Rastafarian tales by Dmitry Gaiduk (continuation I)
Translation - juzy
Cont. Start here - https://garry-barbak-1.livejournal.com/495062.html
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About the doomsday device
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The defense minister made an exhibition of himself. He treated the president with a Greek Plonk Brandy. He bought it in a duty-free. The president almost puked after the first sip. After catching his breath, he started to swear foully then told: "They must be killed for that!"
Of course, it was too rashly of him. In fact, it was just a saying. But the defense minister understood it like a soldier and started a draft. Next day he reported to the president: "We are ready to start a war with Greece. Just issue an order - and we'll start to kill'em all!"
The president told: "You want to be a hero, eh? May I remind you that the Allies will take their side?"
The defense minister told: "Fuck the Allies! We have four five hundreds twenty ten of A-bombs! If the Allies will take their side - we'll kill'em all, too. They deserved this fate long time ago!"
The president told: "Everybody has A-bombs these times. Everybody also has H-bombs, V-bombs and so on... All that we have, everybody has, too. So stop the draft and start to take a Valium, man."
The defense minister told: "What if we were having a weapon that nobody has?" The president answered dreamily: "Well, if the Queen had balls she'd be the King." The defense minister told: "I got your idea! We'll have such a weapon!"
And he summoned scientists then told them: "Hey, nerds, invent for me such a weapon that nobody has." The scientists answered: "We already did."
Then, the defense minister asked them: "So why didn't you make it yet?" Scientist answered: "Well, we're out of funds, and this shit is expensive - it'd cost a truckload of cash."
The defense minister coughed up a full truck of cash from his own stash and gave them a three-week deadline. The scientists took this money and did what they invented long time ago.
So, they made a ganja-generator. It is such a thingamajig that treats any grass with special rays - ANY grass, even one from your front lawn! - and after that it has 20-30% THC. They spent hundred grands on this smart thingie, and yoinked the rest of cash in a sec. For the last two hundred bucks they bought brushes, paints, clear plastic, an emergency siren and three Xmas lights. Then they took a broken commercial fridge from someone's garage, removed condenser coils from its back, put Xmas lights instead of them and covered the fridge with dozens of old motherboards, connected them with cables, attached some valves, capacitors and transformers everywhere it's possible - so now it looks like a cyberpunk mainframe. They covered all this muthafucka with a clear plastic box, put an emergency siren and an accumulator inside the fridge and disguised them with a crazy construction made from the fridge coils and all the scrap metals they found in their garages. Then, they weld wheels and a huge knife-switch to the fridge, painted it khaki and covered it all over with scary drawings - it's so funny to do such an artwork when you are stoned! Finally, they put a huge padlock on the fridge door, put a digital lock on the switch, rolled this piece of crap to the defense minister and told: "Here is your super-weapon!"
The minister told: "Wow! But how it works?" The scientists answered: "Well, it's easy. Look, if you put this switch on - the mechanism inside will start the process which burns thru the superstring which holds together our entire space-time continuum so all the Universe will cease to exist. Simpler to say, this muthafucka can destroy the entire world in thirty seconds!"
The minister told: "Good job, eggheads! This is the real super-weapon! Now we can really conquer the world!" He ordered to hide the super-weapon in the super-bunker, came to the president with a report and demanded to test the weapon ASAP, so all the world will see and tremble.
The president told: "But how are you going to test it?" The defense minister answered: "This is simple! We bring the device to a firing range and call the media. I will come before them in my full dress uniform, deliver a speech and pull the switch... Ta-dam! And everything disappears!"
The president told: "Well-well-well... You will disappear, I will disappear and the media will disappear, too. It's kind of destroys all the universe, right?"
The defense minister told: "Don't bullshit me, man! They won't let me pull the switch. They gonna grasp me by the hand, grovel at my feet and lick my boots! This way, we will conquer the world without a single shot and will dictate it our own rules!"
The president told: "But what if they won't be frightened and won't grasp you by the hands? If you will really have to pull the switch?"
The defense minister answered: "Then we commence on the plan 'Yes We Can'." He took his cell and called: "Yes We Can, guys!" The president guard broken into and canned the president immediately. The minister told him: "Don't take offence, bro. Now you will go on a vacation for a couple of weeks. When you'll be back - you will rule the world."
Now everything goes according to the defense minister's plan. A press release is issued, the day of testing is set, media are accredited, and military attaches of rival countries are invited. The world's reaction is slightly ironic, though. Newspaper put it into the oddities column, journalists are making jokes of it, and the defense minister is getting mad. He already is ready to destroy the world for real and for good without any remorse.
Finally, the D-day came. Media and servicemen are on the range. Soldiers in their full dress uniforms are solemnly ook out the doomsday device, uncovered it and stood stock-still in a guard of honor. Journalists are giggling: many of them already recognized a commercial fridge in this device. The defense minister frowned at them, comes to the knife-switch and delivered the following speech:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Today we will demonstrate you our new super-weapon, which is based on modern physical theory of superstrings. Now I'll pull this switch on and turn this world off, forever and irrevocably. Objections and petitions will not be accepted anymore - you had whole two weeks to submit them. Instead of that you were making fun of it, disbelieving me - now you gonna pay for it!"
And he is taking off the digital lock from the switch - slowly, because his hands are shivering. Journalists became silent, soldiers became silent, the dead silence set in! At this moment, one journalist yelled: "May I ask you a question?"
The defense minister roared with a demonic laughter: "You will ask your questions after the test!" He pulled the switch... and it started to blink! and wail! and a loudspeaker started counting out: "Thirty... Twenty-nine... Twenty-eight... Twenty-seven..."
A stunning toilet smell covered the range. At this moment, everybody crapped their pants, even cynical journalists. Somebody ran away, somebody even tried to hide in a pit, somebody started to pray to the Lord for the first time in their lives. The defense minister was standing there pale but proud, holding the switch tightly and repeating silently, only with his lips: "Twenty-one... Twenty... Nineteen..."
On the count of "Fifteen..." he finally gets it and starts to cry quietly. On the count of "Eight..." he's trying to put the switch back. But the switch is an old, Soviet-made one - it jammed tightly and can't be moved without a sledgehammer. On the count of "Two..." the minister is already hangs on it with his entire hulk, setting his feet against the wall - but no way! they knew indeed how to make knife-switches in the Soviet Union! On the count of "Zero..." the minister passes out and falls to the ground - and, after just a few seconds, journalists are came to themselves and ran to him, pushing each other, to make shots which will be on the front pages of all newspapers tomorrow! Even soldiers can't put them away, such excited they became!
After such an embarrassment, the defense minister lost his prestige even to himself. The president returned from the vacation and put the minister into a nuthouse. Then, he personally visited the scientists, decorates them with State Awards and had a long conversation about needs of national science. Finally he asked, trying to make it look as casual as he can: "But, why your device didn't destroy the world, after all?"
Scientists answered: "We made it fool-proof, that's why! If it is blinking and wailing and the switch is stuck - it means the protection is activated. In fact, it is not that easy to destroy the Universe. There are some tricks we didn't show to this military guy. If you want, we can explain and show them to you."
The president tells: "Thank you, but I don't need it. And... you know what? Disassemble this damn muthafucka apart and destroy all the design documents, so it won't put idiots into a temptation. We don't need such a weapon now. We'd better invent something to make military guys to stop bullying and start thinking. And to make the rest of people to stop to confront, fight over nothing and blame each other, but to calm down and mind their own business instead. Can you, scientists, invent such a thing?
Scientists answered: "We already did! We even built and tested it - it is even ready for mass production!"
And they demonstrated to the president their ganja-generator.
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About the sausage
(for the punk Nixon from Khovrino)
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Nixon, you are asking me do I have a tale about a sausage. Of course, I do have a tale about a sausage. But it is not a folk tale, I specially invented it myself so it will be a tale about a sausage. Listen:
"So, there is such a sausage. Such a brand-name, pimped out, smoked dry sausage, so tight it can't be broken even against a knee. She's lying in a showcase and enjoying herself very-very much because she's so cool, expensive and elitist. She thinks: "Some cultured people will come soon. They will buy me, bring me home and hang to the wall and I will decorate their residence."
One fine day her dream came true. An elegantly dressed lady comes to the deli and chooses exactly this very sausage. The sausage sits in the bag, proudly sticking her head out, and looking down upon the mere world: take off your fucking hats, I'm coming home. Then she's seeing such a picture in front of her: there are kind of wieners or something like that on the sidewalk - yukky colored, irregular shaped, crumbly built, and they are smelling so low-quality that her highly developed aesthetic sense is gravely offended by this view.
The sausage tells them: "Poor things! Why you degraded so much and are not looking after yourself at all? Nobody will buy us like that because your look, frankly speaking, is so unhealthy. You should enrol into a shaping class, do some bodybuilding, find good garments, take some MSG - and gradually you'll get normal, marketable look. This "kinda wieners" are answering: "Nothing can help us now, sister. We also used to be sausages - probably, even better ones than you, but a foul outrage was committed upon us - we were eaten up then shitted out. And now we are lying here in sorry condition and just dying quietly." The sausage asks: "But what did you do to deserve such a punishment?" The "kinda wieners" answering: "This is our sausage destiny, sister. You won't even properly enjoy finding a home - you will be eaten up then shitted out. You too, sister, will be eaten soon, so enjoy yourself while you are alive and don't mock at ones who are already lying at a sidewalk."
The sausage is asking: "But who will eat me?" They answered: "The lady who carrying you in a bag will eat you. She bought you in order to eat or to put you at the mercy of somebody else. You, sis, simply don't know the life, and it is harsh and unjust to our sausage race."
The sausage became outraged: "Sheesh! They are eating us and we are keeping silence? No, this trick won't work with me! I will fuck them all straight away, starting from this very lady!" Suddenly, she jumped out of the bag and started to fuck the lady extremely cruelly: jumping into the asshole then jumping out of the mouth then back to the asshole! At the fifteenth time the lady didn't endure this torture, fell beside the "kinda wieners" and started just to die quietly. And the sausage flied away, fucking all people she met - of course, not for a sexual gratification but for a demonstrative punishment of all the humankind which offended her.
Nobody is left on the streets very soon: people hid in their homes and battened down all hatches waiting until the rabid sausage calm down. But the sausage still flying and flying, searching whom else to fuck. Suddenly she sees a guy sitting with crossed legs so his ass is totally protected. She thinks: "What a smart asshole! Nice try, pal: you won't sit like that forever. You will stand up sometimes - then I'll fuck your brains out. So she buzzed around him. But the guy still sits and sits. One day. Two day. Three days. Four. Five. Six days passed - but he still fucking sits! Finally the sausage lost her temper and asked: "Dude, why are you always sitting and sitting? Get up, stand up, for God's sake, take a stroll - or all your life will pass like that and you won't see anything in the world." The guy answered: "What a good thing could I ever see in this world? How people are eating sausages - or how the sausage is fucking people? I think both of these things ain't worth watching."
The sausage tells: "Wow! You are a sage, probably?" The guy answers: "Yes. I am a sage." The sausage tells: "Then tell me, the wise man, why such an escobar season happens in the world that people are eating us, beautiful and proud creatures, and transform us into a shit?" The sage answers: "They are eating not only sausages but everybody they can catch." The sausage asks: "So they are that evil, ain't they?" The sage answers: "It is not because they are evil but because they need to eat somebody all the time, otherwise they'll just die." The sausage reflected upon it and asked: "Tell me, the wise man, why it is so? Why we can't live a normal life so nobody will eat anybody?" The sage answers: "It's because the God created the world this way, and now he's looking from the heaven and enjoying everybody eating everybody."
All of a sudden, the sausage was stricken by the enlightenment: "That's who's guilty in everything! I gonna fly to the sky and fuck the God himself to give him a sweat and painful lesson! What kind of a fucking grand architect he is?" And, with these thoughts, she soared to the heaven and all people finally took a long breath. This way one wise man, sitting calmly in a lotus posture, saved for good the whole world.
So, the sausage is flying to the heaven and suddenly she meets a flying sausage just like her - but skyscraper-sized and so hard nobody would be able to bite it thru. The sausage tells her: "Hi, sausage! Where are you flying?" She answers: "I am not a sausage. I am a ballistic missile and I'm flying to the crappy town of Shanghai to spare no one of measly local people and to motherfucking fubar their stinky tenements at the roots." The sausage tells: "How silly of you, sis. I was this stupid myself until an enlightenment befell me." The missile asks: "Well, and what kind of enlightenment it was?" The sausage tells: "Behold! The people are not guilty. The God created them such a douchebags so they can't behave better because otherwise they'll just die. When I was younger, I also fucked them - one at a time, everybody I can catch - and now I understood that individual terrorism can't change the world. So, I decided to get to the God himself and cruelly fuck this biatch for everything he created down here."
The missile tells: "Wow, cool! Let's fly, sister, to him together: you'll violently fuck this skunk then I'll fubar him to four hundred eighteen pieces to destroy him at the roots!"
So, they flied to the very heaven. And the heaven is such a maze - like an Internet without a browser. They are flying and flying there but still can't find the God. It's not because he's not there - he's just hidden so smartly, so one can search him for a long while, especially with such stupid obsessions. Wise people say that after a thousand years they'll become so fucking frustrated that they'll return back to the Earth. But, frankly speaking, why the fuck should we care what gonna happen in a thousand years? In a thousand years we all gonna be in totally different place and in totally different condition, so all those sausage and missile schemes will look a baby-talk to us comparing with what we will face."
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About the war
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It is how it was during the war (as one guy told me). So, bloody Nazis came and conquered the entire city. All true guerillas run away to the woods and are hiding there. So, they're hiding and, finally, they used up all condensed milk. And SPAM as well. And bread as well. And lard as well. And potatoes as well. And home-made pickles as well. And jam as well. And sausages as well. They even ran out of rolling paper - do you think it is possible to live like that? They gathered a hands-on meeting and decided to send a scout to the city, because, y'now...
But the scout had cold feet. He says: "Guys, be realistic! There are Nazis in the city - they are gonna kill and then eat me. Those bloody Nazis can expose any guerilla on 1-2-3 and arrest instantly." But the comandante cheers him up: "Warm up your feet, man! Really, there is no reason to have cold feet there! It is only propaganda that they are so insightful, but they, y'now... Wear dark glasses, camouflage yourself a bit and nobody will be able to find out you are a guerrilla. And don't walk in zig-zags and, umm... Yes! Watch your mouth, m'kay? You'd better just keep mum and don't ever laugh, got it? There is nothing funny there at all. It is not a big deal they are Germans and talking German... Well, nobody's perfect, and it is simply not nice to laugh at it. Maybe, they are also laughing at us. But they are laughing respectably, not like BWA-HA-HA! You'd better not laugh at all and watch your mouth, and nobody will uncover you.
The scout refuses: "It sounds so complicated, man. Don't laugh, watch your mouth, walk straight... I am not such a monster, bro! And those dark glasses. They will recognize that I am a die-hard guerilla as soon as they see dark glasses." The commandante says: "Do not have cold feet, man! Nobody will expose you." The scout asks: "Are you sure that nobody can expose me?" The commandante answers: "I am 100% sure. Nobody will ever expose you... if you won't expose yourself." The scout replies: "You are probably so damn sure you won't give up yourself in this situation. But I am not that sure about myself. If you are so sure, take my bag and go there yourself, if you are so sure that you won't give yourself up. Look at me and then look at you - who is looking more respectably?"
Then, all guerillas started to yell: "Yeah! Yeah! He is right, comandante, indeed! You are the only of us who still looks like a normal man with decent attire and so on." After that, they collectively show him the door and send him to the reconnaissance mission. They give him a bag, pitched in some money and put in his pocket a five-pound bag of weed. And sent him to a reconnaissance mission.
So his is going on the tracks, because it is already night and commuter trains are not running anymore. He walks and walks and, suddenly: bang! bang! bang! Somebody bangs his buns from behind. He continues to walk, wondering: who is it? Banging my buns? Probably, a tourist. Definitely, it's a tourist. Damn tourist. He walks behind me and taps my behind, so I turn around. No way! I will not turn around. Why the heck do I need to turn around? Really, some freaky tourists are walking around my butt - why should I turn around for everyone? Don't I have better things to do than turn around for tourists? And he goes straight without turning around.
Again, something is banging his buns. He thinks: no, it's not a tourist. Regular tourist would have already chickened out. It is a bear, indeed. A big, like 700 pounds, bear. It walks behind me and taps my behind. Taps and taps, dammit! I will turn around, tell him to get the fuck out and then go further.
So, he turns around and says: "Bear, go to hell!" Look - there is a train engine there. It rests again his butt and honking like hell. His friend engineer leans out of the cabin and yells: "Hey, guerilla man! Where are you going?"
The guerilla answers: "I am going to the city. For a reconnaissance mission." The engineer says: "What are you, nuts? There are bloody Nazis there, they'll arrest you immediately." The guerilla replies: "Don't sell me bullshit, man. They won't expose me - look at my camouflage! I am, like, a normal square man in decent attire and so on." The engineer argues: "Normal people do not stop trains with their butts." The guerilla says: "Why do you think so? You don't even know, what kind of squares there are! They actually do. Let's have a smoke, then you'll bring me to the city, because I am already damn tired to walk. I am walking for three hours, like an idiot, then somebody starts to bang my buns - it's so annoying, man!" The engineer answers: "Okay, let's smoke."
So, they arrive to the city in a really good mood and go visit the underground resistance fighters. The underground people are sitting in their underground and writing a proclamation to the nation. They have been writing it already for a week but with no luck. Sometimes the guitarist plays off key, sometimes the vocalist sings out of the tune; sometimes drums bang something totally wrong - like a rattle. Sounds like a high school band. But they want something really cool like Bob Marley or Peter Tosh or at least Damian Marley. But no success. So they are sitting there in severe depression for already a week... boozing hard, of course. And writing their proclamation speech. Suddenly, the guerilla comes in and brings a five-pound bag of ganja. "Don't worry, be happy - let's smoke!" - he says.
They smoked, took their instruments and started jamming all of a sudden! Like a hell! They started jamming such a proclamation that was even better than Bob Marley's! But when nosy neighbours heard that, they called bloody Nazis immediately: "Please come, as there is a domestic disturbance here. Those hooligans are making loud noises in afterhours and disturbing our sleep."
So Nazis came and said: "We already know you, underground guys. We warn you last time: don't even you dare!" They they noticed the guerrilla and asked: "Who is that?" Undergrounders answered: "It's a relative from Hickstown. He came to apply to the university." Nazis replied: "We know who he is! Look in his eyes - he is a guerrilla, indeed. Okay, smart guy; put your clothes on, we'll bring you to Gestapo."
They came to Gestapo and told its chief: "Here, we caught a guerrilla." The Gestapo chief answered: "Wow, cool! They brought a guerrilla here! Let's torture him!" The guerrilla said: "Are you seriously into BDSM, officer? Why torture? Let's have a smoke instead." The Gestapo chief replied: "We can smoke later, there is no rush. Tell me, where guerrillas are hiding." The guerrilla meditated on it a bit, then said: "Yes! I just remembered! They are in woods!" The Gestapo chief argued: "Could you please be more specific? Not just "in woods". We already know that they are in woods." The guerrilla thought about it for a bit, and then said: "Um, well... When you enter the woods, turn little bit to the right, then to the glade, then straight, straight, straight, straight, straight... stop! It should be a turn somewhere. Okay, never mind, you just go to the glade, well, this way sucks, there should be a better road, let me recall... Let's smoke first, and I'll remember all the details." The Gestapo chief answered: "No way! We will not smoke, but torture you. Then, you will remember everything and stop bullshitting us."
The guerrilla said: "You can't be serious, officer. You are such a nice person, why are you behaving like a Nazi? Torture, torture... Here I am! Torture me, Nazi bastard! Cut me into pieces! Eat my shorts! I don't fucking care cause I am a guerrilla! I fucked your Hitler!" Without waiting for them to start torturing him, he grabbed a razor from the desk and started cutting himself! All bloody Nazis are damn scared - they grasped his hands, seized the razor and said: "Calm down, dude! Let's better smoke." But he still yells: "Bastards! Nazis! Dirty pervs!" - and trying to bite thru his veins. The bloody Nazis tied him to a chair, but he falled down together with the chair and started to strike the concrete floor with his head. Even the Gestapo chief became so damn scared so that even called the mental asylum.
Rough asylum attendants came, injected the guerrilla with mind-controlling drugs, threw him into the car and brought to the asylum. In the asylum, the shrink tells him: "Why did you make such a douchebag of you?" The guerrilla answers: "But why did they bully me like that! We will torture you! We will torture you! They even didn't let me smoke, bastards, bitches, damn Nazis." The doctor replies: "What Nazis are you talking about? There are no Nazis here."
The guerrilla said: "Ha! Nice bullshit, man. What you mean - there are no Nazis? I saw them with my very eyes." The shrink answered: "It doesn't really matter what you saw." The guerrilla replied: "Not only did I see them, they even arrested me." The shrink said: "Who arrested you? Nobody arrested you, stop bullshitting me, young men."
The guerrilla said: "Who is bullshitting who? If so, who brought me here to this asylum, eh?" The shrink replies: "What asylum are you talking about? There is no asylum here."
Then, the guerrilla said: "What the fuck? There is no asylum, but there is a shrink." The shrink answered: "There is no shrink, too. There are no asylum attendants, too, as well. There are no Germans, too, as well. There are no Russians, too, as well. There are no Jewish, too, as well. There are no Chechens, too, as well. There are no Kazakhs, too, as well. There are no Armenians, too, as well. There are no Frenchies, too, as well. There are no Japanese, too, as well. There are no Chinese, too, as well. There are no Vietnamese, too, as well." Finally, the guerrilla dug this tune and started to bang it. The shrink took a guitar and a 90-minutes jam session is started.
After that, the guerrilla asked: "So, are there really no Nazis at all?" The shrink answered: "You bet! There are no Nazis and no you or me. It is just a one huge delusion about the fact that there is something somewhere. But there is only nothing anywhere, dig it? Look, man, how cool it is: there is nothing anywhere at all." The guerilla finally dug it! Oh boy, it is so funny! He was making fun of it for whole three hours, even became tired of making fun of it.
Then he said: "Wow, it is so cool! There is nothing anywhere. There are no bloody Nazis as well. I must go to the woods and tell my comrades. They are sitting there so scared they even can't go to the city to buy some bread." The shrink answered: "You didn't quite get it, bro. There is no city. There is no bread. There is no your comrades. There is only a global delusion which everybody believes in, like little suckers, like if it something somewhere."
The guerrilla replied: "No, I can't agree with you on that. Okay, there are no bloody Nazis - this is even cool. There are no comrades - okay, I don't fucking care. Everybody knows: "No means no!" But there must be something somewhere, dammit! Somewhere must be something real, concrete. Otherwise I am totally lost."
The shrink said: "You know what, bro? Hang around here for just a week. Relax, fix your mind up. After that, you will be able to dig everything as it is." The guerrilla replied: "I am really sorry. You are a good man and everything. But you, probably, will excuse me. I'll sit here just for a little bit and then I have to go to catch the last train. Because, you know, it is so boring to walk back to the woods on the railroad tracks by foot... I also need to buy some bread, as well. I really have to go now." The shrink answered: "No problemo, guerilla man. Lets have one more smoke and you can go wherever you want." And he fetches an already rolled joint from his desk.
So, they smoked. Then smoked some more in the morning. Then, followed it up at night, played guitars, sung some songs, drank some tea. Everything is great when you follow such a nice day schedule! Then, in the morning, they picked some weed on the front lawn and cooked some brownies. Bit by bit, the guerrilla is finally settled in asylum. It is so cool in an asylum - people are really funny there, coolest freaks ever. They sowed all the backyard with the weed, they even have a six-acre farm in countryside. Next fall, they are all going there for harvest. By that time, the guerrilla recalled that he needs go go to the woods. So he took a train and went to the woods.
In the woods, comrades told him: "Such messengers are good only for calling the Death! While you were out, Americans sent us humanitarian aid corned beef. And English sent us humanitarian aid condensed milk. And Dutch sent us humanitarian aid selected weed. Do you see how cool it is to be a guerrilla? You sit on your butt doing nothing and everybody helps you. Then, our troops will come and give us all medals or even higher decorations. Our people must win because they do not have any other choice. Our Forces will come, and everything gonna be all right!"
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About three druggies and good man Valera
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Druggies came to the club but NADA is there. Boys are stiff, girls are ditzy, only drunks are dancing, and DJ is a dancefloor killer. There are no sits left in the chillout, everybody is angry, everybody smokes tobacco and nobody already waits for nothing. Oh boy, it sucks!
Druggies went outside and started to look up for another opportunities. One pulled out his cell, called guys on another party, then on more party, then somewhere else. Second one pulled out his iPhone and started to browse the Internet. Actually, he's more poseuring than browsing, because he just bought this iPhone and isn't very well with it yet, spending five minutes just to open an email - but looking so damn serious - like a circus manager.
Suddenly, the first druggie went out of money on his prepaid cell and told to the second one: "Let me use your cell." The guy gave him the iPhone and for five minutes was making fun about how he tries to find buttons on it. Finally, he told: "You are so lame, man. Tell me the number and I'll dial."
He dialled and called. Nobody is at the first number, nobody is at the second one, but guys at the third one answered: "Everything is here, DJs are cheerful, bouncers are our friends, so everything is positive." "Well, give us the directions then." Guys started to explain but the iPhone battery dried up. It already popped up a warning at the very first call and now is totally empty, so they've got a brick.
In meantime the third druggie is making video of their dances on his phone. He just bought a cell with a camera and shutterbugging just everything around. They told him: "Stop playing with it, man. We found a great partay but we need to make a call. He dialed - but nothing. No network coverage. And he can't even swap the SIM-card as his cell is CDMA.
They are so lost: should they try to catch a taxi and go don't know where or stay in the club and wait for don't know what? Then, out of the club comes a man, which doesn't really belong here - neither by age nor by dress-code. Aged man in denim leisure suit with a beard and untrendy haircut, not a clubber at all - what the fuck he was doing in the club? But it doesn't matter - the important thing is that he should have a cell.
A druggie approached him and asked as politely as he could: "Do you have a cell, sir?" The man answered: "Yep." And pulls out a huge radio, antique one, like a half of a brick.
The druggie tinkered with it for a while, pressed all buttons - but nothing happened, even the display didn't turn on. He asked: "How to turn it on?" The man smiled and asked: "Why would you need to do that?"
The druggie told: "Uhm... I wanted to make a call." The man replied: "Well... Now I see what your problem is. It's not what you think. It's my stash box."
He took the radio, opened it like a cigarette case, took a joint and gave to the druggie. He told: "It's enough for three, even four, people." Then, he got into his car and drove away.
Well, the druggies puffed up the joint and stoned right in the front of the club. They stood quietly, enjoyed a magic music, sometimes even danced, but they didn't return to the club. It's so cramped, stuffy and loud there and outside there is a lot of free space and stars, and the best sound is exactly in this spot. The chemist already came to the club and brought everything is needed, so everybody in the club bought what they need and he still got a lot. He already came outside and asked the druggies: "Guys, need speed? Guys, need acid?" They answered: "Nay... We're already high..."
By the way, it's a real story. The very man who smoked up these druggies told it to me. He lives in this club in the cold season and in summer he lives south of the border. He's a good man, his name is Valera: he's a mechanic and an electrician and a cabinetmaker and a pot grower - the jack-of-all-trades! And he drives car like he was born behind the wheel - by the way, that's how we met.
I was in rush, tried to hitch a ride and Valera stopped. I got into his car, heard the music in, told him something, he answered me something, and we already understood everything about each other. He asked me: "Do you smoke pot?" I told: "Uh-huh." He opened his radio, took a joint and we puffed it up the two together. After that I was not in rush anymore and we were just driving around the town, listening music, talking about all kinds of positive things - for three or four hours - until we sobered up. Then he drove me home and didn't take any money nevertheless I honestly tried.
I told him: "Valera, let's write down our phone numbers?" He told: "I don't have a phone - I'm not a drug dealer, why would I need it?" I told him: "Well then, maybe you have an email or ICQ or some other way to get hold on you? You are such a nice guy, Valera, and I do not want to lose contact with you like that."
He told: "Take it easy, HighDuke, you won't lose me. The Earth is round and there is a lot of ganja, so we will meet each other.
I hope that we will meet indeed, and not just once. Because, you know, Jah and so on. And, finally, I know this club and I can always go there to visit Valera. It's far away, like twenty five miles from my city and it's harder to get there than fly to the Moon - but sometimes I need to do it anyways.
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About two leaves
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Here it is - one more story about an old rastaman. He strolled down the flea market, making fun of everything around. And everything is so funny out there! Funny puppies, funny kittens, all kinds of bikes, Chinese-made radios, ghetto blasters, some flashlights... music is playing everywhere, people are smiling and babbling something illegible but still funny. Wow, it's so cool when the spring is came and everybody's smiling. Even if you got no money, it's still cool.
So he was strolling around making fun and smelled a steakhouse from the right. And smelled a hot dog stand from the left. The pig woke up in his stomach and said: "Oink?" But the rastaman answered: "Yoink! Slow down, you ridiculous animal, let's have a lunch at home. I have no money neither for a steak, nor for a hotdog, not even for a popcorn."
The pig repeated: "Oink! Stop selling me bullshit, old rastaman! No money, no money... Take this jackson out of your pocket and buy me a steak A-S-fucking-A-P!"
The rastaman said: "Well, yeah. I indeed have twenty dollars. But I can live whole five days on this money, and it we eat a steak now - so what? Let me buy you some popcorn. Or a hot dog."
But the pig is a stubborn animal and don't want to even consider any popcorn. It stamps its feet, squeals all over the market: "I WANT A STEAK! I WANT A STEAK! I WANT A STEAK!" and forces him to go to the steakhouse. But he's not a whimsical kid anymore, he's an old rastaman, and should be the master of his own pig. He stopped and said: "Listen up, you pig. Go to hell! Why you got into a habit of counting money in my pockets? To spite you I will spend this money on... well, I'll spend them on what I want." Saying that, he boldly turned away from the steakhouse and narrowly looked in front of him...
...and saw a marvelous plant. No, not the one you just thought about, but a really funny one. It grows in an old olive-oil tin and it is so bushy and branchy, with countless leaves on it, and all those leaves are, like, glowing from the inside. Such small round leaves, not like anything else's, but they look really drugged. So, this thing is standing on the counter, shimmering like emeralds, and it's so funny that even the pig shut up and stopped to bitch. What a darn cool plant!
There is a seedy old man behind the counter. The rastaman asked him: "What's the... plant it is?" The old man answered: "It's a coca bush, son."
Then, the rastaman asked: "Really, a coca bush?" Old man answered: "Really, really. Coca bush." The rastaman asked him: "Is your coca bush expensive?" Old man said: "No, it's not expensive, just twenty dollars." And blandly looks right to the eyes, like he understands everything.
The rastaman said: "Wow, man, how do you know that I've got a jackson?" Old man said: "You, son, look exactly like twenty dollars." Astonished by such an insight, the rastaman took out his jackson and bought the coca bush. Of course, he immediately pinched off two leaves and chewed them up. So, he's coming home and listens to his feelings: does it make me high? Or does not? He's kinda feeling some symptoms - but it's kinda no symptoms at all. Or is it? Well, maybe, there is something, but who knows, how it is supposed to be, this mysterious coke high. And he can't ask for an advice because nobody knows.
The rastaman came home still thinking does it make him high or not. He already drank some tea and rolled a joint but didn't smoke it because otherwise he won't understand do those leaves make him high or not. Probably it highs or probably it don't but he already feels so uneasy, fidgeting on the chair, tattooing and dangling feet - like something is totally wrong with this world.
The rastaman looked around and suddenly realized what's wrong with this world. There is an UNWASHED CUP on the table! Alongside of it there is an unwashed spoon, a dirty dish with mummified food scrapings... What an ugly mess on the dining - oh boy, dining! - table! It's not even possible to survive this horror!
The rastaman leapt on his feet and rushed to wash the cup. By the way, it was a whole-month-worth of dirty dishes in the sink - so he washed them all. Then, he cleaned up the table. And he cleaned the stove and the fridge. And he washed the floor and the window, dusted the ceiling and even washed curtains - wow! He hanged curtains to dry and immediately felt asleep.
He woke up in the morning, like at 7AM, and thought: "Wow! Cool!" Because, you know, it's cool indeed. He went to the kitchen to munch something - and, wow! The kitchen is sparkling clean! The fridge is like brand-new! The window is shining! The floor is so clean he didn't even dare to step on it with dirty feet!
The rastaman looks at all this cleanliness and suddenly recalls how he slept last night: on a stinky grey bed sheet, wrapping himself into a stinky dusty blanket... and the pillowcase - it's already became green because it was used as a filter when cooking magic milk - and they drank this dirty crap - ewww! Well, he puked all over his place instead of having breakfast then started to clean it up, do the laundry, throw away the garbage and fulfill other useful household chores.
At this time, his friends-rastamen came over, so he tried to voluntell them to give him a hand. They said: "Calm down, man - let's smoke instead." But he said: "Wait a sec, wait a sec. Let's clean it up a little bit - then smoke." And he's, like, not stopping for even a second - working with a mop then with a duster then with a broom... Rastamen looked at this weird enthusiasm - and left quietly. The old rastaman cleaned up the entire apartment - and felt asleep.
He wakes up next morning and sees that the apartment is clean like an operating-room and even the toilet shines like a Jedi Knight sword. He thinks: "Wow! What a feat! That's fucking awesome! With such a mindset I can probably even get a job!"
He chewed up two leaves and went to apply for a job. He came and told to HR people: "Gimme the coolest job you have!" They asked him: "Who are you at all?" The rastaman answered: "I am a tractor, a nuclear reactor, a jack-of-all-trades, an ace of spades!" They started to laugh but he told: "Stop laughing! Gimme a job or I'll blow up like an inflatable Batman!"
They started to laugh even louder but told him: "Well, the ace of spades, come tomorrow to meet with the executives, and you'll get a cool job." He returned home and, when at night his friends-rastamen came over he told them that he got a job. They congratulated him and presented a huge bag of premium weed. But the old rastaman told: "Sorry, I'm off for tonight. Smoke it on the balcony - but with closed door, because tomorrow is my first day on a new job and, you know... I should do my best."
The friends resented a little bit and said: "Probably we'd better go smoke outside?" The old rastaman said: "Well, you know... Take no offence but... Indeed, you can smoke on the balcony... But if you want to go outside, it's even better. Because, you know..."
Friends said: "Well-well-well, we understand..." And they got lost. The old rastaman went to bed immediately. In the morning, he chewed up two leaves and came to work. There is a plenty of work out there - well, the rastaman really got into it. Every morning he chews up two leaves and works hard all day then comes home at night and goes to bed. Two more leaves the next morning and back to work. Two more leaves and back to work. Two more leaves and back to work...
He spent whole spring like that. And all the summer. Then the fall, the winter, the spring again - and the coca bush still grows and grows up. And the rastaman still works and works, works and works, works and still fucking works! The friends already gave up on him: he's done already... They don't come over or give him a call anymore.
Once the rastaman received just another paycheque. As usually, he put it into the shoebox - but it doesn't fit anymore. It's, like, so full of cash that even the cover doesn't close. The rastaman thought: "Why the fuck I am still working and working? Isn't it a good time to have a rest? Tomorrow, I won't chew those two leaves anymore but smoke up and take a day off... or even a vacation... or even quit the job." Thinking about that, the old rastaman fell asleep,.
Okay. In the morning he woke up, rolled a joint, licked it meditatively, twiddled it between his fingers... then put it aside, chewed up two leaves and went to work, thinking on the way: "Oh my god, what's wrong with me? I just wanted to have a rest... It's an addiction! I need to detox!"
After thinking that, he went to an addiction clinic. An addiction counselor told him: "You are looking great, the old rastaman! Let me guess - you enrolled to a gym, found a job and quitted to smoke pot?"
The rastaman told: "I would rather smoke pot. The pot is not a drug: you smoke it when you want and quit it when you don't. I've got a different addiction and now I'm totally lost. The problem is - I BECAME ADDICTED TO COCAINE!"
The counselor said: "It doesn't look like that. Cocaine addicts are usually look antsy, with watery eyes and pale face. And you have healthy face, clear look and firm step. Maybe, it's not cocaine but Herbalife?"
The rastaman said: "I dunno. Probably, it is Herbalife. It's a kind of bush - you chew up two leaves of it, go to work, and work until you fall asleep, the next day again - two leaves and go to work. And all the life passes like that! Just imagine it - Mr. Addiction Counselor: all the life passes like that and you can't even quit it!"
The counselor said: "Well, it is called the normal life. All normal people live like that - even me. It may be an addiction but a very positive one, I guess."
The rastaman said: "No! This addiction is not positive! There are no positive addictions at all -because all human beings must be free! People should work if they want or don't work if they don't want to - this is the right way. But when you are still working but already don't want to - this is a real drug addiction!"
The counselor said: "OK. Let's call it an addiction if you wish. Give me your two leaves and I'll send it to the lab. We'll see what kind of narcotic it is, and then decide what to do."
Okay then. The rastaman gave him two leaves, went home and felt asleep. In the morning, the counselor calls him and says: "Take it easy, the old rastaman! Your leaves are totally clean. No drugs, not alkaloids and even no Herbalife! You can chew it if you want - it won't harm you."
And hangs up the phone. The rastaman looks at the bush, pinches off two leaves, smells them for some reason, puts them on the table and calls the counselor back, saying: "I understand that those leaves have no drugs in them - but what about the work addiction? How I got into this trouble?"
The counselor told him: "Well, it is already out of my competence. Maybe, you just finally became mature..."
The rastaman is outraged: "What the fucking maturity are you talking about? I'm not motherfucking old! I'm not even 40 - my whole life is in front of me!" He opened his stash, took a joint and...
...puffed it up with a terrific pleasure - like taking a sip of oxygen! It wrapped, pumped and raised him so high that he flied away like a little green cloud to the morning city, to the wild spring, to the boundless freedom, to the friends and the girlfriends... He forgot this entire "work" thing as a nightmare and presented the bush with non-drugged leaves to the counselor. Soon, the counselor moved to the capital city and became the superstar addiction counselor. He treated movie stars, musicians, TV hosts and Members of Parliament - even foreign presidents! He helped everybody, made a huge fortune and became world famous. But, of course, it's doesn't have anything to do with those leaves - this talent is given only to few. Everybody is unique.
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Holistory
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So, once Jah decided to create the world of earthcraft - just for phun. He's been poopsocking for three days and created almost everything... but something still was missing. He started to think: what's missing? Then, an internal voice tols Him: "Ganja! There is no ganja in your world, man!" Jah looked around and realized that it is true. Everything already looks alright, but a ganja ain't growing - like in Soviet Russia.
So He created a ganja. Then, he sat, puffed up a bit, looked around again and thought: "Oh my god! What a square world I just created. I need to pimp it up a bit and create something groovy. This world needs something really funny. Because now it is so-o boring, like TV." So Jah created a rastaman.
Jah created him and told: "Look, dude. Everything is just for you: here is the sun, here is the beach, here is a fresh produce, and here is the ganja. It is a paradise, man. Live up and enjoy yourself." The rastaman smoked some ganja and told: "It would be funny to listen some tunes now."
Okay. Jah created him a boombox and three thousands and fifteen cassettes for it. He told: "Look here, man. Sun, beach, fresh produce, potted meat, truckload of beer, ten-feet-high ganja, Bob Marley on the boombox - rastaman vibration, yeah, positive! Live up and enjoy yourself." The rastaman listened up the cassette and told: "It would be funny to play guitar now."
Okay. Jah created a guitar for him and told: "It looks like everything is alright now: sun, fresh air, beach, barbeque, fresh produce and even ganja. By the way, the ganja is a good one - not some Indiana ditch or crappy indica. Live up and enjoy yourself." The rastaman played guitar and told: "Umm, how about a girl? With a woman it will be a paradise, indeed."
Okay. Jah created him a chick. Really hot one. Then, He told: "OK, guys, here is your paradise. Live up and enjoy yourselves. In meantime, I'll go to Amsterdam for a vacation. I am so tired to create everything for you here." Then he left.
So, the rastaman and the girl are enjoying themselves in paradise, smoking ganja, singing songs, playing guitar and making love on the lawn. It is a heavenly life, indeed. Food is plentiful, no need to go to work, fresh ganja year-round, no cops to can'em, no gangs to rob'em, no parents to bug'em. It is how they lived in the paradise.
The serpent crawled by. Skinny, pale, dot-eyed, skinhead... all his body is one big vein with needle scars all over. Rastamans greeted him: "Hey, snake! Crawl here, let's smoke some ganja." The serpent replied: "Thanks, people. Really, thanks, but it is so pass? to smoke ganja. It's not a real fun. Like, just to relax, to chat, to enjoy some music... Guys, you call in funny? Funny - it is when BLIP! and your soul is flying high immediately... and flying and flying in warm endlessness... That's what I call "groovy"!"
Rastamans asked: "But where we can get such a stuff?" The cunning serpent pointed on a flower-bed: "Here it is, it grows right here. Look at those stems with green heads. They have a white juice inside. Let's cook some brown from it and put it down our veins. Then, you'll see what a REAL groove is.
The rastaman told: "Wow, cool! Let's do that." But the girl warned him: "Wait a sec. It is bloody poppies. Remember, Jah warned us about them: "Look, guys, these are bloody poppies. Do not eat, drink or smoke them, do not make brown from themt, otherwise you'll become hooked up on it, become junkies and waste your life." The serpent answered: "I think this guy is bullshitting you. Nobody becomes a junkie from the first try. I used it up for three years before became hooked up. It's not a big deal, though. Later, I broke my dependency and didn't become a junkie. Because if you use it properly it is not really harmful.
The girl asked: "Why you are saying it is not harmful, if Jah told it is otherwise?" The serpent replied: "He has no idea about it. He even never tried it himself, how could he know? Try it, and you will know about it even more than he does." Finally, the serpent persuaded rastamans to slam some brown. He slammed four points himself and called his junkie friends to join the party. Sure they came, for such a give-away.
The paradise eventually became a crackhouse. They cure super flu in the morning; chase it up at night... all day they are sitting, staring at the wallpaper, scratching themselves, looking at their shoes... What a fucking mess! They are not even truly enjoying it - well, it is funny some way, but where is the promised "groove"? The serpent told them: "You didn't dig it yet, guys. When you dig it up, you'll enjoy it."
So, rastamans are started to dig the brown. Half-point, then a whole point, then, after two weeks - even four points! They wanted to have an endless fun - but they didn't get it. They used up all poppies in the paradise, and the serpent offered to exchange all their ganja for some brown. It doesn't work on you already, anyways - let's swap it for the brown.
So, they exchanged all ganja for the brown. Then, they exchanged all fruits and vegetables, pawned the boombox and the guitar, even their own clothes and bead jewelry. Finally, Jah returned from the vacation - and what He sees? The paradise is fucked up, used needles and piles of feces are everywhere, Hell's Angels are hanging around... what's next? DEA raid? Some guys are even chopping down the trees. Jah approached the lumberjacks: "Why are you cutting the trees?" They answered: "Get lost, capice? We bought those trees at bargain: a log for a point."
Jah called the rastaman and the girl. They came: dirty, naked, skinhead, all skin and bones, hands are covered with needle scars. They came and stand before Him, scratching themselves. Jah asked: "Why are you naked?" Rastamans answered: "Because it is so hot outside." Jah asked again: "Are you into brown?" The rastaman answered: "This bloody serpent tricked us into it. Now we are all hooked up and we can't quit." Jah called the serpent - but he already skipped away somewhere, where more poppies are growing. Because he realized that here he won't get anything more. Except grievous bodily harm.
At this point, Jah get really mad. He stood up in all of His magnitude, His head reaching the sky and roared: "EVERYBODY, GET FUCK OUT OF HERE!" And all squares disappeared from the paradise at once. Only rastamans left. They are standing naked before Him, shivering with cold - because they already have a super flu and there is no brown left. Jah grabbed them into His hand and moulded them together as a piece of clay. Then, He shaped them again, brand new. He bought them some second-hand clothes, they made themselves bead jewelry, planted ganja again - and started a new, better life in the paradise. Remember, Jah did not banish them from the paradise, neither their children nor grandchildren. We are still living in the paradise, but not always digging it. But when we finally dig it - oh, boy.
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Continuation - https://garry-barbak-1.livejournal.com/495378.html
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Dmitry Haiduk himself lives here - https://vk.com/haidux
And here - https://www.facebook.com/hajduk1964