Cocaine … and donations …
I don’t expect anyone to contribute to my poorly planned and self injurious behaviors …
However …
I am heading back to Seattle soon and I need to raise money for cocaine. I will not drive a vehicle or operate heavy equipment. I will, maybe, podcast … who knows … but I NEED IT!
So, if you’re “cool”, get me some cocaine money …
You don’t have to …
But it would be great to do a little coke before this world is broke, for good.
HOW:
- get some cash, about $1,000 bucks my man
- go down to Pioneer Square, in Seattle
- find Scrumbly-Bear, the NO. 1 dealer down there …
- ask Scrumbly for 2 or 3 8 balls of HIGH QUALITY COKE …
- take coke home and just start snorting that shit
- maybe I start dialing numbers of old high school friends … I’m 52.
(but maybe I’ll just use the money for food and beer and weed, amirite?)
Very close to calling BULLSHIT …
I’m not that far from calling bullshit on the UKRAINE WAR. It seems the main purpose of this “war” is to block arctic researchers from reporting on the true state of the arctic ocean, specifically the ice extent and the monitoring of methane release.
The best move, as of YESTERDAY, for Russia is to first strike NATO forces. Longer Putin waits, the closer he gets to the same fate as Khadaffi …
MAD or Mutual Assured Destruction does NOT apply to scenarios where:
- multiple and separate conflict zones with belligerents possessing nuclear weapons.
- where more than one belligerent can be considered mentally incompetent or insane.
China/Russia would be best served by a strategic first strike, no notice, against key command and control in the USA. Using swarm EMP attacks to take out civilian command and control. They wouldn’t invade, they would simply wait for the “next asshole” in line to begin a process of rational conversation.
In this scenario? – WA DC is toast. Probably NORAD in Colorado as well, and many other command and control bunkers. Perhaps they will selectively NOT target certain bunkers, thereby “selecting” who they will negotiate with.
THE BIG SPACE FUCK! (from 3/13/2021)
- I do not believe we EVER LANDED ONE FUCKING PERSON on the Moon.
- The last time a human left low Earth orbit? – 1972 … I was a couple years old … with all the techno-babble optimism being ladled on me since the 1990’s? – seems like Moore’s Law does NOT apply here … need not apply, amirite?
- The total number of people who have been to “space”? – about 600. About 116 billion people have EVER LIVED. That means that the naive likelihood of “space” for any given human is the tiniest fraction of a percent. See image below. Even if you restrict it to the number of people since 1945? – the percent is still very very small … so small a chance, that a rational person applying the rules of betting might say … it never happened or happens.
- I believe there’s a good chance that when they say “people by 2024”, they are telegraphing that the “show” will be over long before then … whatever is coming? – we will be too busy trying to survive, best case scenario, to care about this bullshit.
“Something that rarely happens according to data, and seems absurdly impossible? – might be impossible.” – Dr. Freckles
I just uploaded this to SPOTIFY, it’s pretty good … worth revisiting … from the time just before I fled SEATTLE for Utah and peace.
The Sociopathy of short-term memory …
“Many of the ‘great people’ have very short term memories.” – Dr. Freckles
My Orangutan Army …
- Airborne gorillas
- Orangutan factory workers
- Get them smoking cigarettes …
Link: https://www.zerohedge.com/political/hellofresh-accused-using-monkey-labor-obtain-coconut-milk
Mad Max soon?
Mountain path …
Imagine …
Starting out in Roosevelt, Utah. Being fed some story about lost Mormon gold some place up there, in them there Uintas Mountains … An old drunk named Nathan, who lives off of Main Street in an old trailer, tells ya “I’ll give you the map to Brigham Young’s lost gold if you buy me a pack of cigarettes …”, and you buy that nasty old bum some cigs …
I walked with the bum, back to his trailer, after I got him some cigs at CHEVRON. He started telling me about his ex-wife, and her pimp boyfriend, and her hooker-crabs … it was sad … all I wanted was the gold.
“You know that gold is guarded by the wookie people, and the indians, and the skin walkers and aliens … that gold is special … no one gets it, unless they want death”, the creepy old drunk left me with these prescient words and morbid thoughts.
That old hobo said I needed to start “here in Roosevelt”, for some wicked and sublime reason that he wouldn’t even describe for fear of being possessed by the skin walker demons at city hall. “The whole government of Roosevelt, Duchesne, Vernal, ALL FUCKING SKIN WALKERS … all of them …” But I was undeterred.
I packed up the necessary items into backpack, and loaded up my truck. The following was a recommended packing list:
- 12 gauge, semi-auto, 7 in 1, Mossberg tactical shotgun
- 200 rounds of buckshot, 200 rounds of slug ammo …
- 12 days of food, rice, turmeric, onions and eggs … potatoes and scroblin-protein
- Munctis Oil from hooker avenue in SLC …
- Cold weather gear, high altitude oxygen climbing equipment, masks …
- Proper hiking shoes with crampons available for rock climbing and descending into caves …
- A hooker girlfriend, you lie to her, you say you’ll pay her $1,200 a night for mongo-sex, instead you were taking her up there for other reasons …
- All the equipment the hooker girlfriend needs …
- 3 cases of WHISKEY …
- 9 cases of cheap Mexican beer
- 23 boxes of CAMEL cigarettes
- A portable espresso machine
- Cocaine, a lot of cocaine …
- LSD and SHROOMS …
- A tent and a bed and maybe some condoms …
- A portable shortwave transceiver, with antenna system … for emergency contacts …
- 12 guage semi-auto shot gun, with 20 rounds of buckshot and 10 rounds of slug …
I went to Vernal to pick up a hooker, “Sheila”, and then made my way to the first way point on the journey: Uinta Canyon Road and the Uinta River as it flows down from them there mountains …
“I thought we were heading to SLC”, Sheila commented as we parked the truck and hit the trails … we loaded up a cart to carry extra equipment and Sheila wore a harness to pull the cart. Sheila was strung out on METH and HEROIN so I needed to give her some cocaine, as a reward for her labor, about every 2 miles of the hike.
Nearing next way point, a saddle off of Mt. Emmons near the peak, Sheila spotted a hot spring … the woods were deserted and it was late Autumn. The streets had been hard on Sheila, but she was comely, and had nice boobs. She took the straps off, and left the cart by the trail. I simply stood there and watched as Sheila went down to the hot spring and began undressing. She pulled glimpset-oil from her backpack, and began rubbing her orbs and caressing her boovula. She did this for 30 minutes, and I sat nearby and drank whiskey.
We got back on the trail, and after 45 more minutes of hiking we found a nice spot to set up camp. We set up our tents, and laid out our sleeping bags. We made munsket-meat and grumble stew by the fire, we cooked Cajun style beast-bread and then the heavy petting began. She demanded I use tent spikes and 5-50 cord, I demanded she shut up … I wasn’t interested in her opinion.
The next morning we woke with the crack of dawn, orange light breaking through the tent and illuminating Sheila’s half naked body – her torso and head sticking out of the sleeping bag, her breasts firm and supple, her nipples hard and protruding. I woke up and my man tube was “ready for action”, so we spent some more time in that tent, playing little games, lathering each other in love greases and spunk-flesh …
At around noon, we were back on the trail … we needed to make our way to a spot near King’s Peak, but the hike would be over broken country, and the carts would be harder to pull. Sheila was smiling, and seemed like she’d forgotten she was a hooker, just a week ago servicing some “elders” from Park City. She was seeing something new, something fresh. She’d lived in Utah her whole life, and NEVER spent any time in the mountains, camping. She could pretend she was a different person, and this was liberating.
We came across an abandoned cabin near Lake Atwood, and that’s where we decided to cache some of our gear, extra water, and some other emergency equipment plus the carts. For the next leg of the journey we would only take essentials: one tent, one extra-large sleeping bag, condoms and sexual oils, food, high altitude breathing equipment, rock climbing gear … and of course, whiskey, 2 bottles.
We were able to make camp on the side of King’s Peak, and planned out our next leg. We were getting close to that place where “the great riches” will be made plain. I didn’t know if that old drunk was crazy, but I knew I wanted to believe the story …
At the campsite that night, Sheila and I ungroobulated ourselves in the woods – wandering the nearby brush naked, making love like wolf-eagles and coyote-bears.
We fell asleep, in each other’s arms, in that cold weather sleeping bag near the fire.
We woke a few times, early in the morning, to the noise of WOOKIES and other injun spirits approaching our campsite. Sheila heard the noises, and clung to me, her naked body pressed up against mine – I had the shotgun in arms reach, so I was ready for action.
The next day we made an early start. I’d brought some eggs with me, and was saving them for that morning. I made a scramble of eggs and potatoes and bacon, we mixed the last remaining whiskey into our coffee and rested by the fire, pondering what was to come …
“My mom … she read palms …”
“What?”
“My mother, she was a Mexican gypsy and she would read your palms and use tarot cards and make predictions using tea leaves …”
“So what …”
“I feel like something bad is gonna happen …”
“Nah … we’re a day away from being rich …”
Sheila shook her head, smiled, and flipped me off …
We were heading to our next stop, a couple of lakes near Red Castle. The ground was rocky and the air was filled with geoengineering gumptous and flavor crystals. The Wookies howled, as the sky hawks and border beasts screamed, howled. A blizzard was closing in, not a real one mind you – something brought to you by Raytheon. But the fake blizzards were more unpredictable, more dangerous, so many dying, freezing to death, in the grips of a chemical ice nucleation bombing run.
“It’s getting cold and hard to breathe”, Sheila looked at me, anoxic, lips blue. I took the breathing equipment from my pack and put it on her. I saving my unit for later, and I didn’t care …. as I told my friends at the Hilltop Bar last week in Ballard: “we’re all dying, the world is dying … nothing we can do … but at least I can buy my ranch, get my cabin, and live out my days in peace.” I was pretty drunk, and my friends were drunker – they didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about.
We made it to a spot near Red Castle Lake, and set up camp. Sheila undressed herself and bathed in those frigid waters, washing her body, shivering and writing with soap dripping off her breasts. I made a big fire, and we placed the tent close – but not too close.
The next day would decide everything …
The next day we would have a reckoning …
The next morning we took only our short range hiking gear. We left our backpacks and other equipment hanging from some trees and then set off on the trail. We hung up our spare equipment to avoid bear encounters and to dissuade the wookies from stealing from us. Big Foot, Sasquatch, wookie? – they go by many names, but all are filthy thieves.
We walked along the trail, to the spot indicated on the map by the old bum …
He scribbled something there, and I had ignored it until now – “shamanic gateway”. I had ignored it for the same reason I mocked Sheila when she was talking about her mom – I don’t buy into that crap, the supernatural, the occult, the hidden world? – fuck that. I believe in things I can see and things that will give me cancer, I believe in sex with a hooker, but that doesn’t mean I believe in a hooker surprise. No “Pretty Woman” Julia Roberts for me … I wasn’t dumb, I was simply jaded.
The hike should have been complete in 2 hours, but by the 4th hour the sun was rising high in the sky and our water was running low …
“Do you think there’s a stream or sumthin … up there?”, Sheila wondered. She was thirsty and hungry and tired. I had rode her hard each night, and she’d had barely any sleep at all. It was a wonder she was doing so well, but then I had a magic trick: cocaine. I brought enough cocaine to keep her straight, enough to keep her going. She lived her live like a lit cigarette, and she didn’t care when that light went out as long as SHE was smoking it …
My watch read 7 PM, but the sun seemed like it was in the sky and indicated just after noon, maybe 2 PM. The sun should be going down, but instead it kept getting warmer, and the air became easier to breathe … as if we’d descended to sea level.
“I’m really thirsty man”, Sheila complained. I knew she was nearing her breaking point.
“We’ll hike for another hour and then turn back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, we can try again in the morning …”
Continuing on the trail for 25 minutes, we saw something …
“What’s that?”
“I dunno …”
It was a bright red light, brighter than the sun that was still above despite the time being 10 PM on my watch.
We inched our ways closer and then we both stopped … because the light kept coming …
Within seconds the light was in front of us, and it wasn’t a light at all …
From the light a body emanated, and a voice spoke out:
“I am Yoron, the nephite, the last of trungis-sklurgs … I stand guard at this portal to prevent the destruction of the NEW JERUSALEM … when the tribes of Joseph Smith made it here, they split into different groups: some went to SLC to establish a ‘proper church’ … some went into the desert to practice eldritch sexual rituals and other kinds of blood magic and abuse … but a third group, led by Nathan Daggs, followed a map … a map given to Nathan by Joseph Smith, before Smith was assassinated by Brigham Young … I stand guard and prevent the evil ones, the outsiders, the whores and vagabonds and other land-volk, from getting to the NEW JERUSALEM within the portal … you must go …”
I just stood there … gobsmacked … dumbstruck …
Sheila sat down, and just looked, stared, at the rocks … She’d wanted to make a few bucks, maybe have a good time. I’d given her the rest of the cocaine, and she’d put most of it up her nose. But it seemed, in her crestfallen state, no amount of cocaine would help.
After a few minutes, I decided to take action …
I pulled out my shotgun and began shooting at Yoron. Yoron, using special BRUCE LEE style moves, deflected my buckshot and slugs … Yoron grabbed the shotgun and broke it in half …
“YOU HAVE TEMPTED THE ANCIENT CHERUBS OF ALL CELESTIAL REALMS”, Yoran, with arm outstretched, sent a fiery pulse of energy my way … it bounced off of some obsidian stone and ended up hitting Sheila … she quickly caught fire, it was at least brutally swift and she didn’t apparently suffer … but still … he burnt her to a crisp … this was also sad.
He shot a light beam at my head … and I didn’t catch fire, but I did lose consciousness. I might have been dead … I might never know.
I don’t know what happened, I awoke, with a headache, back at my truck. Sheila was gone. She’d lived that life and burnt for it, but why did that nephite spare me? I was the scum … I was the man going to them there hills to steal their fucking gold … I wondered why he killed Sheila …
I drove back to the Hilltop Tavern, I told “Old Buck” at the bar the story …
Old Buck looked at me, shook his head …
We laughed …
THE END