Gonzo Ramblings...
I can't believe it, I feel violated. Used as a tool of The Man.
It started out like usual. I needed to get to Oakland, but was running a bit late. Calls kept coming in from various sources, keeping me up to date on things I can't remember. Good things they called, or I'd have nothing to forget. Time was running short, and I had to leave, the timing crucial. So I grabbed my jacket, rune pouch, current issue of High Times, as well as Crystal Method's Vegas album. Somehow I knew I'd need it. The most important item was awaiting me in my truck. As I pulled out of the garage, I reached for Ol' Blue.
It was about four years ago now, that I found Old Blue. It's a very special day in the life of all stoners when they buy their first pipe. I remember I had planned it. I went to work at the Junior High, counted down the minutes until I could leave, and headed to Berkeley. The shop was called Wicked, and upstairs it boasted one hell of a headshop. That was until Nazi General John Asscrack let loose with the terror-filled witch-hunt that was Operation Pipedream. You remember, it was the time when we lost some of the top-quality work of places like 101 North, hell they even busted Tommy Chong in that campaign! The pigs were riding high on that one. Until then Wicked had one of the finest assortments of glass pieces you could find, like a beautiful blown-glass art gallery. I knew it would be where I bought my first pipe, and someday my first glass piece, though sadly that day never happened. I headed straight for the upstairs, and took my time. One must always be tapped into the Vibe when buying a piece. All things flow according to the whim of the Great Magnet, and it doesn't take kind to insults. I examined the artwork, and then got down to business. I searched through the cases looking for my pipe-to-be. So many to choose from, but I was tapped in. I soon found her. Blue, a plus as it is my favorite color, fairly small but for a combined stash container that screwed onto the bottom. Perfect for my situation, being that I did not (at the time) smoke at home. The perfect travel pipe, still is.
So Ol' Blue was packed and ready to go, and I headed to Oakland, my destination. Through many trials, I have found that from my house, down through Old Town Pinole, and to the onramp, is the perfect amount of time to smoke about two-thirds of a bowl. At least one toke going up the ramp, and another couple by the time you reach the overpass to the mall. It gets you nice and high, so you can really enjoy the music as you battle rush hour traffic, road construction, and other annoyances. So there I was, beautifully high, and listening to a cd of Van Halen's finest, cruising down 80 past Gilman and coming up to University. Traffic was normal for 5:00pm, so things were rather slow. That's when I saw him. A dark form moving slowly, and rather close, past my passenger side window. 180 pounds of prime motorcycle-riding land-pork. Fear filled my truck like the smoke about 10 minutes earlier, but I remained calm. I'm a professional. He pulled in front of me, and stayed there. I then realized his horrible plan. I was in the fast lane, and at the peak of Carpool time. Things were slow in my lane, but the carpool lane was cruising by. One guy in a white car happened to see the pig in front of me, and pulled in behind me. Sorry bub, you bought this ticket, hope you're prepared for the ride. The cop in front of me moved to the right, and then slowed down for both me and the criminal behind me to pass, then he pulled behind the white car. Without any lights, or even motioning to the offending driver, he casually moved back into the next lane, and slowed to a stop. That's right, stopped the fucking porkcycle on the freeway in the middle of rush-hour traffic, until the guy pulled over. I felt sorry for the poor sap. Then I felt angry.
I had been used. Me and my big green truck. He had hidden himself in front of me to watch the carpool lane. In the middle of all that ugliness I had been made a participant, without my consent and before I realized what was going on. I called my attorney immediately and filled him in on everything. As usual, he had a sympathetic ear, but I could tell he wasn't happy to hear this sordid tale. Tragic, in an of itself, however the message was clear. It was an ugly scene no doubt, but it will be commonplace soon enough. Herr Bush is trying to get the power to postpone the election in the event of a terrorist attack on election day. Currently nobody has the power to make that call, but a guy appointed by our beloved Terrorist Leader raised the question of who can make that call. Stop and take that in a second. If you're not scared, read it again, and call me with questions. The fact of the matter is, it scares the shit out of me! I've always been a realist, optimistic, but aware of what's going on. So here I sit, just a freak enjoying his precious freedoms for as long as he can. Where there should be protests and angry Americans from all walks of life in the streets right now, it's business as usual. And why not? It could never happen to us, right? This only happens to Arabs, Jews, and Germans, right? That kind of blatant takeover goes against everything America stands for, and is therefore impossible right? Well, keep asking that when W is crowned Emperor, and we all have to kneel and swear fealty. Or do you have the guts to raise you middle finger and spit in his face. For that reason alone, they'll probably bring back the guillotine.
Chaos, madness, ugliness. Much fear and loathing. Just another day, in this year of our lord, 2004.
Sometimes I think it may be best to just grab my attorney, and our women, and head to New Zealand, or Guatemala. Shit, even Iceland is starting to look good. We'll see, November will be here soon enough.
It started out like usual. I needed to get to Oakland, but was running a bit late. Calls kept coming in from various sources, keeping me up to date on things I can't remember. Good things they called, or I'd have nothing to forget. Time was running short, and I had to leave, the timing crucial. So I grabbed my jacket, rune pouch, current issue of High Times, as well as Crystal Method's Vegas album. Somehow I knew I'd need it. The most important item was awaiting me in my truck. As I pulled out of the garage, I reached for Ol' Blue.
It was about four years ago now, that I found Old Blue. It's a very special day in the life of all stoners when they buy their first pipe. I remember I had planned it. I went to work at the Junior High, counted down the minutes until I could leave, and headed to Berkeley. The shop was called Wicked, and upstairs it boasted one hell of a headshop. That was until Nazi General John Asscrack let loose with the terror-filled witch-hunt that was Operation Pipedream. You remember, it was the time when we lost some of the top-quality work of places like 101 North, hell they even busted Tommy Chong in that campaign! The pigs were riding high on that one. Until then Wicked had one of the finest assortments of glass pieces you could find, like a beautiful blown-glass art gallery. I knew it would be where I bought my first pipe, and someday my first glass piece, though sadly that day never happened. I headed straight for the upstairs, and took my time. One must always be tapped into the Vibe when buying a piece. All things flow according to the whim of the Great Magnet, and it doesn't take kind to insults. I examined the artwork, and then got down to business. I searched through the cases looking for my pipe-to-be. So many to choose from, but I was tapped in. I soon found her. Blue, a plus as it is my favorite color, fairly small but for a combined stash container that screwed onto the bottom. Perfect for my situation, being that I did not (at the time) smoke at home. The perfect travel pipe, still is.
So Ol' Blue was packed and ready to go, and I headed to Oakland, my destination. Through many trials, I have found that from my house, down through Old Town Pinole, and to the onramp, is the perfect amount of time to smoke about two-thirds of a bowl. At least one toke going up the ramp, and another couple by the time you reach the overpass to the mall. It gets you nice and high, so you can really enjoy the music as you battle rush hour traffic, road construction, and other annoyances. So there I was, beautifully high, and listening to a cd of Van Halen's finest, cruising down 80 past Gilman and coming up to University. Traffic was normal for 5:00pm, so things were rather slow. That's when I saw him. A dark form moving slowly, and rather close, past my passenger side window. 180 pounds of prime motorcycle-riding land-pork. Fear filled my truck like the smoke about 10 minutes earlier, but I remained calm. I'm a professional. He pulled in front of me, and stayed there. I then realized his horrible plan. I was in the fast lane, and at the peak of Carpool time. Things were slow in my lane, but the carpool lane was cruising by. One guy in a white car happened to see the pig in front of me, and pulled in behind me. Sorry bub, you bought this ticket, hope you're prepared for the ride. The cop in front of me moved to the right, and then slowed down for both me and the criminal behind me to pass, then he pulled behind the white car. Without any lights, or even motioning to the offending driver, he casually moved back into the next lane, and slowed to a stop. That's right, stopped the fucking porkcycle on the freeway in the middle of rush-hour traffic, until the guy pulled over. I felt sorry for the poor sap. Then I felt angry.
I had been used. Me and my big green truck. He had hidden himself in front of me to watch the carpool lane. In the middle of all that ugliness I had been made a participant, without my consent and before I realized what was going on. I called my attorney immediately and filled him in on everything. As usual, he had a sympathetic ear, but I could tell he wasn't happy to hear this sordid tale. Tragic, in an of itself, however the message was clear. It was an ugly scene no doubt, but it will be commonplace soon enough. Herr Bush is trying to get the power to postpone the election in the event of a terrorist attack on election day. Currently nobody has the power to make that call, but a guy appointed by our beloved Terrorist Leader raised the question of who can make that call. Stop and take that in a second. If you're not scared, read it again, and call me with questions. The fact of the matter is, it scares the shit out of me! I've always been a realist, optimistic, but aware of what's going on. So here I sit, just a freak enjoying his precious freedoms for as long as he can. Where there should be protests and angry Americans from all walks of life in the streets right now, it's business as usual. And why not? It could never happen to us, right? This only happens to Arabs, Jews, and Germans, right? That kind of blatant takeover goes against everything America stands for, and is therefore impossible right? Well, keep asking that when W is crowned Emperor, and we all have to kneel and swear fealty. Or do you have the guts to raise you middle finger and spit in his face. For that reason alone, they'll probably bring back the guillotine.
Chaos, madness, ugliness. Much fear and loathing. Just another day, in this year of our lord, 2004.
Sometimes I think it may be best to just grab my attorney, and our women, and head to New Zealand, or Guatemala. Shit, even Iceland is starting to look good. We'll see, November will be here soon enough.