Weed City: Blood in the Gutters… Profiling the New Weird & Old Bent…


Dealing with political gore on the sand more now than ever before.

art Scratch Casie

This article appears in Volume 5 – Issue 6 of SKUNK Magazine.

“I have to say this in defense of humankind: No matter in what era in history, including the Garden of Eden, everybody just got there. And, except for the Garden of Eden, there were already all these crazy games going on, which could make you act crazy, even if you weren’t crazy to begin with.” – Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

MY HEAD STILL POUNDS from all of the nitroglycerin that has been pumped into my body over the last 48 hours. I sit in front of my computer with an arm still bruised from an IV and fear pushing my fingers this time. For the first time in my life I have missed a deadline. The hospital let me go 12 hours ago with a warning to stay away from the keyboard for a few days. “You stay this worked up and you are definitely going to stroke out soon,” my doctor told me. The warnings have been grim- the prognosis bleak. Dragging on the chain here with my corncob pipe full of halfway decent med-weed, I managed to smuggle back from Denver on my last trip. This is the good stuff- the kind of weed that picks you up then sits you down with the beating heart of an alligator. Some sort of fine sativa that seems to work on my depression but does nothing to reduce the unrelenting stress of trying to function like an actual human being in 21st Century America.

Jesus H. W. Christ. Since I last sat down to bang on this goddamn keyboard things have been unraveling at a meth-head’s pace. There is more political gore on the sand now than there has ever been. Remember back in the heady days of 2008 when it seemed like there might be a chance that we’d get some sort of humanity out of it all? That we just might manage to squeeze the poison apple and come up with something besides blood? I wrote this on January 21st:

The Capitol loomed up before us covered in red-white-and-blue bunting with the gaudy splendor befitting the inauguration of the leader of the Nation that brought you Walmart, the SUV and Shock-and-Awe. We also managed to defeat the Nazis, make it to the moon and invent Jazz, Bluegrass, and Rock-n-Roll. I reckon we must take the good with the bad. Part of me still sees the world through the Aviator lenses of the past. Men were men; I thought I understood women and small animals ran from Uncle Casey, tucking tail in a vain attempt to protect their assholes. We are in different days lately. Perilous days that will sadly see America’s frivolous, silly face have to hide for a time while the grown ups get together and try to figure out how to get us out of the mess our parents have created.”

So how are we handling it? Like a bunch of drooling mongoloids. The Obama Administration seems focused like a laser on losing the very constituency that got them elected in the first place. Shit… when Obama’s drug Czar, Gil Kerlikowske, was asked about the rising certainty that outright marijuana legalization might hit the state of California, he stated that “legalization” was not in his vocabulary, nor was it in President Obama’s. Kerlikowske has stated that the Federal government would still continue to bust Californians who are within their own laws to do their thing. In fact, the DEA has not stopped raiding compassion clubs in spite of a promise that the Obama Administration would put a stop to that rights-crushing bullshit. Do these astoundingly clueless douchebags have no idea who the fuck put them into office?

This is the same group of non-confrontational pussies who have had the insurance companies up in the White House helping to craft their healthcare reform policy. These fucktards, led by the King of Compromise, Max Baucus, are going to sell us out to these pricks if we let them. Apparently, the Obama boys have come to the decision that it is better to stick hard to the middle and get re-elected than to defend and uplift the very people who got up off of their couches and voted for their sorry asses. If you think I sound unnecessarily harsh, then fuck you. No one has ever accused me of being a nice person who oozes good-vibes and positive energy. Warriors are necessary as are grumpy bastards with an axe to grind and just the kind of crooked disposition to do it.

Usually, I use these pages to tell you a story. Try to take you, dear reader, on some sort of journey over the American (and occasionally Canadian) landscape in an attempt to make sense of the madness. In fact, the original plan for this Weed City was to tell you about going on tour with a blue-collar funk band this past August all over the American West in an attempt to have a little fun and decompress from the bends-like pressure of 2008. The war seemed over, but the clouds are gathering faster than I can stay ahead of them, pilgrims.

Not only is the war not over, it has gotten really nasty. Crackers are out there carrying guns to political rallies and some hick sheriff in Big Creek, Kentucky is covering for the murderers who killed census worker Bill Sparkman by lynching him with his feet and hands bound by duct tape. The inhuman bastards who did this then scrawled the word “FED” across Mr. Sparkman’s stomach. The local fuzz is trying to say that the man committed suicide in spite of the obvious reality that he was murdered by the same kind of backwoods dickheads who raped Ned Beatty in Deliverance.

Out in Okalahoma, the Oakies have passed a law that would require a young girl, who has already had to deal with the life-crushing reality of an abortion, to publicly identify herself. Either girls will avoid getting the needed procedure or they will be forced by “law” to expose themselves to every religiously fired-up dimwit with a broadband connection and a wish to control the bodies of other people. Seriously, you in-bred cultist: If you can’t get pussy on your own, it will do you no good to try and force a girl who has one to do whatever you want. Get laid. Get high. Get Jesus… just leave the rest of us the fuck alone.

Up in Maine, the Mormon Mafia has returned in an effort to rescind the recently adopted laws that gives our gay brothers and sisters the “right” to marry. It is fucking offensive to even suggest that they needed someone to give them that “right”, but since our society occasionally tries to play by something resembling the rules, the LBGT movement played fair pool and got the laws back. Now, the same Mormon cultist (Glenn Beck in one of them) and Knights of Columbus bullies are heading to Maine in an attempt to have a referendum declaring that homosexuals are second class citizens and should not marry. Obama, himself, doubled down with the bigots and has not done the obvious to pay back all of the homosexual activists who helped him get the vote out. He has not (as of press time) issued an Executive Order to put an end to the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policies that only serve to deprive this Nation of some of its greatest warriors.

After November 5, 2008, we were supposed to be able to take a break. Now I know why the Mermaid spent Election Night in tears. Perhaps she knew. Her Siren’s intuition must have sensed that things could only get weirder. The election of Barack Obama has unleashed a madness in this country I have never before borne witness to. Instead of bringing us together, his inactions are allowing us to be ripped apart by corporate interests successfully appealing to the worst instincts in the American character. The worst part of it all is I sit here with my head buzzing from drugs that are supposed to be keeping me from stroking out and I can’t for the fucking life of me find any decent instincts in the American character. The brother who last year told us to look to our better angels has allowed his administration to descend into a compromised, panicked grab for political self-preservation. There is not always courage in compromise.

Two more tequila shots followed by some sort of cheap blood pressure drug and I should have my heart under control for a bit. I think I’ll smoke the rest of this dope, jack-off to some Internet porn, then fall into a restless sleep full of crooked, brutal dreams. The realization that I won’t be able to just sit on my deck and watch the lizards fuck is getting to me, pilgrims. We might just survive this thing if we stick together. Maybe the secret is to keep heading west when they legalize pot in California. We’ll hold up on the coast, stoned to the gills, giddy with victory and armed to the fucking teeth when they come to take our victory away. I might just stay here in the Deep South, grow some dope in the woods and leave only to give the douchebags and dickheads a hard time. Fuck ‘em if you got ‘em folks and prepare for more battle. Nothing is over until the blood dries.


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