Oxy-Morons

Oxy-Morons

Sorry I’ve been away my beloved readers but we ran into a few serious hardware problems (buntcha shit all broke down at the same time). But that certainly didn't stop the voices in my head! Voices that can only be expurgated by foolish writing (combined with embarrassing, copious drug abuse, nyuk, nyuk) so mix the blog and barf and I present to you the following blarf.

I’m certainly not one to complain about or have a negative opinion of how people handle, interpret, or even just fucking deal with DRUGS. Old Vic’s got a bit of a bug up his ass about this one however, and my bitch is about Oxycontin.

Unfortunately I find myself, suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, as old as Methuselah! When the fuck that officially happened is for a much more important blarf than this.

Trying not to sound like a withered old man bitching about the cancellation of Matlock and squirting somewhat accidentally into his adult Depends, I have, through no fucking fault of my own, been stricken with a horrible fucking disease.

A disease with no known cause! No known cure! And no hope for any recovery of any kind! It is (they think) your own immune system trying to kill a life threatening infection that is no longer there. Your own body is trying to kill you! How fucked up is that? (And people say some of my writing is dark!) The symptoms (R.A.) are pretty simple. Massive fucking pain anywhere and everywhere. Actually it’s my joints. And not the good kind! Sometimes “it” just feels like making you suffer. And it most certainly does.

Quick thought:
When some people pass away it is often heard said by a friend or relative “He was in great pain, but you never heard him complain, not even once.” Well then how in the fuck did you know he was in all this great pain?

Well you’re in pain, you have insurance. Hey, let’s go to the Pain Doctor and get some pain drugs! A few tests, little blood drawn, a prescription, you skip happily to the pharmacy. While the Pharmacist man is reading the ‘script you notice he’s also staring at you. Sizing you up, dressing you down. Is this a scam or is this guy one of “THOSE PEOPLE” that abuses these drugs? You think quietly to yourself (at first) what the fuck is this guy’s problem?

The prescription (for Oxycontin – that’s what this whole thing’s about, remember?) is from a licensed doctor with a valid DEA number. If you have a problem with it, Mr. Pharmacist, call the fucking doctor. Their names and phone numbers are right there on the prescription pad, asshole!

I’ve had pharmacists stare me down like I just wrote the thing up on the counter right in front of them! One holier-than-thou phallus actually took my prescription and he reduced the number of pills prescribed by 33% because some pharmacist guidelines (I believe the name of the book is “How to Be an Asshole Because I Can’t Handle Being a Real Doctor”) indicates that he can.

He just can. And he did. He didn't know what my malady was, he didn’t bother asking, and he certainly didn’t bother calling my doctor to gather any further information. He just looked at me and decided all on his own that he was just going to cut my dosage of pain medication by 33%. A dosage that I had been on for three years, and a prescription I had been getting filled at that very pharmacy for those three years.

I realized then with great ire that this was pure appearance discrimination. I’d bet my bottom dollar this fuckstick had filled a ‘script just like mine before. Without any of these bullshit changes. Probably to some matron with a boring home life. Someone that didn’t fit the “profile”.

I then came to the conclusion, “Oh now I get it – you’re just being an asshole!” I said right to his pinched-up rat-like face. “Give me back my fucking prescription!” I guess he could tell that normally docile Fee (that is a lie) was about to jump over the counter and beat him like he beats his own tiny pecker at night. That didn’t sound quite right, but you get the picture. He handed over my ‘script pronto. The pharmacy down the street filled it in 20 minutes with no problems at all.

Now, I don’t dress like a banker but I don’t look like Keith Richards either (in public anyways). I did, however, get a taste of pure discrimination that day. It was an eye opening experience that brought a lot of other thoughts to mind. Thoughts like how I would I feel if I were a black man in America and felt this horrible shit every day, but that’s for another column.

I’m getting sick of seeing perfectly good drugs (that I need!) like Oxycontin getting a bad rap because people that do not need Oxy’s do not have the fucking Balls, their genuine God given BIG AMERICAN BALLS, to go out and score some scag. Dope. Diesel. “The Boy not the Bitch”. I’m talking heroin boys and girls.

It’s cheaper, gets you a lot fucking higher, is easier to get, and is easier to imbibe. A Quadrophenia, man. Why fuck around you pussies? You want that buzz you know what the fucking deal is – it’s all the same shit! From Tylenol #3 with codeine to 80mg Oxycontin to Mexican tar to China white (I’m drooling) it’s all opium based dope.
Plain and fucking simple. You know it and I know it (and they know it).

So why are you fucking with these innocent people that are in real need of pain relief, and can’t get it, because you dicks are out there slinging Oxy’s? These innocent, bonafide, pain sufferin’ people deserve to get high! Real high! Right now! (Not a bad idea, be back in a second…).

You know, headlines of “Teen-aged Kids Overdosing and Dying from Rampant Oxycontin Abuse!” are really making it tough for the rest of us to get the good quality drugs we need and deserve. So these media whores also bear some responsibility in my opinion. Imagine, writing about drugs just to get attention or sell newspapers! You’d have to be a pretty sick individual to do such a thing ('Y smell that?). Preposterous! These medications are made for a very serious specific purpose.

So why not simply turn to heroin? Is it the scary name? Is it the evil reputation? If it’s all the same thing, the same drug, the same high, why not just get some fucking scag? You don’t even need to prep it and crush it to snort it! Come on little white people, have no fear, the heroin will soon be near.

SO WHY?

Welp..

This is the real shit zone here boys and girls- this isn't the bitch (that's heavy street for cocaine; hey you're gonna need to know this, pay attention) this is the "Boy" and that boy is

in a whole different league than cocaine.

I gotta tell y'all blacks and whites really need to work on their trust issues when it comes to scoring scag on the street.

But that’s for another column.

Happy trails, kiddies!

Selah

New Rape of the Native American

New Rape of the Native American

In the past few days I have been seeing a certain commercial for money lending. While most of these are an obvious rip-off, scam, Shylock, whatever term you wish they are scum. Predatory scum. I had seen the late thespian Gary Coleman in a television commercial that was, what seemed to me, geared toward black people that are having serious money problems. Let's face it, lately who isn't having money problems? Or who hasn't seen their net worth completely befucked?

HOWEVER: After all this shit with with bailing out banks, executive bonuses,etc., etc., you would think that blatant predatory lending practices would subside or at least try to lay low, blend into the woodwork at it were. But hell "fuggin A" no. The Gary Coleman commercial was offering around two grand for 99.8% interest. In his best homeboy, down wid' it, shtick 'ole Gar was really offering some serious shit, in the literal sense, to his peers. Or, of course, that is what these money lenders wanted to portray.

Now I thought that was pretty damned disgusting. I actually had to rewind the broadcast a few times to read the fine print because I just could not believe what I was seeing. That Gary Coleman was used (used hell - he got paid) trying to sell shit loans to his own minority group is as revolting as it gets.

I do understand desperation folks, don't get me wrong. I do have some fathom of sympathy for an old child actor (how's that for an oxymoron?).

BUT: This new, latest piece of pure dog shit I have seen twice so far on daytime TV was geared towards Native Americans. Indians for those of you whom do not toil in data processing. The advertisement showed what appeared to be a native American man, olive skin, long straight dark hair, everything but the the feathers and a teardrop (if you get the teardrop reference you get extra credit). Pure stereotype of the most vicious type. They showed this fuck stick's name as Thomas Morgan. What no "Running Wolf " or "Sitting Bull's grandson"? Where are your stereotype balls you whores? Anyways they were touting money for lend. At a rate of 138.98%!!!

Now that is BALLS! Full out all American BALLS !!
At one point in my life I was introduced to the term "Usury" (I have no memory of "when" or "how" on a whole bunch of subjects!) anyways usury was a crime synonymous with shy locking, or lending money at an inflated rate. Usually this was a favorite crime, oh yes it was a serious felony, of the Mafia. You end up owing them money through loans or gambling, drug debts, what have you until they really have you by the balls. They also charge penalties for late or missed payments. This has been referred to as a "Vig" which was added on to the principal - nothing you can't learn from watching "The Sopranos".

Of course the legal usury "cutoff" percentage was about 25%. So, anything charged interest at a rate above 25% was a felony. I really don't know why or when the laws have changed. I could do an hour of research, but so can any body reading this if you care about specifics.


The highest interest rate I have ever witnessed, 138.98%, for the minority group in this country that has the lowest education level ratings, lowest annual income, and, in some minds social status. Let's not even insult them by making casino comments. I don't know but if I had to venture a guess I wouldn't bet on actual Native Americans being the sole profiteers from legalized gambling.

How did we get from throwing people in jail for usury to letting insanity rule the interest rates charged. This is the definition of predatory lending at it's brightest and at the same time so, so dark. The commercial has this "Thomas Morgan" stating that "Sure it's not cheap, but it's better than a payday loan.". Who out there knows off hand what he means exactly by a "Payday Loan"! If it's worse than 138.98% you must be pretty fucking desperate.


And desperate times call for desperate measures.

This was more to me than just another sad commentary on some of the bullshit we have to put up with as Americans. This is the type of shit that spreads disillusionment, mistrust, and paranoia, needless paranoia on how our government is being run, who is pulling these strings, manipulating legislation and who the real profiteers are here.

Our collective Native American heritage, and I mean everyone that was born here is a native American, should be more important in our collective ethos. From predatory lending to endless strip malls I really think we as a nation would feel more pride in ourselves and our country if we cherished it the way the people that were always here did. And still do.


Happy Independence Day, folks. Now let's show our love for our country by blowing a small piece of it to smithereens!



Selah.        

Originally posted Thursday July 1st, 2010

How Men Scratch Their Balls: A Ladies Guide

How Men Scratch Their Balls: A Ladies Guide

Ladies, have you ever caught your guy with his hand down his pants, a look of pure bliss on his face, and a sigh like he just had a big cork pulled out of his ass? His eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy?

Was your first thought that you had walked in on a covert jerk-off session? Dear God!

Well fear not girls, he was just engaged in the next best thing to having an orgasm, for a guy anyways. He was scratching his balls!

Scratching your nuts is sometimes however mistaken for an “adjustment”. This is where your pubic hair gets wrapped around your schlong and is being painfully yanked. The adjustment is just an untangling of the aforementioned.

Oh yes indeed, there’s a lot going on down there.

I was explaining just how guys have to use a special technique to do a proper nut-scratch to my wife one night. My wife thought it was funny as hell, but for two reasons. The first is very obvious; scratching your balls is almost as funny as farts. But the odd thing, the fascinatingthing, is after all these years this was new information!

You think you’ve heard it all by a certain age! And you know, it’s kind of youthfully invigorating when you hear something new about genitals. She was giggling like a school girl. So let’s see how this translates to the written word shall we?

First: “Why are you constantly scratching your balls you gross bastard you”.
Let’s face facts here folks – we all have genitals and they all itch. Some itch due to some sort of infestation, but that’s for another column. We are talking straight up balls itch. So.

When guys get a serious itch on the old scrotum the need for the swiftest reaction is paramount! We’re talking about a stealth itch that can and will attack at any time with no provocation whatsoever! An itch so intense it dispatches all other itches to a much lower sub-classification. This is straight out of J.A.M.A.!

Case in point: I was once interviewing for a computer consulting contract on the 101st floor of the World Trade Center (tower II). I was wearing a dark blue wool suit. This was a harsh lesson I would learn that day.

Wool is the sworn enemy of nutsacks worldwide. It is astounding how those “Scottish” people deal with kilts (a traditional skirt a Scottish man would wear, made of coarse wool and barbed wire, worn with no undergarments) well let’s just say they don’t call it Scotch for nothing!

The combination of a hot NYC summer day, high elevation, and interview stress was the origin of said nasty ball itch. When this vicious poltergeist hit my balls I could not concentrate. I could not form a meaningful sentence. This bad boy needed to be dealt with!

As luck would have it the meeting was attended by all guys, some of which I had known for years. So I went for it:


“Guys, I just have to pause here for a second.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“Seeing as how we are all guys here (thank God) I feel you will understand my need to (lowers voice, looks around) immediately scratch my balls! It’s this wool suit!”

They could see the look and utter desperation of someone with a real need for sudden personal privacy.

Being guys, good guys, they parted like the Red sea, pointed me to a divider behind the bigwig’s desk and let me have at it. I could hear murmurs of understanding and someone muttering about his own dislike of wool. I quickly finished up after the “understanding” turned to offers of a letter opener.

Unfortunately the itch came back the second I sat back down. At that point I knew I was just going to have to ride it out. That’s when I thought of the awkward handshake that would soon follow the end of the meeting. I don’t know what someone looks like that has itchy balls and is concurrently trying to suppress a major laugh, but I do know what it feels like.

Second: the “Technique”. A guys’ nutsack is like a large deflated balloon filled with two grapes and runny oatmeal. Delightful, yes I know! So, if you try to scratch these in the normal way all you would do is sink your fingers in and stir up the blob. Not very effective I’m afraid.

Using two hands can make the process much easier. One hand to “anchor” the wrinkled mass and the other to smooth and lightly scratch the affected area. The only problem with the two-hand technique is you need total privacy. So what method is there for the “Man on the Go”? Well, obviously you have to figure out a one-handed method.

This can be achieved by using the palm of your hand to “anchor” and the fingers of the same hand to smooth and scratch. We simply curl our hands into proper nut-scratch position. This is done by making a fist, but do not use your thumb and do not bend the high knuckle on your fingers. So, while using your palm as the anchor, you extend your fingers, running the back of your fingernails lightly (and I can’t stress that enough people) over the affected area.

And last but not least: Try not to sigh too loud at the relief because, again, you are giving yourself great pleasure but you also have your hand down the front of your trousers! Try not to get caught also. If you do happen to get caught, make sure you make a big deal about going to wash your hands. Be sure someone is aware of the fact that you don’t have pubies under your fingernails.

I know every gender, and there are more of them popping up very day, experience the same types of discomfort. The pulled pube, the “Deep Cavity” rectal itch, odor problems, and the Jonas Brothers. And because we share these horrible anomalies as a species we should be more understanding of others when we realize they are in the throes of an agonizing personal itch!

Although the letter opener wisecrack was pretty funny try not to snicker or laugh too loud. And for your sake and mine do not get caught staring! If you do happen to get caught make sure your facial expression is one of amusement, bewilderment or even slight disgust.

Just make sure you don’t have a look of intense anticipation – that’s just creepy.


Selah.

The Janie Hendrix Experience

On September 18, 1970 at the ripe old age of twenty-seven the world lost Jimi Hendrix, arguably the most incredible rock-n-roll guitar prodigy ever. Jimi died almost broke, a victim of the "same old story" music business bullshit. He was the antithesis of the artist that was only interested in making "the music in my head", the record company peons be damned! Luckily for the corporate slime that always oozed its shadow behind Hendrix, Jimi was a genius when it came to music. A genius that still stands unequaled to this day.

His guitar playing, performance style, and innovation were unparalleled. The sums of money Hendrix brought in were staggering for those times. He was reported to have been paid $30,000.00 to play at Woodstock, the highest sum paid to any artist to date in 1969.

Of course Jimi saw little of the vast sums of currency and died with no will and an incredible trove of unreleased material. This meant an enormous windfall was in store for whomever could regain the rights to release (and get paid for) Jimi's work. The shitstorm that transpired lasted for years and when the leftovers finally got to the Hendrix family the greed continued completely unabated.

One person of note that makes me want to vomit (I actually want to vomit...) is Jimi's "stepsister" Janie. Janie was no blood relation to Jimi or any other Hendrix for that matter. Janie did not grow up with her older brother and only met him after her mother married Jimi's father, Al Hendrix. It is not known who Janie's father is, but it's sure as hell not Al Hendrix.

That didn't stop little Janie from cozying up to old Al, he needed the help. Al Hendrix was barely able to read and had been in increasingly bad health since the late 1970's. Al Hendrix died in 2002 when he was in the care of little Janie, leaving the management of Experience Hendrix, LLC up to Janie and a cousin of Jimi Hendrix, Robert Hendrix.

Besides Janie and Jimi's younger brother, Leon, there were seven other beneficiaries and companies poised to inherit monies from "Experience Hendrix,LLC". It took less than two years before a probate lawsuit was filed that named Janie and Robert Hendrix as the parties responsible for cutting off payments to the other seven beneficiaries.

Soon after Al Hendrix's death the beneficiaries of the trust complained bitterly that they were not receiving payments and the trust was being mismanaged by Janie and Robert. Janie and Robert cried out with excuses like "Al wanted no money to be disbursed before all outstanding financial obligations of the trust had been settled." Well, not to disparage Al, but I kind of doubt Al could spell "disbursed" and I'd also bet my bottom dollar that he didn't give two shits about anyone outside the family getting paid - especially after he died!

Jimi's only relative that he could really relate to, ever, was his younger brother Leon. Although they didn't spend much time together after Jimi left his home town of Seattle they were very close and cared deeply about each other. After Leon was arrested in Seattle Jimi refused to see him in jail, not out of anger but he felt the sight, the reality of it all, could be damaging to all those present.

Jimi was planning on helping Leon get back on his feet, he was also a guitar player, nowhere near his brother's talent, but Leon was hopeful. According to what I've gathered Jimi and Leon were still very close when Jimi died.

While under the care of Janie and Robert Hendrix, Jimi's father Al somehow decided that Leon Hendrix, Jimi's only living blood relative, was no longer worthy of the large inheritance he was about to receive.

Out of the blue Al Hendrix, a man that could barely speak coherently at this point, cut his youngest son off completely. The legal affidavits explained that it was due to Leon's past drug use, demands for money, and threats of litigation as the reasons for denying Leon and his family his inheritance.

In the separate legal claims filed by the other seven beneficiaries the same allegations were made: Janie and Robert were illegally refusing to disburse money to them. This were the same people that stated the money was first and foremost going to settling all outstanding debts of the Hendrix LLC. These same people paid themselves exorbitant salaries, took out large "no interest" loans for themselves, and drove several expensive luxury automobiles. They defended themselves by stating that they were given bad advice from accountants.

Were there three accountants? One fat and bald, one with curly hair, and one (the boss) with a Beatles type haircut? Was the boss named "Moe"?

They looked a judge right in the face and blamed this kind of spending on bad advice from an accountant? Was their accountant also a used car salesman? I've heard some crap in my life, but Holy Shit!

The judge was more than happy to cut off money to a black man that used drugs. After all, just mention the word "drugs" around any type of Police or Judicial personnel and you got yourself an audience - one that's on your side.

It's just like the assholes that cause traffic accidents and, when questioned by the authorities, they blurt out "He was going way too fast!". The cops and courts eat this shit up and take it for gospel when they hear those special words.

So little Janie who was so close to Jimi as to have had only one conversation with him, in an airport, that lasted all of two hours, got Jimi's only brother and his family cut off without a dime.

The "drug use" thing angers me. Wasn't it a black man that took drugs (a lot of drugs) the one that made all this money in the first place? And I can't imagine why Leon was threatening Janie with litigation. I think he might have wanted his fair share for himself and his family. And since when is threatening someone with litigation a negative mark on you during an inheritance "battle". Isn't that what the fuck you are supposed to do? Isn't this the proper legal alternative to having someone slap the shit out of little Janie here?

So Leon Hendrix, Jimi's only living blood relative, has no say whatsoever when it comes to his brothers music. Since the ruling Experience Hendrix, LLC, has released some material that was obviously never approved by Jimi, or any other real Hendrix for that matter.

I just listened to Jimi's new release "Valleys of Neptune" . This recording is living proof that some music should just stay where the creator left it. While it is impossible to ever call Hendrix recordings crap, this is definitely something Jimi would never have let be released voluntarily. Jimi created music in his early twenties that no other musician alive has ever come close to when it comes to pure emotion. This recording falls way short of his perfectionist ways. Jimi would never have let this see the light of day in its current configuration.

Of course it's Janie that now decides what is Jimi's music. Her fortune, said to be worth between 80 and 200 million dollars can't get any fatter if no new music is released. Fuck what Jimi wanted, Janie needs more millions!

You also have to deal with the LLC if you want to use Jimi's music for any type of soundtrack. There are new guidelines for the use of Jimi's music. They can no longer be heard during scenes that depict any type of drug use or reference. We all know how anti-drug Jimi Hendrix was! There was also a footnote used at the end of every new Hendrix documentary or any type of film that states "Jimi had no trace of heroin in his system at the time of his death".

There. That certainly clears that up. Of course Jimi never used heroin! I'm sure the couple of times he was busted for possessing heroin he was completely unaware that it was in his luggage. And I'm sure Tommy Chong is completely full of shit when he told Howard Stern's audience that he had seen Jimi shooting heroin on the floor in a men's room somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. This was a firsthand account by someone with absolutely no reason to disparage his former friend.

Tommy Chong doesn't come across as the "narc" type to me, I can't imagine why...

Janie and this asshole "Thomas Hendrix" do come across as "holier than thou" types. They try to swindle the rightful heirs out of their inheritance because I guess they feel they need all of the money. They then go about trying to change history by rewriting the legend of Hendrix with the hope that the new sanitized version of his music will make them even more money. Maybe they can spend some of that money finishing Jimi's graveside memorial.

Fuck these people. I'll bet Janie Hendrix doesn't even know that the lyrics to "If Six was Nine" are referring to people just like her.

I'd almost like to think Jimi would be rolling over in his grave right now because of this. But I'm sure he'd just shrug, smile and say something really fucking cool. I know that sounds ridiculous and it's pretty bad copy.

But Jimi was pretty fucking cool.




Selah.