mind expanding nonsense

Archive for August, 2011

God’s Gift To Mankind


This isn’t gonna be a post about women, it’s just a cool drawing I had laying around, and only metaphorically has anything to do with anything, and only if her name is Mary Jane. But if ya click on the picture it will say Charlena.  Nope! I’ve seen the light! I’m chucking some of this Liberal BS I’ve been filling my mind with lately and going over to conservatism, and creationism in particular. Yep, intelligent design all the way for me.  And after you read the rest of this post, you too will be saying, “Yes, there is a loving Designer God who has a special gift for mankind.”

Dig this:  In your brain you have a special set of receptors. These receptors are the cannabinoid receptors in the brain. The breakthrough to this discovery has a long history leading up to it so I’ll skip that part (I’m doing too much cut and paste as it is). By 1986, scientists discovered the the reason for these receptors: obviously  the brain was prepared in some respects to process THC (Tetrahydrocannabinol).

Well enough of this scientific crap, you can read all about it yourself in the latest issue of High Times magazine.. The thing is there is a part of your brain specifically designed to be triggered by THC and have a pleasant effect. How did they get there? God Put them There; That’s how! God created these receptors ( and the plant that supplies the THC) in there as a kinda mental social safety net for the benefit of His creation. [You’ll notice that certain THC laden plants grow well in areas were life is tough and the people often times exploited]. He also must have made it for their enjoyment.  He certainly wouldn’t get many folks being fruitful and multiplying if the sex act was painful. No Sir, the Good Lord made it so that’s all folks want to do is multiple their socks off.  Same thing applies to His THC receptors.  Still don’t know why He made the appendix.

Now these receptors couldn’t have just evolved as the Evil-lutionists would suggest. No way. We didn’t get these THC receptors from a bunch of primates sitting around the jungle all day  getting high on the local vegetation. How stupid is that! Everybody knows monkeys  have apposable thumbs, but they didn’t have Zig Zag papers and with out them how could they roll a joint?

God didn’t make us the way we are without good reason, although I do have to question the whole foreskin thing. Maybe foreskins did evolve, but God sure nipped that in the bud when he took a liking to Abraham and his descendants [I’m talking about the legitimate ones born in wedlock and not the ones he had after the wife pushed the servant girl on him. Hey… He was old and all that stuff probably looked the same to him anyway]. Now the Lord does work in mysterious ways, because circumcision was a sign between Him and his favorite people. Instead of a secret handshake, they had a bald-headed mouse girded up in their loins and the only one who could tell was God with his X-ray vision. Unless of course, they all got naked or had to pee.

So, the way I figure, If God made these special receptors, and put them in our brains, He wants us to get high. That’s pretty intelligent design if you ask me. Remember that lowly foreskin, God made it for his Glory. I’m all for glorifying God . And if he made something inside me, I’m gonna use it and His herbal gift to mankind to its maximum potential before He comes back and takes it away

The foreskin thing again. God wouldn’t give us something just to take it away from us?  Would He?  Well the doctors took mine away when I was only a few hours old.  Likewise,  a lot of his servants today sure seem intent on doing the same thing. But God? Naw…I think He just wants us to be happy and treat each other well.

Word Press

As any serious blogger can tell I’ve got a bottom of the line, freebie Word Press Blog web-site. I wasn’t so sure about this blogging thing when my son set up this site, and didn’t want to plunk down twelve bucks for my own URL domain for something I thought might just be a passing fancy [Also Being “Master of Your Own Domain” reminded me too much of the Seinfeld episode about masturbation and which of the four friends could hold out the longest].  But, things change and I love my blog.   I am master of my own domain.

Got to tell ya that although it seems like old Hansi is a high-tech kinda guy. I must confess I’m not. In fact, I thought buying a Dell computer in the late 90’s was a total waste of money. What the hell ya gonna use it for? [I did have the foresight to order an up-graded the sound card with better speakers and a sub-woofer]. Attitudes change (or were adjusted) when a Buddie of mine turned me on to Napster. It wasn’t but a matter of days before I was running out to buy me a CD burner and calling the Phone Company for DSL.

But, I don’t have a cell phone. Don’t do Face Book, and have never “Tweeted” before in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I had a cell phone when I was a P O and out in the field dealing with mentally ill clients. I mean like I had the Crisis Team on speed dial. But Twitter??? What the hell would I tweet about? “Hey everybody…I woke up this morning, took a dump and feel great. Glad I didn’t die before I woke up.” Naw…I prefer to ‘blog.’ And maybe I’ll do a post about what a total mind-phuck that little child’s prayer is all about: “Now I lay me down to sleep, Pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake. Pray the Lord my soul to take.” My god, teaching young children that they could be victim of sudden death syndrome, so they better take out some insure and cover themselves either way. Nothing like scaring the shit out of them. Ever wonder why young children sometimes have a hard time going to sleep? They’re scared of dying!!!

Will not do Face Book. I wanna stay under the radar. And Face Book sounds like a signed confession to me. Everything you do on a computer goes on your Permanent Record (now I know what that was we were warned about in junior high school).  A blog is more anonymous.  But please don’t take me for being a wee bit conspiratorial.  Nope….I work in a bureaucracy that monitors people: The Probation Department. I AM BIG BROTHER. But…Big Brother don’t have the money or resources to just monitor everyone; only the high profile guys get scrutiny. On a 3000 person first-time Drunk Driver caseload, who gets attention? The guys out there picking up their second DUI’s, and the fools showing up at Alcohol School drunk. There ain’t man-power enough to track much more than that [unless of course when old Hansi goes the the House of Pain to do some post retirement crime-fighting.  Then people are getting their non-compliant asses kicked.]

Back to Word press ( I can maintain a train of thought, it’s just the many stations where it sometimes stops to take on new passengers). So I do like technology, but only insofar as it works for my own benefit, like increasing my music library and posting my art-work on the web. The blow mind for me is Digitally photographing a drawing, taking the memory chip out of the camera and sticking it in the computer, downloading the image to my computer, where it is Photo-Shopped for cropping, adjusting hues, sized and saved, and made available to post on the WW Web. Now that’s pretty trippy. All that technology just to show a crude pencil drawing on paper to the whole world. It’s like listening to your old Elvis Presley records  on the best stereo money can buy.

Well them folks at Word Press make all this available for free; you can buy upgrades to ‘personalize’ your blog [I mean like if this ain’t personal what is?]. But that requires a ‘purchase’ and purchasing stuff can be expensive. And here we finally arrive at the point. Word Press also provides inspirational prompts for post ideas like: Write a post about your dinner last night, or What is your favorite sound? How nice and helpful…hmmm, maybe I will buy an upgrade.

So, being ever ready for some ridicule, here’s my story about dinner last night:

The Wife had something special she wanted to try and make for dinner.  What a treat; I went to the garden and picked some of the organic lettuce we grow, along with a carrot and  tomato. Returning with our  garden bounty, I made a salad.  We shared a glass of Merlot; I got a little flirty. Thought to myself, “Hmmm, wonder if that Cialis pill I took a month ago still has any residual effect?” Guess I was hoping for an ‘acid flash-back’ in my pants. Well when everything was done and the salad tossed with a homemade olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing. We filled our plates, and proceeded to the living room where we sat in our own Lazy-Boy recliners. [ Now you know you died and went to geezer heaven when you have His and Hers recliners]. We sat in front of the TV, I grabbed the remote, clicked on the news, and after finding out what was going on in the world, we both barfed.

Hey…Come on now, you think I’m gonna write about dinner? Give me a break! There’s much more important stuff to address 🙂

Sick and Tired

Fats Domino did an old New Orleans-style blues rocker called “Sick and Tired”.  Great tune:  “Oh babe, what cha gonna do?  I’m sick and tired of foolin’ around with you.”  The song goes on to tell a story about a guy working his ass off for a no-good woman who just lays around the house “with a rag tied round her head.”  Fats goes on about how he’s gonna throw her out if she don’t start changing her lazy ways.  Now I know nothing like that ever happens in real life, but the song pretty much sums up the exasperation one can feel when in a bad situation.

Now I know I’m a relic of the sixties, and that’s cool, and even groovy, because there’s a treasury of good music to draw from that really expresses some feelings.  But I’m starting to feel like we are in for a re-play of some really heavy-duty shit, just like we experienced in the sixties.  Big social changes, strange economic times, mega uncertainty.

During the Los Angeles Watts riots of 1965, just before I went off for college, my family was living in the Crenshaw area of L A.  That was an intense few days of looting, burning down stuff, and race riots .  All because the police shot a black man over a minor traffic matter.  I guess things were not too good in the black community at that time, cause black people were ‘sick and tired’ and violence erupted. “Burn baby, burn”.  Do I hear “London Calling”?

We lived in the ‘curfew zone’ where no one was allowed on the streets after 10 pm ( if you were white, the curfew wasn’t enforced so hard) .  The  National Guard was called out to help police restore order, and established blockades around the curfew area.  What blew my mind the most was when I saw an Army tank going down the middle of Florence Blvd.  Hey this type of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in America (God’s favorite country).  Maybe in Hungry Hungary or some other damn place behind an Iron Curtain, but certainly not here in the USA.

Well the times they were a changin’.  Police beating anti war demonstrators at the Chicago Democratic Convention; The Army (national guard) shooting students at Kent State.  My ass facing the possibility of getting drafted to fight some idiotic war in a place I never heard of (good thing we don’t do that anymore).  A lot of people were getting sick and tired.

Well I’m getting sick and tired too.  And scared.   Whoa, the old fear number is kicking in again.  Maybe I’m getting a little paranoid, and should cut back on my morning medication.  “Don’t  do that Hansi.  You have a blog following that’s hungary hungry for your well-medicated posts complete with psychedelic illustrations”.  OK, you talked me out of that.   But there still seems to be a radical group out there that wants to change everything as we know it in the United States, and it ain’t looking good for the middle class.  What’s really crazy, is that this group poses as patriots (even dresses up like them too: I, however prefer woman’s clothes), and masquerades as one thing but is really another.   And unless you have a bullshit o-meter, it’s hard to tell them from normal people.  This is getting like an old science fiction movie (Invasion of the Body Snatchers or Invaders From Mars) where you couldn’t tell who was an alien being except for some strange mark on them someplace.

So now you are on one side or the other; and of course your side is correct.  I guess I’m talking politics again, but don’t really want to because I’m sick and tired of all this divide going on.   The problems facing America are not beyond solution, it just seems everyone has there own agenda and wants to cram it down the throats of the other.  The Stock Market sees this and is down another 500 points again (written Aug 18th; and yes I do do drafts and save them for later), and the Bond Market is telling us with its declining yields, that a recession is near: it’s all Europe’s fault 🙂  So I’m starting to freak-out a little.

“So babe, what cha gonna do?”  Perhaps the guy in the song and his woman could have worked things out if they didn’t just see things their own way, but rather went to counseling (I’m ever the probation officer) and in a spirit of saving the relationship, worked things out for the better of them both.  “Too much medication Hansi, that seldom works”.  Maybe, but I don’t see any other decent alternatives

Click here to hear Fats.

Here’s a strange one

Bet you thought this was gonna be about some weird story or politics, or some such lunacy heavily laden with sexual innuendo.  Nope…I posted this on on my other blog and thought:  “Hey, it’s time for a new Hansi post.”  So this one may be cheating a bit, but I feel it’s more  a testament to pen, paper and proper medication.


Last year when the Wife and I traveled to Germany and went to Koln (Cologne), where we had to see the Kolner Dom. Started in 1248, the Cologne Cathedral is one of the tallest in Europe.Cologne’s medieval builders had planned a grand structure to house the reliquary of the Three Kings and fit its role as a place of worship for the Holy Roman Emperor. Despite having been left incomplete during the medieval period, Cologne Cathedral eventually became unified as “a masterpiece of exceptional intrinsic value” and “a powerful testimony to the strength and persistence of Christian belief in medieval and modern Europe”.

No matter ones religious beliefs, being inside one of these medieval cathedrals is a total other worldly experience. And if you are fortunate enough to be there during a church service, as we were, you’d swear you were in heaven at the foot of God’s throne. When the massive organ stated playing, the whole place reverberated with a sound that shook you down to your inner being. That was pretty cool. But what was even more better was, for a small fee, you could go under the cathedral and into the church’s treasury. Talking about vows of poverty, these monks may have looked like a bunch of rabble, but certainly had well funded 401k plans in them catacombs.

Not only were we able to see the golden Reliquary of the Three Kings (the box which contained the bones and clothes of the Three Wise men of nativity fame); but also the chains that bound St Peter when he was taken to Rome (the holy handcuffs), along with his Holy Staff. And speaking of the holy staffs, what we weren’t able to see was the sepulcher of the Holy Foreskin which is reported to house the remains of Jesus’ circumcision. [I shit you not, there is really such a relic.]

Relics and shrines were really important during the Middle Ages, as they served as a source of revenue for the Church. When the coffers got a little low due to all the gold that was being inlaid on stuff, they trotted out the holy relics and took em throughout the countryside, where miracles, healings and visions were reported to have occurred. And of course miracles, healing and visions aren’t free. No sir! You gotta pay to look at that stuff. And the dumb peasants fell for it every time.

Well, being an old relic myself, I felt it time to dive into my archives and resurrect an old post ( no metaphor intended ), so maybe like myself, you too can have a miraculous vision after reading it.


Back in the day when I was attending Dorsey High School in Los Angeles, one of our favorite activities was to participate in a “chop-fight”. A non violent affair which consisted of hurling insults at one another. Whoever bested his opponent by uttering a completely humiliating invective for which the other had no response (‘what no come-back, it’s all  stuck in the back of your mouth’) was the winner. These were serious matters, for ones reputation at school hung (and speaking of being well hung, I hear your sister has a pair bigger than yours) on how one fared in these duels.

These events usually ended in a draw however, for known to everyone was the ultimate put-down for which there was no come-back. When one was going down for the count, and “so low ya had to look up to see down”, you had no choice but to hurl the ultimate weapon and respond with: “Your Mama”. That usually ended it. Everybody was wise enough, even at this young age, not to pursue the “Mama” thing much further. But, “Your Mama”, or “Joe Mama” depending on which ethnic persuasion you preferred to be, sometimes took on a life of its own. When both participants were really into trashing each other (“and speaking of Trash, How’s Joe Mama?”), things began to roll (“Your Mama; I hear your mama is so black she needs a license to buy white bread”) It usually ended with both fools wishin’ they was orphans or cutting each other up with knives pretty badly.

Well I think it’s time for Your Mama to come back. Not literally, because most of us old guys’ Mamas are up in Heaven where they are enjoying their own chop-fights; where their ultimate put-down is “Your Son”. Instead of always yelling ‘bullshit’ or the ‘F’ word when watching something especially tweeksome on TV; just utter in a low voice “Your Mama”. When Bill O’Riley is going on about some uber right-wing nonsense, don’t get upset, just softly utter “your mama” and you’ve refuted his whole argument. What more can be said. Some politician trying to explain away how they got their hand caught in the cookie jar. Don’t yell motherfucker. Nope, “Your Mama” says it all. You know, I think that I’m gonna stop using the word ‘bullshit’ altogether (might have to give up television to be successful), and instead just mumble “Joe Mama” when a witty repartee is needed.

The Last Resort

OK, we’re stooping to new lows here at Hansi’s Hallucinations. And I’m not talking about the depravity of most of my bathroom, potty-mouthed humor which is the main-stay of this Blog. Nope. I’m talking about coming up short, a real brain fart; I just can’t think of anything new to share. Coming up with new fresh hallucinations is no easy task.  Sometimes one needs a little help [image the Beatles’ “I get by with a little help from my friends” tune in the background] So, I’ll do what many a blogger and bloggerette does: blog about blogging, and how my blogging has become totally bogged down. This is the classic “I ain’t got shit to say, so I’ll say a bunch of shit about that” ploy.

It’s kinda like when a rock group finally achieves fame, moves out of their parent’s garage and actually starts making money playing music. What do they ultimately sing about? How hard it is being a Rock Star, on the road touring; the pressures of fame, the toll it takes on em. Bunch of whiners.

You got to keep in mind, that most of these guys spent their entire adolescence, locked in their rooms, listing to old records and practicing guitar for six hours a day. And what to they find for their efforts? It Sucks! But you got to sing about it cause the average life span of a rock group is about 2 -3 years. They implode after that. So you gotta crank out the hits before the money tree wilts, and you’re forever doomed to doing Oldies shows. Well the same thing is true about the Blog-o-sphere.

That reminds me of our local County Fair. The wife and I go on Senior Citizens/Disabled Persons Day. We hop on the shuttle bus, get in for free (best senior discount going), and usually go to the early afternoon stadium show. Now, before ya go saying, “Hansi, Aren’t you a little embarrassed taking them senior discounts? You’re so youthful looking and in such great shape.”  My answer:….Hell No! If I learned one thing from all my Jewish buddies in Baldwin Hills during the 60’s, it’s that only Gentiles and fools pay retail. If you can grab a bargain, you go for it. Who in their right mind is gonna belly-up to a cash register and demand to pay full price? Not me! In fact, when I was just pushing 60, I’d try and pass as a senior, kinda like when I bought beer as an eighteen year old. Anyone over 50 looks like a senior to some pimple-faced teenage idiots taking money….Ignorance is indeed, bliss.

Last year we saw Tony Orlando (no Dawn these days). I though I hit the bottom of geezer-hood with that one. Despite having to navigate around people in wheelchairs, walkers, or on a leash, [it was also mentally handicapped and disabled day] the show was actually fun. Tony put on a good show, sang his hits, along with everybody in the audience, and had a gentle self-deprecating sense of humor. Every one who could stand without assistance or their oxygen masks, was on their feet at the end sreamin’ for more.

The best part of the fair had to be the turkey and pig races. Turkeys are really dumb shits. These fools would chase a remote controlled dump truck filled with feed, around an oval tract.  Some even got totally confused, and just stood there dumbfounded, while their brothers were runnin’ around like a bunch of mini Velociraptors from Jurassic Park. The pigs had slightly higher IQ’s. But still acted like cute little morons.

Well that about sums it up. My last resort was the County Fair. Don’t know where that one came from. Must have just slipped out; kinda like a good fart. But don’t call me an old fart.

Drawing Slump

You may may not have noticed, but right now I’m in a little bit of a drawing slump.  I just can’t seem to get motivated to draw, let alone feel inspired by anything.   OK everybody, on three ^ ^^ ^^^  “Poor Hansi”  Thanks I needed that.  But it’s really not so bad, been through them before and came out even better, or at least that’s what I think.

It’s hard to feel inspired when there’s a lot of stuff on your mind like the Country going down the drain (along with the economy), and a very elderly parent who is going through what may be an end of life health crisis.  Maybe it’s the House of Pain?  Naw.  The House of Pain (the probation department I retired from but now work for again part time) is actually a good thing in these times, and provides me with a hedge against uncertainty.  In fact, and keeping in mind that this is not a retirement living type of blog (except for my own psychedelic version of retirement living), working part time in retirement is a good thing if you can do it.  Getting paid a goodly sum to crank-out mindless bullshit is certainly more lucrative then sitting here at Hansi’s cranking out mindless bullshit for free.

Getting back to my drawing slump.  I posted this older drawing of Sarah Palin ‘getting  her tits caught in the wringer’, which was from an earlier post called “Political Poontang“.   One of my better efforts if I may say so myself, cause it covered two of my favorite subjects: Politics, and Poontang.  Doesn’t get much better than that.  But a word of caution;  politics and poontang can be a toxic concoction when mixed together.  Like when Sarah made her infamous “Blood Libel” remark.  Or like my increasingly more favorite blend of politics and poontang…Michelle Bachmann.  Whoa… I don’t know if I’m ready to sample that one, for even though her husband Marcus prayed the Gay out of me out of me a long time ago, I’m just not so sure I’d like to take a test drive in that vehicle yet.  But maybe if I dressed up in a robe, with long hair and a beard; bet that would tickle her crown of thorns.  I don’t think Marcus would mind so terribly, cause it would prove that I’ve been de-gayified (not to be confused with deified), and afterwards the three of us could get together and say a big “Thank you Jesus”.

“Oh Hansi, you’re such a sexist pig”.  No I’m not, I deleted the Michelle/Jesus bit of heresy. I respect and admire intelligent women, and try to keep an open mind regarding all people.  It’s just that Sarah and Michelle are so scary, so radical, and so idiotically stupid (yet powerful), that the only way I can possibly tolerate them is if I let my mind wander, and fantasize about them as sex objects.  It’s just a defense mechanism.

[Oh that gives me an idea for a future post: “Sarah and Michelle do Hansi”, with the sequel: Michelle and Sarah (gotta take turns on who comes first) do Hansi while Newt watches”.  This may not be my usual PG-13 fare, but will certainly be filled with enough sexual innuendo, adolescent humor and potty mouth remarks to make everyone happy and snicker with delight.]

So until this slump is over, I decided to dig into my psychedelic journal  and start posting some of that older stuff on my other blog  The Blithering Idiot.   Hey!  I’m not trying to pull a “Sarah Palin” here with all this Self Promotion [ you did notice that Sarah and self promotion do have the same initials ], but rather give anyone who so desires, a chance to see some Really strange shit.  Hungry minds must be fed.

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