Supposi-stories For Your Mind

The title was really supposed to be Suppositories for your Mind, but I didn’t want to sound gross or suggest that anyone ingest my words anally, unless, you’re some kinda Tea Party nut-case that thinks my blog is blasphemous or a bunch of bleeding heart liberal communist bullshit; then I think you know where you can feel free to shove it.

Anyway, taking these little ‘mind stories’ rectally is a slow way to assimilate them.  Number one, your butt is pretty far from your brain.  And number two (snicker), it’s all up-stream, and who wants some tired, worn-out stimuli in their brain? [Some have solved this problem by magically placing their heads up their ass].  Taking these stories orally seems like a faster way, but anything that goes in your mouth has to go down first, and then make a big U-turn before it goes back up to your head.

I guess the best way to digest these stories is visually.  The back of your eyes have little cords running outta them which plug directly into your brain.  That’s why I always throw in a drawing or two.  Gives the eyes something to look at while your brain is trying to figure out what has been written.

 

Passing A Drug Test

Back in the day when I was a probation officer [Oh no, another war story], I had to test some of my ‘clients’ who had drug terms as a part of their probation.  No drug use allowed.  That meant yours truly had to watch junkies, wife-beaters and other drug-usin’ crooks pee in a small jar that I would take from them with gloved hands and send off to the lab for analysis.  Ah yes, doing your favorite thing, and, getting paid for it; don’t get much better than that.  Sometimes when I was out in the field, I had little dip-sticks (for the dip-shits) that could give me an instant read on whether or not the were clean (drug free).  A lot of my clients couldn’t pass their test, and as a result, got in a lot of trouble

Wow.  As groovy as re-living the past is, this whole thing got me to thinkin’.  What if, in a parallel universe, the definition of passing a drug test had a different meaning.  When I was in school, I was tested on what was in my brain.  And in order to pass, I had to put down the answers they wanted.  Pass or fail.  Leaving something blank, or skipping a question often times guaranteed a fail.  So…In my alternative universe, passing a drug test means you have certain drugs in your system, and if ya didn’t, Sorry Charlie, you failed.

In this universe, being on drugs is a good thing.  Maybe cause Big Pharma has finally taken over, and they want you usin’ their product.  “If ya got an affliction, there’s no restriction” on a medication to make life more tolerable.  Mandatory drug testing would assure you were using the right stuff.

Well, we all know that will never happen.  Although they are pushing vaccinations on us (and rightly so..I had the measles and chicken pox; it was no picnic), and on TV, all ya see are ads for different drugs, many with a free 15 day trial offer.  Reminds me of what the local pusher used to say, “The first fix is always free.”

“This Is Me”

I don’t know about you, but every afternoon between 2 and 3 I get a lot of calls from people wanting to sell me solar panels or a kitchen re-model.  This often repeats itself between 5:30 and 6:30 in the evening.  I can always tell when I’m being hit, cause when I answer my phone with “Hello”, I get two seconds of silence, then a click or two, and finally some guy who’s still chewing his food, swallows and asks if Mr. Ne*#@^**d is there.

Here’s where it gets irritating: when they can’t even pronounce my name correctly, and when they get close, it’s pronounced like in a question – did I pronounce that right?   Well hell no!  Unless you’re calling from Norway (I’ve got a Norwegian last name).  I’ve tried to be nice in the past, but I’ve already got solar panes on my roof.  And if these fools even bothered to do a little research instead of cold calling anyone who breaths, they’d know I’ve had em since 2007.  [Yep…everything in Hansiland is fully solar and powered by the sun.  Wouldn’t it be cool if everything on earth were powered by the sun?].

The calls I hate the most are the automated ‘robo-calls’, gawd knows I got enough of those during the last election…some very famous people even called little ol’ me.  My favorite (the one that pisses me off the most) is the one that starts off with “Hello Seniors”.  That’s enough to piss-off any baby boomer.  But here’s the fun part.  When I hear that deep rich voice say “hello seniors”, I immediately reply with “Fuck You!”  If particularly grouchie, I often go on to spew forth every profanity I learned in the gutter, in potty-mouth overdrive.  Pretty cool.  Pretty cathartic!  I get to say all manner of inappropriate, politically incorrect filth without offending a real person (which is not nice).  It’s kinda like being a Socialist Hating Tea Partier without having to give up your Social Security, Medicare and subsidized housing benefits.

I’m now answering my phone, not with “hello”, but with “This is Me”.  I think there’s a machine placing endless calls, which is only switched over to an actual solicitor when it hears a “hello” reply.  Machines these days can speak English.  So, if I say “this is Me”, all my friends will know they’ve reached me (and not you).  If a solicitor does get through and asks for Mr. Ne*#@#*d, I get to have some fun and reply,  “this is me”, and we’re off to the races.  [I actually tried it.  They passed over my opening, went on with their spiel, until they asked if I were the homeowner.  “This is Me”, I replied.  There was silence, and finally they hung-up].

Wowie zowie.  Hansi: 1, solicitors: 0.  Sure hope they cross me off their list.

Flying Yipple-fings

When I draw yipple-fings, I prefer them flying.  I think everybody’s had fantasies about flying and being able to fly.  When I was a kid. I envied birds, how they were able to fly by just flapping their wings and soar in the sky.  I didn’t have any wings, but I sure thought a cape would do just as well.  Kinda like Superman and Batman. Although Batman never really flew by himself like Superman, he always had to use the Bat-copter or Bat-plane to go anywhere in the air.

Angels have wings, but I don’t know if they need them to fly.  They just show up, do their thing (like being our guardians) and disappear.  I bet their wings have atrophied and are more ornamental in nature. However, nobody would believe a wingless angel.  They might think it’s the devil, who was once an angel, but had his wings clipped and fell to earth.  So maybe they do need their wings, which are really anti-gravity devices.

It must have been a trip to see Jesus rise up into Heaven.  No wings.  Just straight up and outta sight.  If He did that today, it’d cause all manner of alarms and radar to go off, and He’d be swiftly met with a squadron of jet fighters armed to the teeth; America don’t mess around when it comes to unidentified flying objects (or in this case deities) intruding over our air space.  It would sure cause a shit-storm in Washington if President Obama allowed Him to fly over the States.  The Republicans would probably petition God, telling Him that right could be rescinded after Obama left office, and that Jesus better have a proper documentation or He’ll be deported.

I Hate My Favorite TV Network

I’ve been getting into old television programs.  All the shows I watched as a child and teenager: Abbott and Costello (a 5:00 a.m. favorite), The Rifleman, Adventures of Superman, Batman, and especially Wonder Woman.  [I don’t watch Lucy!]  Okay, some of these shows are a little hoakie by today’s standards, but if look at them for what they were instead of through digitized high definition streaming on-demand horse-shit filled eyes, some of them were pretty good; less ‘edgy’, a lot less violent without the gore, and with identifiable characters.

What bugs me is the Me-TV network, and the demographic it’s geared to, old folks, and the commercials aired.  Got IRS problems?  Well there’s a firm that will help your irresponsible ass out.  Tired of climbing those dangerous stairs every night?  There’s a little chair you can have installed so you can ride upstairs, and avoid a potentially life ruining fall. [I almost bought one a few nights ago after I had a little too much ‘medication’.  Had the phone in hand and was ready to dial, when I had this sudden flash: I live in a single story house. Bummer, that woulda been fun.  I wonder if they have a flat one that could run from the living-room to my bedroom, so I could have my ancient ass hauled to bed after falling asleep watching Hawaii Five-O?]

The one I hate the most are those really long SPCA commercials, with all those sad animals longingly hoping that, for just $12.00 a month, you could save them from your local animal shelter’s Auschwitz.  How are ya gonna enjoy Bonanza after watching that?  Re-living your youth would be a lot more enjoyable if every ten minutes your weren’t reminded that you need a Life-Alert necklace, hearing aid, walk-in bathtub and reverse mortgage, which The Fonz thinks is great. I don’t wanna hear about all that shit while having a serious episode of nostalgia.  [I did buy some ‘glow candles’ which can change colors by remote control, so I could place them around the living room at night and have my own little light-show…trippy].

It’s funny how all this crap is not available in stores, but only if ya call this 800 number and order immediately.  Ya don’t even have to drag your ass outta the house, just call toll-free (the number is repeated a hundred times), and tell em how many ya want.  They’ll send it to ya by mail (please allow 3 to 6 weeks for delivery) for a small shipping and handling fee (half the cost of my glow candles).  But watch out, if ya want two, there’s a separate S&H fee; can’t put two items in the same box.  Rip Off!

I actually did call for a little engraving tool that you could use to put your name on tools, label keys  (front and back) and even etch wine glasses (His and Hers…how sweet); better than spray painting your name all over town.  I got a recording which asked, how many, and what’s your credit card number.  I rattled off a string of random numbers, and got a recording saying “not a valid number”.  I then asked to speak to a real person, and zowie, a nice lady with southern accent and a bit of a drawl came on and asked me how many I wanted and what my credit card number was.  Going into confused geezer mode, I had a long chat with her; it was 8:00p.m. on a Sunday evening (what a job).  After a few minutes of asking what this here ‘gizmo’ does, she asked me why I called.  “Because the TV told me to”, I answered and bid her a good evening.

That was a lot of fun; gotta do that again.

 

 

Legalizing Marijuana

Wow.  Two states have legal marijuana up and running: Washington and Colorado, with Alaska, Oregon and the District of Columbia soon to be in high gear with similar legislation.  The west coast is swiftly becoming the Gold Coast, except for California.  Bummer. My own home state, which was the first to pass a medical marijuana initiative in 1996, is not goin’ for it, and voted down a proposition a few years back.  But ya know what?  I’m starting to think that’s just fine.  If you really wanna indulge in a little reefer madness, pay 65 bucks for a doctors recommendation letter ( I used a tabloid coupon and only had to pay $50) and wowie zowie, you’re legal.  You can buy your weed medication at a local dispensary, or have it delivered to your home (no Amazon drones, but some pretty spacey people).  You can possess up to eight ounces (that’s half a pound) for personal use (that’s a shit-load of weed) and grow up to six plants if ya have a green thumb.  All without the paranoia of getting busted and worrying about police.  Cause…You’re obeying the law!

Pot prices are collapsing in Washington State.  There’s a glut on the market, and many local growers are going under and facing bankruptcy.  [I wonder if the Saudis are behind it like they are with driving down oil prices?]…Well, who woulda thunk?  With cannabis legal, every stoned, totally baked pot-head in the world probably had the same flash:  “Hey, I can get rich doing my favorite thing, and grow all the weed I want”.  Problem is, they don’t call it “weed” for nothing, and anybody with a backyard, porch or empty closet can grow their own fairly easy and end up with a lifetime supply.

You see a lot of articles on Yahoo about marijuana: first it’s good for you, then it’s not.  CNBC, the business station, is constantly running marijuana stories, mainly from an investment standpoint; something new to cash in on.  Hey, why let organized crime make all the money?  Wall Street needs some of that action, they already got alcohol and tobacco wrapped up. Rumors abound that Phillip Morris and other companies are ramping-up reefer production for when total legalization occurs.  I can see it now: Marlboro Kush.

Here’s they thing that’s not sitting right with me.  Too much involvement by the Government.  I’m not a Tea Party fan (unless the tea is made with a little cannabis), but with government involvement comes taxation and regulation [my gawd, I’m sounding like a Republican].  In Washington State legal marijuana is heavily taxed; medical marijuana is not.  Guess where serious connoisseurs are gonna shop.  The Black Market (independent entrepreneurs) is alive and well.  All problems in the land of lotus eaters.

So I’m cool with the way things are here in California as they stand.  Lets wait and see how things play-out in Washington and Colorado and then jump on the Strawberry Fields Forever bandwagon so we can tax the shit outta it and once and for all solve our budgetary problems (like the Lottery did for schools).

Anyway, in California and a lot of other states that have approved medical marijuana, it’s pretty much been decriminalized and reduced to an infraction status.  The Feds are a different story.  [Gotta love the conflict all this is cause in the Right Wing: the Christian Right is against it on moral grounds, the Libertarian wing feels it’s a states rights issue, and all them fuckers can’t wait to get their hands on the potential tax revenues so they can lower corporate tax rates for their buddies.] Plus if ya wanna indulge, it’s a very low hoop to jump through to get a medical card.  Like all things in America, any problem can be solved by spending money.

3-7-15

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Happy Birthday

By the time you read this, I’ll have had a birthday (late February, the sixth day before the end of the month, unless it’s leap-year and then it’s seventh)…68 Frickin’ years old!  Some how I’m not so excited about it, or looking forward to a birthday when you were a kid and it was your “special day”.  [If I get my tenses mixed up, it’s not because I’m so spaced-out I can’t keep things straight.  It’s because I can’t make it a current event like all that crap which was such a big deal for Social Studies].  There’s no fun in getting older.  But then again, there’s never any fun when ya stop getting older.

I don’t think of myself as an old man…until, I look in the mirror and wonder, “Who’s that old geezer?”.  That’s why I indulge in the naughty little boy side of me as often as possible.  At this stage, I really don’t care if I get my hand caught in the cookie jar.  And speaking of the ol’ cookie jar,  the latest rage amongst cannabis connoisseurs is “edibles”, cannabis infused food products*   You’ve heard of  the fabled Alice B Toklas brownies.  Well now you can load-up on weed enhanced: popcorn, chewing gum, hard candy and (my favorite) chocolate.  Make some canna-butter (THC extracted into heated fats), and you can cook with it and get ‘baked’ at the same time.

I’d like to do that at Thanksgiving sometime.  Make up a batch of cannabis butter and use it to : baste the turkey, stir into the mashed potatoes, place a few pats on the veggies, and of course, slather it on rolls.  Yum.

It goes without saying, that you don’t tell any of the usual attendees (The Wife’s born again relatives) about it.  Just let ’em help there selves to a bountiful harvest feast.  Thanking God (when not saying, ‘oh my gawd’) for the bounty, and the joy of living in the United States of America (land of the free and home of the brave…of thee I sing).  And Jesus (the Mexican guy down at the dispensary) and me, for making it the best Thanksgiving ever.  Sadly this, along with many of my great ideas, will never happen.

*Ain’t that something?  A “munchie” made to get ya high, that once high, gives ya the munchies, so what do ya grab?  Why more “edible” munchies which again gives ya  the munchies ad infinitum.

Just Drawing

Sometimes whilst enjoying my nightly ritual of altering  mind states, I like to sit and draw.  Whatever the old pen I stole from work puts down on paper I just go with and see what happens.  No dreaming up a bunch of unrelated verbiage to go along with it.  I don’t like to comment on my drawings.  They pretty much stand (or fall) on their own.  No need for explanation; they are what they are, but then again so is everything.

This isn’t a serious art blog.  Most of the time the verbiage and rants are what feature prominently and the drawings are thrown in as filler.  Sometimes the drawings are the main feature, and the verbiage is filler.  Like this post.

Schwandal Poofs

Another set of small drawings I call Schwandal Poofs.  Not to be confused with Wavel Furds or Divel-Fipps of earlier posts.  These are totally different – more schwandal poofian in nature.  It’s quite obvious that my Divel-Fippian period is over and it’s time to explore other areas, while still keeping elements of my Waval-Furd roots.

Sure hope ya like em.  That would make me happy.  So have a puff and enjoy a poof.