more such material in days and weeks to come.

Welcome to the Working Week!

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Whatever Happened To This Blog?

Michael (6)Gentle Readers, for months, perhaps a year, we have been putting you off and have let this once-heralded blog slip into near obscurity. Today, we return and not only that – we return with our original name.
We remain uncertain as to whether we were trying to protect ourselves or trying to get laid when we changed the words ‘substance abuse’ to ‘substantial abuse’.
Too much information on one’s pattern of substance abuse can put low on the list for certain social invites. The fact remains that, as a result of being fed beer regularly as a baby (imagine yourself sucking from a beer bottle as tall as yourself…but just on weekends…), the editorial we naturally became alcoholic. We missed out on all the fun of gateway drugs – ha, ha, as if such a thing exists. We are not Hippies because we were born too late but we did manage to ingest LSD in every decade since the seventies, inclusive, and still keep the old neuro-plasticity working well enough to keep your attention!

We thank all the people who kept reading old entries of the blog while we were out of action.

We also thank Paul Krassner – for inspiration. We contacted him regarding some Beatdom business. Although he influenced us greatly over the years, from MAD to High Times magazines, we felt a pang of guilt when viewing his bibliography. He never shies away from a topic. He is fearless. He wrote a lot about drugs and put them in the titles of his books. He has integrity. We were afraid we would never be able to get laid if we had to explain our substance abuse issues…a pretty lame excuse, looking back.
Mr. Krassner helped change the course of American history to a degree. His activities during the sixties – his outspokenness, sense of humor and respect for Truth – allowed many others to open up with their personal views. Somebody always has to break the ice in a repressive situation and he melted minds. Conversely, The Realist allowed so-called ‘broken minds’ to melt the ice of the oppression of the time through humor. We remember how you Dear Readers love illustrations, so here is the book to look for…confessions…if you do not buy it and read it, you will not know what we are writing about when we refer to it in future important dispatches.
Anyway, there is a lot to learn about him and we encourage you all to pick up copies of his books. The best place to find them is on his website, http://www.paulkrassner.com

So, with all that being said, we shall now resume the blog as it ran a few years ago, three to four times a week. We will try to be more politically-minded and will try to be less silly. Things have gotten a lot more serious since we reported Governor Christie getting stuck in his gubernatorial bathtub and being pried out with two boat oars and a handy few pounds of butter from the larder….ah…”larder”… We thank the Gov for allowing us to resurrect an old word! May we gain from his girth.
Another reason for our return lies in the excitement we feel as we explore new lands. Native to New York, we left the east coast and drove west this past summer. After a lifetime in the Eastern Standard Zone except for vacations and other excursions, we find great novelty here in the State of Washington. We knew the diversity of topography to be extreme but the last thing we expected was to wind up stuck in a desert, much less the scablands. Everybody said it rains all the time here.
Not so.
We never experienced such pesky sunshine in all our days. Sun, sun, sun…nothing but sun, all summer. Like Bob Dylan asks a recent LP, “Don’t you know the sun can burn your brains right out?” Speaking of Dylan, we can’t help but compare the area to the locale depicted in the film Masked and Anonymous. With all the Native Americans, Mexicans, sand and abandoned junk cars, the resemblance strikes us as uncanny. In fact some areas here are so bleak as to resemble Afghan mountain ranges; so much so that troops bound for that bloodbath got used to the elements by training near here.
Fall arrived and clouds followed and as the sky got darker, things got brighter. We love rain! The first good rain to come in brought our first dust storm along with it. A fantastic sight! A cool thing to view from the safe confines of a car with rolled-up windows.
There is so much here to discover in Washington, we didn’t know where to start so food is never a bad idea. Crossing the US, we noticed portions of food increasing in size as we pushed westward. True, we settled for road food but it actually tasted good and we had to start comparing fast foods, just to see the cultural anomoly we are faced with.
It started at the ‘Steak’N’Shake’ somewhere in Michigan. Years passed since the last fast food burger touched my lips. It came down to ‘eat or starve’ so we went with Steak’N’Shake. It was amazing! The first thing that freaked us out was the whipped cream and cherry on the milkshake…we remembered that from soda fountains in the distant past. When we opened up the burgers, a cornucopia of veggies stuck out from the bun. While we chose our move to a liberal land where pot is legal, as is same-sex marriage and assisted suicide, liberal portions never occurred to us.
So amazed were we, that to push the idea to the limit, we tried a McDonalds…we must report that our two kitties, along for the trip, actually ate some of the ‘meat’. We tried the same thing in Pennsylvania and they shunned it. Finally, even McDonalds had a cherry on top of the shake.
Now here is the rub.

It is sort of like Lenny Bruce’s ‘Jew vs Goy’ bit…only it seems like Lenny was wrong on that one. He said anybody who lives in New York is jewish, whether they are goyim or not. While admittedly goy to the catholic degree at childhood, we can’t help but feel that the whole northeast seaboard, as well as points as far west as Chicago, create the true demarcation.
Try to find some real foods, foods we grew up with and now we seem to have entered a weird zone of culinary depravity. Perhaps being in the east, where European immigrants first landed, exposed us to a variety of victuals. Ethnic foods spread out from immigrant neighborhoods as they became popular with other cultures.
Brie, capers, anchovies, hummus, halvah, Finlandia or Jarlsburg brand swiss or Parmigiano-Reggiano, olive oil from Italy, couscous…mention these items and prepare to be met with a blank stare. Other seemingly unbotchable staples – pizza and bagels, for instance – get ‘the treatment’. To find a simple slice of pizza (crust, sauce, cheese and spices) the closest option is to send out for a Papa John or Domino imitation pie and cut it in the shape of a slice…or make your own. The concept of an italian pizza shop where you can walk in and buy a slice is exactly that, here on the eastern part of the state, a concept. It is an idea that does not exist. Maybe you can get it in Seattle but we have not gotten that far yet.
Forget bagel shops…but the street tacos rule!
We admit to enjoying a bagel at the most fabulous hotel we could find this side of the Cascades, The Davenport Hotel in Spokane. hotelHere, birthplace of Crab Louis (after Louis Davenport), they referred to the smoked salmon as lox and knew well enough to put capers on the plate. For as many salmon as swim through here every year, we expected that most people would be familiar with lox. Maybe they are better off. I did see a number of big fish float belly up in the Columbia River just around migration time, when the state warned residents not to eat the local fish due to dangerous levels of pollutants in the filets.
Hordes of homeless tweakers who live under bridges and eat these fish since a little added protein never hurts a meth binge, are likely unaware of these warnings. A lot of homeless drifters hang here, though, so that makes us feel welcome. Hitch-hikers spot the roads, too. We hadn’t seen one since 2003 in Ireland. No wonder the serial killers like it here.
There is so much to say, so much to compare, so much to type that we will hold it for another day, tomorrow maybe…
~

Sorry for not really promoting the substance abuse this time. We did drink beer while driving across most of the states, though. We shall make up for this in due time.
Thanks all, for coming back to read this blog, and it feels good to be back!

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Thank The Supreme Court And Ferd For This Post (contains explicit language)

Gentle Readers,

Given the subject matter in this blog, we tried to find a nice ‘lunatic’ image but ended up with an image of a ‘luna kit’ and since it is a cool image we may as well just go with the flow and take what our graphics department comes up with!

Why a lunatic? Ferd is quoted here, that’s why the lunatic!

Ferd does not have a computer and does not even have an email address. We told him we were writing about him several times but he has never taken the time to look at the screen to see what we say. That said, let us consider that the Suprme Court recently took all penalties off of using foul language and determined that is is perfectly legal to write, type or speak the words ‘fucking asshole‘.  We find this reassuring to know that when we are pulled over for yet another traffic violation, we are allowed to exclaim, “Thanks a lot, you fucking asshole” to the ‘officer’ who has cited us.

Thanks to our cultural heroes, it is now legal to curse in public and it is with the blessings of the High Court that we relate the following:

One recent hot, sunny Summer day, we found ourselves at the door of Ferd’s domain. Outside and sitting in the sun with no water and not enough leash to reach the shade was his cat, Willie. After pounding on the door, waking and berating him, he unhooked Willie and took her inside (“her” because Willie is short for Wilhelmina). Willie flopped on the floor, exhausted. We questioned Ferd on the lack of water for Willie, at which point he filled a bowl and Willie immediately started to lap it up. Feeling sorry for poor Willie, Your Humble Narrator looked at Ferd and called him a fucking asshole.

Many people would take humbrage or offense to such a remark but Ferd took it in stride. In fact, he complimented me on it. He recounted a day, some 40 years earlier, when Your Narrator was with a group of school friends and Ferd. Pot was pretty unavailable and five of us stood in a circle while the bowl was filled with our last remaining stash. Putting a light to the bowl, we took the first toke and passed it to Ferd, who immediately dropped it on the ground, where the remains could not be recovered.  Everybody cursed him, even himself. This incident had long been forgotten, albiet in the the mind of Ferd. He recounted the occasion and how we had called him a fucking asshole forty years earlier.

“You know,” said Ferd, seemingly amused at being insulted, “Do you remember that time I dropped the bowl?”

“No,” we countered, “and what does that have to do with anything and why can’t you take care of your cat?”

Blowing off the bit about the cat, he related the story of the dropped bowl. “You sound exactly the same calling me a fucking asshole today, as you did when you called me a fucking asshole forty years ago. I can close my eyes and it is like going back in time.”

Great, we thought, a fucking asshole in a timeless warp…or ‘Ferd…An Asshole Through the Ages’…

We thought this was humorous enough but, more recently, we were moved to refer to Ferd as ‘an imbecile’ and he objected strongly to the remark. He had his reasons. He said that being an imbecile was a part of normal human development and that he had passed that stage.  As he put it, “You are born, and from the time you ‘come out of the shute’ you are an imbecile. Then, later you develop into an idiot, until you become a moron. These are the stages of a child’s brain development. I read it in a book!”

We are not sure what book Ferd had his nose in that time – or what he had his nose in before he looked at the book – but  we actually searched the internet to see how he could have come up with such a classic way of distinguishing between inbecility and idiocy. Being a master of both, we almost hoped to find something to support his jive but could not find a single thing to back him up.

He must be a moron. 

 

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Spring is Here, With All Good Cheer. Birds Chirp. Frogs Burp.

     Bargainhunters, Runts and Punters,

     If the title of this post sounds familiar to you, it is because it was lifted from a book by the late Bennett Cerf, called Write Me A Poem, Baby.  This was a favourite book from my youth, in which Cerf asked children to write poems and collected them into a book, maybe even a second volume.

     What does that have to do with ratty, old shoes?  What?  Do you think we start these blogs without a solid purpose in mind for each and every one? Of course we don’t!  We write these by the seat of our pants for a few lovely people who look forward to them.  The shoes, by the by, have seen more wildlife than many children who live in the city.  They have been thrown at rabbits, squirrels, dogs and a few other small mammals. 

     Purchased in December of 2002, while picking up a pair of black oxfords to wear to my dad’s funeral, these became my ‘going to the office shoes’ until we were downsized in 2004.  They had an easy life for a year after that, until they were no longer fit for casual wear in public.  At that point, a new pair of dock shoes were purchased and these became the ‘lawnmowing/snowshoveling’ shoes.  They have weathered feet of snow, countless walks through my lawn, which by any definition is not actually a lawn.  At this time, it is mostly pretty, blue violets, as you can see…

     This sort of thing drives my neighbors crazy, as they think lawns should be green and comprised of grass.  We do not have a lawn so much as some grass mixed with violets, strawberries, dandelions and whatever the birds drop there.  The birds come for the flowers, we think.  We also believe that the creator puts those blue flowers there to sooth us and get us through the days of Spring Fever.  We enjoy sitting on the porch and letting our eyes relax to a blur and letting the colours sink in while we listen to the laboured grunts of all the neighbors who are on hands and knees on their lawns, digging and poisoning these little gifts of the season.  These people wear big boots and use noisy equipment in the maintenance of their yards, protecting their tootsies from mower blades, slips from ladders, icy patches and all those thing we ignore while shovelling and mowing barefoot in worn-out dock shoes.  These people have a work costume for each season.  It is the only funny thing about living here.

     The birds do enjoy my yard, as the returning families of robins, bluejays, cardinals and doves attest.  Plants are put in for their benefit, so that they swoop in and expose themselves to my cats, who sit in the window and think about what they would do to them.  This year, we may build a small chicken-wire-and-wood house for the kitties, so they can be outside on nice days.  Up until now, they have had to settle for the fresh catnip which grows out back and is already about eight inches tall, as you can see…

      If you have cats and do not grow catnip for them, shame on you.  You need to be a better pet owner and that is the fact, jack.  It is pleasant to see the catnip up so early and our pals, Inkie and Budderz, are quite happy with the fact.  What does worry us a bit is the early bloom of the lilacs.  We love the smell.  Some are put in a bedroom vase to evoke dream images from Springs Gone By.  It seems that they usually do not bloom until late May or early June but it is time, as you can see…

     That smell sure brings back the memories.  It reminds me of Mother’s Day and the hope of Summer.  The lilacs are nice and we are proud of them, even though they were here when we bought the house.  Prouder still are we of the fern, which we planted along the whole North side of the house and the tendrils of which are just pushing through the soil and reaching to the sky, like so…

     If you were to see the neighborhood the house is situated in, a white trash hell where Nascar is King and the proof is in the trucks parked on the lawns, you might understand why plants and pollen are so important.  Most of these plants upset those boot-people near me, since they cannot cut them to a height of one inch nor be sure all the blades of grass point in the same direction.  Birds appreciate what humans do not.

     As we started this rambling tome with a poem, allow us to end it with a piece of primordial literature, mined from the files and spilled from the skull of a nine-year-old Michael Hendrick, who in the Fifth Grade showed great slyness in using words to waste space in order to avoid being ruler-whipped by a nun who was easily enraged by blank spots on sheets of paper.  This may be one of the earliest works of art by the young Poet, as he learned words were to become his salvation.  Please enjoy ‘Spring’s Charms’.

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Speaking of Stupid Bastards

     Gentle Readers,

     We share with you an email we received from the address of your disaster-in-chief,  Bacarat Obama.  It was obviously sent by a minion while the president went through a book of hymns, looking for songs with the word ‘Hosanna’ in them and replacing it with ‘Obama,’ singing softly under his breath…

    This email arrived in response to some off the cuff insults we threw in his direction during the recent town hall meeting on Facebook, where he deftly dodged most questions posed to him and concentrated on getting himself re-elected.  This has nothing to do with Gov. Cartman but we show his photo because we like stupid bastards.

So here is my message from your president. Just remember, we already told him that he sucks:

Michael —

If it were easy to do the big, meaningful things we believe will make our country better — if it were quick — someone would have done those things long before any of us showed up.

We’ve chosen to do something hard.

You know that our victories so far have been hard won: taking the difficult steps necessary to put our economy back on track, reforming Wall Street excess despite an army of lobbyists against us, and making health care more affordable and accessible despite well-organized opposition by those who profit from the status quo.

You also know we have not yet done everything we set out to do — not nearly.

But that’s a reason to work harder, not to let up. That’s why we’re building this campaign now. And you have to take ownership of it.

So I will be direct: Can you step up and make a donation of $5 to get us started?

https://donate.barackobama.com/Begin-Again

We’ve had the chance to make historic changes that touch every American: from passing a law that says women should get an equal day’s pay for an equal day’s work to removing 100,000 troops from Iraq.

Those things and every other important change we’ve made happened because people like you built an organization to win an election in 2008.

The stakes are even higher this time.

As I’ve spoken with supporters who are helping get this campaign started, I’ve met folks who are frustrated by the pace of change.

I understand that. But we knew this wouldn’t be easy. The kind of change we’re working for never comes easily.

Now is the time to begin again, and build the campaign that will shape our country’s future.

Thank you,

Barack

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New K2 News…Still Legal In Pennsylvania…

     Big, ugly Rep. Jennifer Mann today introduced legislation in Harrisburg, state capitol of Pennsylvania, to ban the use of K2, Spice and other synthetic cannabis products.  BTW, she is much older and heavier now than in the photo she uses on her website.  This photo is what she thinks she looks like and, even on a good day, she is still ugly on the inside.

     This action indicates that these things are still legal and there is no law against using them.  Look at the facts and do not let the press and media tell you what to do.  If they have to try to pass a law against it, like today, it shows that the action taken last year, HB176, was a failure.  Look at the facts.  There is no current law against JWH, K2 or any of the synthetic THC products in Pennsylvania, even though the news has been telling you different since November 23, 2010.  We repeat…LEGAL IN PENNSYLVANIA UNTIL BANNED.

     It is amazing how people believe anything they are told.  If you want the truth, you have to look for it, not wait for it to come conveniently packaged like Mr. Nice Guy Strawberry, whom I miss very much and may have to go look for again…

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From The Beat Cookie Jar – William S. Burroughs: A Man Within

     Gentle Readers, a new morsel of the good stuff showed up in the Beat cookie jar today, an advance copy of a PBS Independent Lens series episode, which will air across the USA starting February 22 – William S. Burroughs: A Man Within.

     Even before it arrived, we liked it for the title, which brings to mind one of our most favorite books by Burroughs, The Cat Inside.  It is a work of straight writing, like his novels Junky and Queer, and we prefer his traditional style moreso than his lunatic-fringed works, which are always the target of imitators and penny-ante enthusiasts, a fad which seem to recur every ten years or so since we first ‘discovered’ Beat writing in the 1970s.  We consider ourselves, here at CFYSA, lucky to have read most of the Beats at a tender age.  It allowed many details to be forgotten in the thirty years hence – which makes those same works a joy to rediscover and reread now, in what we assume to be adulthood.

     We have not viewed the new DVD yet, since it still has cookie crumbs clinging to the wrapper.  It will be reviewed in the next issue of Beatdom Issue 9 – The Drugs Issue.  It will appear on your own tv sets in about two or three weeks, however, so we thought it prudent to give you all a heads-up on this marvelous bit of programming.

     With a soundtrack by our hero and Burroughs compatriot, Patti Smith (along with Sonic Youth) and narrated by Naked Lunch star Peter Weller, the film shows previously unreleased footage of The Man, as well as unseen interviews with many others, including Iggy Pop, Gus Van Sant, Anne Waldman, John Waters, Laurie Anderson, Patti Smith and Jello Biafra as part of the diverse array.  This is a goldmine for Burroughs fans everywhere!

     PBS has also launched a companion website to promote the film at www.pbs.org/independentlens/burroughs where fans can get more detailed information, watch preview clips, read an interview with the filmmaker and explore the links and resources.  Viewers of the site can even share their ideas and opinions on the Talkback section of the site.

     This is a rather short blog but it is only here to point you to the film, which was made by a 25-year-old high school dropout – our favorite type of scholar – Yony Leyser.  Actually, some websites say he dropped out of college, some say film school and others say high school…we just admire him as an Outsider who dropped out to follow his vision.  Shouldn’t everybody?

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Final Installment of K2 Khronickles

     Fearless Readers, we have come to the end of an era of sorts, a very short era – the era of legal THC.  We missed our chance to get in on the legal LSD up until 1967 and this gave us a chance to try new drugs and see what we could see with the aid of them.  Now, the shelves are empty and we still have seen no legal notice of a final rule in the Federal Register.  The media won, again.

     There will be more fake marijuana products coming down the line.  They are already available in some places.  It is sort of like when the US made amphetamine use illegal and spawned the multi-million-untaxed-dollars-a-year ‘meth’ market.  Smith Kline and French could have made a mint with their Dexedrine Spansules or the good old Bi-Phetamine 20s (the original ‘black beauties’) and taxes would have been paid on every purchase, at one level or other, and they could even have been regulated.  Now, every bucktoothed hillbilly from here to Sheboygan and beyond is making ‘fake’ speed in bathtubs, sinks and even in moving vehicles.  No taxes get paid on this stuff and it is a thousand times more dangerous than the real thing, which is given to students in grade school for treatment of ADHD.

     Recently, we took some Roxanol brand morphine and noticed that the pills are banana flavored.  This makes them a nice match for the grape flavored dexedrine tablets, called Adderall, which is what the kids in school get.  What a lovely, fruity combination!  What spells ‘gateway’ better than candy-covered, mind-altering drugs? 

     Not anybody can sell these confectionary compounds.  It costs a lot of money to make grape flavored speed; only big corporations who can pay off the officials we elect are allowed to sell stuff like that.  Imagine the fuss if a parent were to suggest the inherent danger in coating powerful chemicals with Pandora’s powder of sweet, sweet, sugary goodness.  Imagine the outrage over all those young lives lost to swallowing sweets.  It would be even worse than our upcoming diabetes epidemic, scheduled tentatively for 2020…but this ain’t pot so that will never happen.  Just one of life’s little ironies.

     Gentle Readers, you may have any opinion you wish as regards these substances. If you are for them or against them, you can find plenty of support online in chatrooms full of people who share your views.  One funny thing about the chatrooms, websites, organizations and other entities that concern themselves with such subjects – there really is no correct answer or proper view.  There is always a question-mark hanging over all participants and nobody logs off with a real, concrete answer…more often, a feeling of anxiety lingers.

     Many find this lack of answers to be quite frustrating.  Most frustrated are the majority of us, who are lied to, manipulated, bought, sold and shoveled shit to, by the media.  Less frustrated are the so-called power brokers who create and develope the standards by which we are ruled. Ruled.  That is the status of the K2 law…pre-rule.  The rule never made it to print in the Federal Register so it is technically still legal, if you do your own homework and use documents provided by the government.  Ask anybody and they will tell you it is illegal, however, because they saw it on the news or on the web.  If it is on one of those places, it has to be true…no?

     You can’t fool all of the people all of the time…how many times have we heard that?  It doesn’t matter, just so long as you fool most of them.  As long as the majority is confused, people foolish enough to waste time spewing the honest truth can say all they want; they have been diffused.  They can tell the truth all they want and the bad guys will still fuck us all over.  People do have memories, though.  Honesty always prevails, eventually, but much suffering has occurred throughout history while waiting for honesty to prevail.  It takes time.

     We have reached a tipping point, in many ways.  The world’s foremost scientists say we have passed the tipping point, in terms of saving the planet from we humans.  Whales are getting sunburns because the ozone is so thin, which is documented fact, while our leaders tell us they still have no concrete evidence that global warming exists.  This is why we should not follow leaders.

     We feel bad for those Dear Readers who have children that will have to face the rapidly deteriorating quality of life in the Western World.  The Eastern World will probably just be getting the final touches of their infrastructures in place when the big shoe finally falls.  You can develop India and Bangla Desh all you want but they will still be underwater, with most of Florida,  if ocean levels rise two more inches.  It is just a matter of so much more melted snow and the polar bears are running out of room already.

     Then there will be mass migrations to the USA and there will be even less to go around.  American Dream – yes, that is what it is.  There is no future here unless things take a drastic and dramatic turn.  As complacent as society has become, all the drama has moved to Congress, a place where level heads lose to cheap dramatics.

     So, with so many things sucking so badly, we close the folder on the K2 Khronikles in order to focus on other, more pertinent issues.  We will report any new laws or findings or anecdotal information we come across, as regards K2, Spice, Mr. NiceGuy, Black Mambo and the others, of course.  The subject has not fallen completely off our radar.

     We shall return and we shall still be Celebrating 50 Years of Substance Abuse but we will take the forum in a slightly different direction, as you, Gentle Friends and Fiendish Foes, will see.

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Ouchhy…I Need A Morphine

     Gentle Readers, many people make disparaging comments about the opiates. They are the drug that pot is the gateway to – even though there are 100 times as many pot users as there are heroin addicts. The point is, there IS NO gateway drug.

     After the accident on Wednesday, in the freezing rain, the usual paperwork and insurance covering ensued. Part of the process was loading the car onto a tow truck, since it could not be driven with the driver’s side window blacked out.

     In process of preparing the car for the tow, Your Humble Narrator backed out the passenger side door of his trusty automobile and, forgetting he was four feet off the ground on the bed of a tow truck, tripped over a six-inch lip that borders the truck bed and took a tumble four feet to the asphalt and ice below. Ever spry at 53 years, I popped right back up before a single, mean neighbor had a chance to laugh at my mishap.

     I must have landed like Spiderman, judging from the bruises on my fingertips and the small amounts of blood coming from beneath my freshly-trimmed fingernails. Obviously, the fall was broken by my quick thinking and my right side took the brunt of my weight crashing to Earth.

     While we enjoy abusing the substances as much as possible, we are using some precious Roxanol brand morphine to help the battered body deal with the pain. It is rather hard to type too much and so this is one of the shortest blogs you may see from CFYSA. We had it stored for mellow evenings, lackadaisically dropping the blue pills and washing them down with the thick, black Guinness. Today, the use is forced-therapeutic, and a waste of a good morphine sleep.

     Thank goodness the blog goes on, but there will be changes in days to come. We will still be CFYSA but we will no longer be writing The K2 Khronickles, as that drug is no longer available and we will explain in full once healing has proceeded a bit further.

     We have an ouchhy and we need our morphine and valium and…well, you know!

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     By the by…the newest issue of Beatdom is about to hit the stands! The artwork is brilliant!  The writing is top-notch, as to be expected. The subject of the issue is SEX.

     Watch for more Beatdom news soon!

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