Just got one of those thoughts that usually hits right around this time of night.
Don’t see it coming and it just shows up out of nowhere, drops its ass into the easy chair of my pre-frontal cortex and figures it’s gonna stick around for a while.
Usually happens right after I lose track of my sheep count, or maybe it’s the other way around, but there it is when I really don’t feel like thinking about it – or anything else, for that matter – but it’s just too good not to invite in for a chat.
If nothing else, gotta get it down somewhere in case tomorrow morning, or later this morning, or later today comes around and I can’t remember whether I really thought this or not.
I’ve determined the one definitive advantage that meth and heroin have over prescription and over-the-counter medications.
How those little $10 smack sacks and comparably-sized bags of ice you get from some really sleazy dude with stringy white hair, shoulder length (all eleven of them) and, like, no body mass whatsoever hanging out on the street corner –
those little pouches are actually better (in one unarguable way) than the little bottles of a veritable plethora of delectable treats awaiting them from their trusted pharmacist…
… with the pharmacist being the lowly street dealer, the “Jay and Silent Bob”s of the Health Care industry with Pfizer being Heisenberg and Kaiser taking over for Jesse Pinkman.
One overlooked advantage to virtually any one of the street drugs, so we might as well go with the two biggest bullies on the block:
at least with heroin and methamphetamine …
you pretty much know how badly they’re gonna fuck with you.
Even that creepy bastard hanging outside the local biker bar or in private room of the closest upscale X-er dance club ain’t gonna shit you about that.
And he is generally the one that is expected of.
And just as an afterthought …
if the Walton family could work out a deal to have it grown in China,
and get the exclusive patent,
and the Koch Brothers could arrange transportation and distribution without having to rely on the illegal cartels and crackheads receiving SSI …
well then, pot …
(that dangerous, deadly Schedule 1 “gateway drug” known to treat and manage – if not actually cure – cancer, epilepsy, multiple sclerosis, asthma, Crohn’s Disease, anorexia, epilepsy, fuckin’ Tourette’s Syndrome, PTSD, anxiety, depression, Hepatitis C, hypothyroidism, Bell’s Palsy, degenerative arthritis, glaucoma, psoriasis, and Alzheimer’s)*
… weed would be legal in all fifty states quicker than you can say “Jeff Spicoli”.
Legal and right up there on the shelves alongside the Camel non-filters, quarts of Jim Beam, twenty-four packs of Lone Star and those piquant-yet-mildly-fruity-with-a-hint-of-oak Syrahs the true aficionados religiously and orgasmically quaff by the quart every single night of the week.
Right up there on the shelves, two aisles down from the Hungry Man frozen dinners.
I would never trust a mechanic who drove a leased car.
If he’s buying a new car, should problems arise, it would serve his best interests to attend to them. Some would necessitate that attention be immediate, while others might be borne of a more cautionary consideration.
If the mechanic owned the car, or were actually in the process of purchasing it, he would be into the car for the long haul, as opposed to someone who is leasing it and would be perfectly content if their shitbucket of a long-term rental didn’t catch fire within the twenty-four months / 24,000 miles they are legally bound to keep it.
As someone who actually owns a car I genuinely intend on running into the ground, I want my mechanic to understand things from my perspective.
I would not choose to have my mouth poked and prodded by someone who claims never to have had a cavity.
I would also not feel entirely confident seeing an ophthalmologist who didn’t sport at the very least a pair of bi-focals.
Nor would I feel as if I were in good hands with a urologist who had never personally and intimately been bathed in the enlightenment found only in the rectal catharsis offered by a prostate exam.
In keeping with the spirit of the aforesaid,
I would actually be far more comforted if my therapist was known to be susceptible to periodic, random excursions into the Dark Kingdom of Cerebral Guano.
Providing, of course, they don’t maintain dual citizenship.
J. K. R. Nash IV
There are an unsettling number of people around us who are just not thinking right. From frighteningly fragile to deeply disturbed, people who just can’t fathom what they see before them.
Some are gazing inward, cowering.
Others are scrutinizing the immediate world around them, considering retreat.
And there are those keeping their eyes on the horizon, taking aim on demons they’ve yet to actually see.
Any of them could be equally horrified by what they perceive,
but I really can’t distinguish which of them could be more horrifying.
Essentially more tragic.
Ultimately, more dangerous.
And any number of them are capable of being absolutely delightful, engaging and personable.
I believe I might have loved a few.
J. K. R. Nash IV
Originally posted 04/23/14
I’ve changed it a bit.
Different meds too.
to have issues: v. generally found in colloquial usage when referring to someone
having either thought patterns or behaviors somewhat outside of sociological norms or standards,
usually of a disturbing or disruptive nature; may sometimes be of a destructive nature,
but far more frequently mildly unsettling
Those who are said to “have issues” are often experiencing moods or thoughts that others cannot
understand at the moment without having insight into said person, but can sense the feelings
the person in question is having through the things they say, the behaviors they are exhibiting or
even just their facial expressions.
At times, these individuals can have those feelings strongly enough to affect the group dynamic,
either in interpersonal relationships or even within a gathering of a social circle.
It is widely felt that those who do “have issues” are in need of psychiatric or psycho-therapeutic
evaluation which can involve individual counseling (see also: shrink, quack, charlatan, Dr. Phil-of-it, their bartender, Bella the Fo’chun Tella, Facebook friends), medication (see also: Zoloft, Effexor, Klonopin, Lib-b-b-bweeyum-m-m-m, “my little friends“, stash, vitamins (including the potential for self-medication (see also: weed, kush, bud, Bud Light, “Jack“, Mr. Beam, “this delightful little Zin”) ), or possible periods of hospitalization (see also: put away, locked up, booby hatch, nut hut, “Club Meds”, carted off, men in the white coats …
(or, in California only, 5150 ).
Declension of the verb phrase
“to have issues“:
“Well… I‘ve been having some isssss-yews.”
“You got some pretty damned serious problems, bro’.”
“That goofy asshole over there is
out of their fuckin’ mind!”