The Wilderness Years - Lucky Breaks

 And so the days rolled on... and they were good fucking days, let me tell you... having seen the Disco Dave fiasco recede into the bar lights, finagled my way into a three day work week so i could spend my mornings frolicking away across town with a buxom stripper, with money flowing in like a glistening mountain stream rolling downhill, it was all fucking good in the kingdom of North Oakland... or more correctly the East End hoods i traversed... but as usual there were some things i'd have to get sorted, the most pressing being that three day work week... the truth was i couldn't keep it up for much longer and i felt a bit guilty putting my chiropractor friend in a tough spot as it wasn't exactly on the up and up, my excuses were somewhat fabricated and i didn't want my boy to catch any heat for helping out a ranking hood... what heat? i'm not sure but there were rules to this shit, writing excuses from work, and i was pretty sure that sooner or later i'd get the sack or i'd be told if i wanted to keep my three day week i'd have to see the company doctor and i knew that i wouldn't pass that test, they'd see i was okay... 

So it came to pass that i went back to work full-time, the gig was getting strange as there were rumblings of a merger and a move and i felt a bit of sympathy for some of these guys... there was a guy in shipping who had three kids and was fretting that he might lose his job and what not, granted i don't know how he supported his family with what this place paid but the fact was i was the only guy here with a college degree (other than the manager) and some of these cats hadn't even gotten a GED... Shipping Guy had been at the place for a few years but my guess was he may have been pulling in $12-13 an hour, barely enough for one person to survive on let alone a whole family... meanwhile i had three guys working for me at this place, Metal Jerry being the key, with Buzzo grabbing a half pound or a pound at a time, and Hank getting a quarter pound, the best part was that Hank was Ginger Mark's father, it's how i met Ginger Mark cuz Hank had discovered i had taken all his business in the warehouse, once he saw what i had he asked if he could introduce me to his kid who moved a lot more than he did, in fact Hank explained that's where he was getting his weed but once he started getting it from me Ginger was both curious and miffed... even funnier, even after Ginger got on the team Hank would still get his grass from me cuz i didn't charge him as much as his kid... gotta love family... 

Then one fine day it happened... it was always nerve wracking for those not raking in a shit ton of cash in the weed business when the manager called a meeting in the break room, we all filed in while the fidgety and coke-loving manager paced the front of the room and announced there would be a special guest today, not that we didn't already know cuz the shithead had been sitting out front all day while every now and then strolling through the warehouse, the District Dickhead as he was know to us, or his proper title of district general manager, the corporate lackey who actually cared... or at least pretended to care cuz it was his job, one that apparently paid well as our own manager was often mentioned as taking over for the DD when the DD was promoted to some even "more important" position in the corporate hierarchy, what a fucking laugh, it gives me a better understanding as to why the suicide rate is so high among men in their 40s and 50s, the fucking meaninglessness of it all, the banality of existence pushing plumbing supplies or outerwear or car insurance, hell there weren't many jobs that provided one with some sort of purpose or meaning, most were merely there to keep us busy, to chase the various carrots dangled in front of us, a lifestyle sold to us through adverts, telling us the meaning of success... the car, the clothing, the hobbies a man needed to attract and keep female attention... it was the one valid point in Fight Club, we were sold shit we didn't need or want to keep us preoccupied with the fact that our existences really had no tangible meaning other than stockpiling shit so that we'd look hip or successful... 

I had never bought this line of thinking, it's why my old advertising professor and other people couldn't comprehend why i had turned down three jobs in the creative departments of ad agencies in order to go down to the beach to, and i quote, "surf and write poetry", yes one could say i was a top notch fucking wanker, a pretentious and young fool who didn't understand the world, yet hindsight being what it is it was one of the best and most important decisions i'd ever made... i remember certain family members not understanding this decision at all, the only one who really got it was my father, who after doing everything "right", was downsized and mergered out of his job, working 60 hour weeks to implement a new accounting system and once it was finished given his walking papers, a severance check and nice little pat on the back... i watched it all and decided early that it wasn't for me, that there would never be an employer i'd be fucking loyal to or go above and beyond for cuz ultimately when the cards were laid on the table that employer didn't give a fuck about you, me or anyone other than the shareholders and the executives (usually one and the same), it's why they called us resources instead of personnel, it sounded better and made it easier to dispense with the human capital... 

So there we all sat, a collective of lumpen-proles, all staring intently at the master of ceremonies District Dickhead, all maybe except for one, i was non-plussed by the meeting, in fact the only real question i had was did this count as our break? cuz if it did i'd rather go back to work and take my break later when i didn't have to listen to this corporate mouthpiece spout shite!  and so began the DD soliloquy...he started off by telling us the obvious, that the company had been involved in a merger and we'd be getting a new name and what not while also stating that he wanted us all to know that none of us had to worry about losing our jobs... while this was good news for 99% of the people in the room in my head i was thinking, motherfucker... can't you just lay me off? but no that was not to happen, you see we were a top outfit here, mainly due to our coked-up managers attention to detail, we were at the top in sales and efficiency and a whole lot of other shit i could give a flying fuck about, yes we were a veritable team of all-stars and we would all be retained... then came the little tidbit that the warehouse would be moving, about 15-20 miles up the road, to a new space, bigger and better and boy aren't we all thrilled with this development... no, Mr. Asshat, we or more correctly i, was not... 

The current warehouse was located on the North Side, roughly a fifteen minute drive from my apartment in the mornings and 25 minutes on the way back, it was located in a strip of industrial wasteland that bordered some of the, let's say, less gentrified areas of the city, it was a never ending clatter of large trucks, exhaust fumes, clanging, banging and yelling, there were a few bars about ten minutes away and restaurants that would actually deliver lunch to the area... the new place up the road meant my morning commute would double to closer to 30 minutes while the ride home would start pushing the hour mark... didn't these fucking nitwits know i had shit to do? the real job started the moment i clocked out and now these clowns wanted to cut into it... for guys like Metal Jerry and Buzzo, who already drove further for peanuts than i ever would, it meant an hour plus easily both ways, probably more like 90 minutes on the way home, for what this place was paying? you fucking kidding me? 

And there we sat, attentively listening like school children as the headmaster pontificated upon the gloriousness of capitalism and how we, as little cogs in a big machine, were the backbone of the investor class... not actually... mainly he blew sunshine up our asses so that he could keep us all on the team while the place moved, at some point he said we'd have to make our own decision about going up to the new place but as far as he was concerned our jobs were safe and he couldn't wait for the next chapter in this bore me to fucking tears with this corporate bullshit fairytale... in my head i was wondering just how this would all go down and what would happen when the move finally came cuz there was no way i was going that far up the road, fuck that fuck him fuck the company... until then i'd keep showing up and punching the clock and see how it all unfolded, in the end it didn't matter to me anyway, i made more in a month slinging (a lot more) than i did in a year working at this place... 

Back on the floor after the meeting there was a lot of talk, the concerned faces of the lumpen-proles, what the DD didn't take into consideration was that most of these guys, sans the guys on my payroll and the management, were living paycheck to paycheck and barely making it if they were making it at all.. there was gas money, travel time, childcare for some of them, listening to them i understood, i also understood i was the cat with a delicious canary in my back pocket, it wasn't a well kept secret at this point and some of the guys even mentioned as much in passing, the "what are you worried about? you don't need this gig" type of comment, they were right, but some of these guys were alright in my book and i was concerned for those cats, i may have been a right bastard but it didn't mean i was devoid of empathy... except for Kenny, that fucking clown could get fucked... in the meantime i had a business to run... 

The Wilderness Years - More Schemes (Opportunities)

 While i'm on the subject... to say that the Billy Goat was the only guy broaching lame-brained schemes would be a mistake, there were always opportunities popping up and for the most part they were fucking horrible ideas... take Ginger Mark for example, and Ginger Mark was one of the more sensible minions in the stable, a guy in it purely for the money, though that's also a bit misleading, Ginger Mark loved being able to play the king hipster role... he was in a horrendous band, a poet, a promoter, a scenester who threw rolling skating parties at his rather large apartment on Penn Ave... this was back in the day when a large space like that on Penn Ave. was considered the hood, the border between Bloomfield and Garfield, these days i'd wager to guess a space like that would cost five times as much and most likely would be subdivided into four or five units with each one costing twice as much as what Ginger Mark paid back in the day... and i'm guessing Ginger still paid a decent amount it's just that Ginger had the drug money rolling in from his various ventures hence he had the cash to live alone and pay the rent... 

And so it came to pass that Ginger Mark showed up at my door one day to make his pitch on a fine deal... Ginger was definitely in the running for top mover of goods and was far more sensible and reliable than the Billy Goat, though truth be told when it came to top movers Billy always thought he was higher up the ladder than he was, Ginger Mark and Metal Jerry were probably the top boys... Metal Jerry worked with me at the warehouse and once he got rolling he got to observe the snowball effect in real time, going from a pound, the two, then jumping up to the five pound special and finally arriving at a standing order that was usually more like 7 or 8 elbows every time he showed up... he lived east of the city which somehow pleased my ego due to the fact my web was cast far and wide though it did cause a little concern as i didn't have any eyes or ears out that way, if something went down i wouldn't know it other than Metal Jerry suddenly being absent from work or relying on my co-workers who hung out with him to hopefully inform me but the best case scenario for all involved was to not get fucking pinched, Metal Jerry though seemed to take to the game quick and did and excellent job... but back to the tale... 

Ginger Mark was sitting in my place picking up his usual five pounds, (Ginger, one may recall, was the guy i had to do business with the first night i hung out with Veronica, the only reason i even made the effort was because he did move a ton of gear, only picking up five at a time but usually twice a week and more importantly he always came with cash in hand) he said he had an offer for me, you see he had some guys he sold to who wanted to get more weight, in fact they wanted to get ten pounds and maybe even more after the first go round... i sat and listened... he then stated that he didn't want to do this at his place hence his plan...  he was going to rent two motel rooms, the buyers would be down the hall in one and we'd be in a room a few doors down, he would then go and get half the money and bring it back, take the gear down so they could check it out and collect the rest of the money, meanwhile i'd be hanging in the other room waiting, i would count out the money and take the seventeen and a half thousand that i was owed and he'd take his cut from the deal... the fact is the deal would net me two grand but there was not one fucking thing i liked about it at all...  

The first red flag was the fact Ginger didn't want to do the deal at his place... why? there was also the mention of fucking firearms being involved which was another big fucking no-no in my book... the laws at the time stated a pound a grass and gun meant a mandatory five year stretch, granted i wouldn't have a gun as i never had nor carried one, but the fact Ginger Mark felt the need to have this kind of shit going on meant that Ginger didn't exactly trust these guys to not try to jack him and make off with the gear... if there was one bit of knowledge i'd gained in this whole endeavor it was the fact people are both stupid and short sighted... if this crew was smart they'd understand that they were hooked into a killer connection with the fact being they could get as much grass as they needed but i also understood that half-ass gangsters would think it was cool to rob some dude of ten pounds and then walk around bragging about it, they'd be more interested in the fucking tale they got to tell than the fact they could have made a shitload more money by not robbing the connection... but as i often like to say, most of these fools out here were playing checkers not chess... 

So i sat and listened patiently, Ginger Mark had most definitely earned that much from me, i respected the guy because he was a professional in a field where morons like the Billy Goat abounded... when he wrapped up his pitch i asked point blank why a motel? to which he explained his rationale and to which i replied that just ups the risk, a bunch of hoods going back and forth between rooms and only using the rooms for an hour looks more than a bit suspicious... secondly why did i need to be there at all? why did he not just pick up ten elbows from me and make the deal, i even told him i'd save another five for him once the deal was done so he'd have his usual to sling to his clientele...of course once again it came down to money... not that i didn't think Ginger didn't have a nice little nest egg building up cuz of all the guys in the weight crew Ginger Mark seemed most likely to be saving cash, once again it was not lost on me that what this deal did was actually put the financial risk on me, hence why he thought he should have me there when in fact, if i was foolish enough to go through with a deal like this, i would want to be as far away from it as possible, the only person i wanted to see was the tall ginger guy handing me my money... but this whole situation stunk worse to me than a Porta-John on a hot and humid August afternoon... 

Since Ginger Mark was one of my top movers i felt it was important for me to advise him as best i could because honestly the last thing i wanted was to have him go down, he made me too much cash every week... i was only a few years older than him and it was strange to act the wise old sage but this business is excellent at making even smart people decide to do the dumbest of things, the money creates a blind spot and until one grasps that and sits back and thinks about each and every deal that involves a large amount of weight one increases the risks of getting popped or popped aka arrested or shot... 

And so i did what i did best, i explained to Ginger while appealing to his ego that i really wanted no part of this thing and that he should definitely think about going forward with it, how the variables created more moving parts and the more moving parts there were the greater of the chance of something breaking down --- i told him i thought he was an intelligent guy and that one has to sit back and think these things through... i mentioned how going to a motel is always dicey, one never knows about a nosey employee or guest or whatever who thinks there is something suspicious going down, i also pointed out that if he didn't want to deal with this crew at his own place to me that was a red flag, it basically communicated a lack of trust and i felt that it would be even easier for things to go south if he decided to use a motel, they could easily knock his ass out or worse and by the time he came to they'd be long gone, it was better to stay the course, slow and steady wins the race, he could move that same ten pounds with a lot less risk and while yes a multi-pound deal was always a nice score one had to weigh the risks of that score... i told him there's no way i wanted a part in it and that he should seriously consider running away from a deal like this, i told him something about it didn't sit right with me... he listened and said he'd think it over, grabbed his five pounds and headed for the door... 

As usual Ginger Mark called four or five days later, as stated he was usually good for ten a week and i cut a side deal with him that if he came back and say, only needed three pounds, i'd give him the nice price, with my own little skim of selling pounds for the normal price and telling Stiv they were bought by the weight crew (thus making me more money) it wasn't any sweat to me, plus Ginger knew the score and liked the fact he got a deal to which i told him not to mention to anyone else... fact is i always kept the weight crew away from each other because the boss doesn't need the minions commiserating with one another, Ginger did run into the Billy Goat once or twice but the fact is Ginger Mark was far too smart to get mixed up in any half-assed scams with Billy, in fact Ginger had told me that he and Billy had crossed paths here and there previously, the Burgh being small enough that the circles hoods traveled in were likely to overlap and that Ginger didn't think much of the Billy Goat... 

So Ginger Mark stopped by and picked up his usual and while i counted the money he told me that he'd thought about what i said and had nixed the ten pound deal with the Motel Crew... good move i told him, he agreed and stated as much, said he thought about what i had said and that upon  some further reflection had seen my points, the risk wasn't worth the reward especially considering that if the shit went down he's out of the game for a one time deal, he could take a big risk and make a big deal once (to which i had also told him that even if it went down the first time didn't mean they weren't setting him up for a future robbing, possibly even upping the amount they needed) or he could just keep doing his thing while the money steadily rolled in while also reducing the risk... this was a business built delicately on trust and the less one trusted someone the less one sold, and vice versa... 

After Ginger left i sat back and breathed a sigh of relief, i couldn't really say the last guy i wanted to lose was him cuz the last thing one does in this game is give someone leverage, Ginger was smart enough to use that info had i given it to him but i also knew that connections like the one i had weren't just floating around and had any of my weight crew come to tell me they could get a comparable grass at a better price i'd have told them, that's great, good luck but that my prices were set... call the bluff and see if it's real but let them know that the current sweet deal might not be there when they got back... fortunately it never happened.... unless one counts Billy and the previous post... call it management skills that i could never put on a resume... but most importantly i kept a prime mover on the payroll... 

The Wilderness Years - The Schemes

 Back to the grind... well i guess one could say i'm using that term loosely cuz how much of a grind can it be when one is stacking money? there were days when i'd make a three or four thousand dollars in the span of 24 hours, hell in the span of four hours sometimes, then of course the phone would go off and i'd head out for the night, hood rich and hood famous, it was a charmed existence really, i can't say that it wasn't but even with all that there were always things to worry about... it's been well documented here at the lounge that there were certain days i would barely sleep due to the fact i had knowledge of the favorite days for the local narc squad to kick in doors, see no matter how tight i kept shit there was always that possibility of someone trading up... the theory? one of my weight crew guys sells a pound or half pound to some muppet, said muppet then gets popped and cuts a deal to trade up, meaning they get a lesser charge for helping the fuzz climb the dealer ladder, which means one of my weight crew goes down next, meaning they now will be given the option to trade up... of course if the first muppet knows that my guy is getting five or six pounds at a time and my guy has let slip that i'm getting a lot more than that and that the supply seems to be endless, well let's just say for as dim as the fuzz might be a little light goes off.... suddenly they don't really give a shit about the ones already caught, don't get me wrong now they'll take their little collars to put on the resume but what they really want it the guy at the top... and i wasn't the guy at the top but i was closer than the ones already on the books dig? 

Now one must remember the times, weed was still viewed by Johnny Law as being the gateway to Satan and heroin and any other number of unwholesome activities... The Clinton Years saw more people go to the can for grass than any other administration... and when one realizes that included Nixon it definitely got one's attention, the "tough on crime" schtick was an opiate for the square masses, pun intended, and so while here we sit twenty some odd years on and dispensaries popping up like so many daisies, back in the day this was serious shit... if they caught some dude in his apartment with 40 pounds of gear there was an excellent chance it was making the front page and the teaser for the local news broadcast... it was the age old question for the hoods... we all swore we'd never rat out our connection but what happens when suddenly one if facing real fucking time, not county for a few months but the state or worse federal joints that were no fucking joke... all the hoods talked tough but the fact was if the shit hit the fan the tough talk went immediately out the window... it was something i'd thought about and hoped i'd never have to confront, you see i was probably looking past the state level to something even more serious, it made the asshole tighten in more ways than one that's for sure... 

My whole system had settled into a pattern, a well-oiled machine as they say, of course there is no yin without yang, no dark without light, no space without solid and no dealer without one or more pain in the asses and the biggest pain in the ass, the kind that would take ages to go away, was that of our friend the Billy Goat... Billy was always behind on his payments and we were now in a pattern of never catching up... but it was around this time that Billy had come up with an even better plan, at least for him... 

For those of us old heads who came of age before the legalization boom the grass game we grew up with was quite different... the kids these days will never know the joys of Mexican Brick Weed, shitty outdoor weed, sometimes packed with seeds, pressed into bricks and shipped north, it was absolute dog shit, got you high for about 30 minutes at best, was cheap and if one lived in certain cities (NYC, Baltimore) was most likely dusted with PCP... getting the high end shit with funny names that is now commonplace these days, (in fact everyone now wants to know what strain is, what the terpenes are, the genetic profile and such) was tantamount to finding the holy grail, if one could find weed that good it was usually short lived so people stocked up as best they could, nothing was fronted, all cash and carry and it was usually disappeared quick... as previously noted i was hooked into a supply of what the kids called Midi's, my hookup was considered good or high end midis, far better than dirt weed but not quite as good as the "kind bud" as we used to say, my shit was close and there were times when it was damn near there hence shitheads like Billy Goat haggling about the price... Billy would often whine a bit when if there was a dip in quality, and yes sometimes it happened, not a huge dip but enough and i too understood how people would bitch about shit though at this point i only had a few who would bitch to me mainly cuz they didn't want to get cut out, of course my standard response to Billy was this, okay how bout this, i'll drop the price now by $200 a pound but when the next batch comes in looking great i'll raise it by $300, that work for you? Billy would sit there staring at me as if i had just shit in his mouth... 

And so it was one fine day Billy Goat called absolutely giddy, he needed to talk to me ASAP, when could he stop by? i told him he could swing by whenever and Billy, who was only ever on time to get gear and habitually late when it came time to pay must have fucking time travelled to my place as it seemed within minutes of hanging up the bell was ringing... seems he just happened to "be in the neighborhood" at a local joint down the street drinking beers and having lunch, the remnants of which i'm sure were nestled cozily in his scraggly long beard... when he arrived he was bursting with excitement about the "big news", ohboyohboyohboy... 

Billy stepped into the office aka the bedroom i worked out of and sat down, he was smiling and giggling and then began his pitch... seems that Billy Goat had ran into someone who could get him large quantities of Beasters... a bit of pot history here... back in the early aughts, there was suddenly this mass growing, from what most believed was Canada where the laws were a bit more sane, of what many people considered "kind bud", the street name was Beasters as in B.C. bud from British Columbia and while it was pretty good, and to be honest it was slightly better than what i was getting but not quite as good as what one can get in any dispensary today, for those of us in the selling department it tended to be a bit overpriced, we're talking $3300-4000 per pound, which when broken down doesn't sound too bad but when one is looking at the bottom line, and in my case a bottom line that didn't need much improving, was it worth it? not really... but it seemed our Billy Goat here had a great fucking deal for me, i'm talking a fantastic fucking deal... so i sat back and waited for the pitch... 

The story was that one of Billy's minions had run into a guy who had a line on the Beasters, a single pound was around $3500 but if "we" got ten pounds the price would drop to three grand apiece, of course the cash would have to all be up front (so yes we're talking $30k) but just think of the profits "we" could make at that price... the key word in there is "we", you see this is a bit like being a mob boss, the foot soldiers from time to time will come in with one of their brilliant plans, with info or a line on something great, too good to be true, which many times it was or even worse just flat out fucking dumb... i sat back and nodded and listened to Billy Goat ramble about how this was a great opportunity that "we" should just jump at... i sat and patiently waited for him to stop his excited rambling... so whaddya think he finally asked... 

I sat there mulling over his pitch, running the numbers in my head while also keeping mind the business aspects of things, which in the grander scheme of things is what Billy never fucking did... see i had a great connection with Stiv, no reason to fuck up said connection by taking on extra gear from a different supplier, not having any idea who this new supplier was or how steady and reliable the supply would be, no previous relationship with said supplier and the fact the go-between or the guy who had to introduce me to the new people was easily the biggest pain in my ass currently on the payroll... there was much to consider for someone sitting where i was and most of what the head and the gut told me was "not a fucking snowballs chance in hell to i get involved in this scheme"... but i entertained the thought and asked a few questions... 

Firs thing i said, as i smiled at him, was that's a pretty interesting deal, are you gonna take it? i could see the big smile on the Billy Goat's mug begin to fade... "what do you mean?" he asked... i then briefly explained my view, my excellent connection, the fact i didn't need to fix what wasn't broke, and then i added how was this a great deal for "us"? would he be kicking in any money cuz at the moment he currently owed me a few grand to which i would like first before he ran off and jumped at this deal... to his credit he kept trying to smile and convince me with his nasally whine... so i then stated the obvious... seems you want me to put up the 30K correct?... he said, well yeah... i nodded my head, what makes you think i have that kind of cash lying around? and second if i did and put it up that makes it a great deal for me, not you, as it's my money... his smile was getting tougher to hold by the minute... he then stated that since he had the hookup he thought he could get two pounds at cost... i actually laughed out loud at this point and stated he thought that i'd just put up the money, let him walk out with $6000 worth of product on the front and get absolutely fuck all out of it? Give the Billy Goat some credit, he had some balls... yes he said... he then stated i'd have eight pounds at a great price to make a lot of cash... 

It was at this point i decided to point out the gigantic fucking elephant in the room, that he still owed me money, in fact roughly $4000 and change and what in his delusional fucking mind led him to believe i'd tack on another six grand, without making anything off it, so that he could have two at cost? what cost? my cost? it was my money that was being used therefore the way the system worked is i got a cut, somehow some way... welcome to capitalism chubby stinking fuckwit... of course Billy always had a counter, that expensive education under that golden dome came in handy, you see Billy thought that by doing this he'd be able to get back on even terms with me aka out of debt so that it would be in my best interests to go along with the plan... i looked at Billy and asked, am i a cunt? do you really think i'm this fucking daft as to go along with this bullshit? i take all the risk monetarily speaking while you pay nothing while i wait for you to get back to me with my money? i told him i believed it would be in his best interest to get me the fucking money he already owed me instead of pitching ideas which involved the money i made... one does not tell the boss to do the minions job, shit rolls downhill, always has always will... 

It's safe to say the Billy Goat left more than a little dejected that afternoon, his genius masterplan bunged up cuz the boss had told him to take a fucking runner, how this clown thought i was going to be willing to pony up 30K and then charge him nothing due to the fact he had "found" this connection was mind blowing but not in the context from where it came, the Billy Goat always had some fucking nonsense ready for me when it came time to reup and he was short, always an emergency that needed taken care, his girlfriend's rent, a friend needed help, a fucking Phish show he just had to see, his grimy toenails and filthy beard practically mocking me and now this half-baked bullshit and his borderline indignance of my refusal... the fact is if wanted to risk that much cash i'd take it to the track or invest it, the last thing i needed to do was get in a deal where this fucking bonehead had any sort of power... cuz that was the game, we all had our roles, all had our own territory, mine was vast and increasingly powerful as i had the hook up... on both ends, i had the supply that i needed to expand and run shit on the street while with Stiv i was the guy with all the minions moving the gear, i was poised delicately but nicely in the middle of it all, yes it was also a risky place to be but that's why i didn't even think about deals like the one Billy had broached, granted i'd listen and sometimes take advantage of people always bringing me offers, (see being able to get mushrooms and other goodies) cuz the hoodrats knew i had the juice... 

The things that separated success and longevity was the ability to understand that the reality of the game was that fact it was a business, if one didn't run it like one said dealer was fucked, they were out of the game fast usually owing money to someone or they got popped... yeah these half-assed white boys i dealt with all thought it was champagne and strip clubs, being able to toss money around like a player but the real story was one didn't do that shit until one had the capability, the spendable income, the play money that wouldn't be missed.. the difference was i knew how to handle my money, i was squirrelling cash away, paying off the student loans and the money i partied with was just that, if i ran out i'd wait until i made more, much like in the early days of slinging, these days the truth was i never ran out, it flowed like water from a mountain spring... muppets like the Billy Goat blew it as fast as they got it and then some, they didn't understand that i wasn't a bank, that if i called in the note and they didn't have it there ass was in trouble... that this was a business predicated on connections, business acumen, people skills and fucking cash... like the Wu-Tang said... 

 

The Wilderness Years - Paper Planes and Money Trains

 When we last saw our hero he was basking in the glow of his latest fling while simultaneously dealing with the shithead known as Disco Dave getting popped and also finagling a way to work less at the lovely warehouse job that was really nothing more than a charade... for who is anyone's guess but as stated it was more for our hero's mental health than anything... but was it? hindsight being what it is i can say yes it did help keep me a bit grounded but how much is debatable, now with his new found fuck buddy and streams of cash flowing in the old legit job was doing nothing more than getting in the way of the real work... 

Having bullshitted my way into a three day workweek i now had time to relax a bit... if relax one meant driving across town and fucking then driving home and counting money, driving to Stiv's and re-upping and then driving back home for the parade of customers to start... Stiv was quite pleased with my new schedule and enjoyed the fact he could unload all the gear onto me thus getting it out of his hands and into mine so his paranoia didn't run rampant... he'd drive up Saturday or Sunday, hang out overnight with his boy and then drive back in the morning, being super uptight and paranoid didn't help but Stiv wasn't a fool either, he drove the speed limit and took back roads to get over the state line cuz that's what made him the most nervous, crossing that imaginary line drawn by humanity immediately upped the charge to interstate trafficking... we did have some interesting debates, Stiv and i, about the route he took as he claimed he would almost puke as he got close to the line... my thinking was, why take backroads? why run the risk of podunk cops with nothing to do hiding on the side of the road and trying write tickets? take the main roads, drive like a normal person, no sweat... Stiv looked relatively normal, yes his hair was a bit longer, but myself having dealt with smalltown cops knew anything that wasn't a crew cut was going to draw their ire... hence avoid the fucking clowns... 

Every Tuesday after my new morning workout i'd count up the money and grab my laundry... not that i was going to the laundromat but there was this little matter of how does one get 40 or so pounds of ganja in and out of an apartment without drawing any suspicions? easy, just make it look like i was doing laundry there... so i'd head to Stiv's with a duffel bag and laundry basket... i'd park in back as Stiv was worried someone might notice me lugging large bags in and out but that's why i made it look as if i was there to wash my clothes, once inside i'd lay out the money, not that Stiv would count it, i'd have it sorted into the various piles, the regular priced pounds and the specially priced pounds, the discount pounds as i called them since they got the nice price for the weight crew, a $250 deduction per pound which still netted Stive and myself two bills apiece... i would give him the two piles of cash and he'd put them in bags to count and take out his cut later...

Since the day he had let slip that he was making $400 a pound just off me the dynamic had changed between Stiv and i, we needed each other but the facts were he needed me more than i needed him, granted at this point we could both walk away and have a tidy little nest egg set aside, hell at this point we both had more than the average American family would most likely ever have in a savings account and we both knew it would keep rolling as long as we cooperated, problem was i pissed that he had been taking such a huge cut... during one of our exchanges when i was discussing getting beat on something his snide remarks kicked off a little back and forth vitriol where i stated that if i did get beat i'd pay the fucking wholesale price instead of taking on any fucking fees, meaning his profit, the tension hanging in the room like smoke from one of Stiv's Marlboro Reds... if need be we could part ways and i could still stay in the game, i knew of places i could still get pounds, not on this level but i could stay in the game and even with my nickel dimer customers i'd still pad the income well enough to have a good time, yes i'd have to cut back in certain areas but that wasn't a problem... but i wasn't fool enough to walk away from a connection like this unless some serious shit went down... besides i let Stiv know in my own subtle way that i knew he had no way to move this shit and better yet he didn't trust anyone he knew to move it like i did... as the old saying goes, i'm a professional... 

Still it was always a game of cat and mouse and since Stiv had no way of knowing to who and how much i sold i devised a nice little scheme to pad my ever fattening wallet while he was none the wiser... seeing as how things had gradually snowballed from two pounds a week, to five pounds, then twenty pounds, to the now standing order of forty pounds with sometimes an extra run thrown in that week due to high demand, i began to cook the books in my favor... the discount price was only supposed to be for the weight crew, the guys buying five at a time, i had a decent amount of people now buying pounds and half pounds and quarter pounds and even when i broke down one and moved it in small amounts i'd keep track and tack on as sold at the discount price... of course it wasn't, it was sold at the regular price but this little trick meant that i would make $450 on those pounds, at first i'd only do it on a pound or two but once i gauged Stiv's response i began doctoring the books by 2 to 5 pounds a week, meaning i netted an extra $900 to $2250 every week depending on how much i moved... fucking good work if you can get it... 

The most pressing issue at hand though was what to do about the warehouse gig, i couldn't ride this wave of bullshit much longer as at some point they'd decide to just shitcan me, the didn't have part-timers at this place and that is effectively what i'd become... by this point i had the sneaky suspicion that everyone in the place had an idea, if not outright knowledge, of what i did when i clocked out, obviously some guys did as they were on the payroll but except for maybe Kenny, who no one fucking liked, it was the typical sewing circle, they all talked, i'm sure it was the usual "don't say shit about this but Kono is a fucking kingpin", now and then a couple of them would drop hints and innuendos though i think my managers pretended not to hear the whispers in the back of the warehouse and break room, i wasn't doing shit on company grounds so really it was none of their business what i did once i drove home... 

Meanwhile back in the barrio of the East End things kept right on rolling, my Tuesday and Thursday breakfast dates (not to mention Saturday and Sunday) were a regular occurrence... those days when i showed up and we were both pretending to be adults (see not hungover) i'd walk in and Red would hand me a cup of coffee, she'd make me some food and then we'd get down to it... there was one fine morning when before i could even finish my breakfast she had slyly stepped out of her shorts while standing at the kitchen counter, she turned around with a sexy grin, not a word needed to be said... yes it was good to be king, i understood i was living the life, how long would it last? at the moment i didn't care, i just figured it would go on forever... keep shit wired tight and don't sweat it too much... really how could things get any better? it was hard to believe they could... 

 

Mudder/Fodder/First Steps

 The lounge was born roughly seventeen and one half years ago due to the fact Gulfboot Johnson got tired of me writing emails to him that were really more stores than emails... Gulf informed me that there were these things called "blogs" and that he'd set one up for me seeing as i'm a technological Luddite and so he got to work and the lounge was born... the masthead and layout have never changed due to my being said idiot when it comes to the tech thing and i'd like to think the writing has improved over the years (but as we all know that's subjective) but the strange thing is this... the I-mac was about six months old when it started and Disaster but a dream... in the next few days (probably before this gets published) the I-mac will head off to university to hopefully make it through his first semester... fucking weird to think about for his old man as i remember that baby boy, both the I-mac and his fledgling father, and thinking back at all that's happened since then sorta blows the old mind... 

Lately i've been watching how things have gone around the old homestead, i know the I-mac probably isn't the most prepared kid to go off to school, luckily it's only about an ninety minutes away, he scraped through his last year of high school, would have failed and not graduated if not for his mother doing a fair amount of his work, has  shown a distinct lack of responsibility in any area of his life, and frankly he worries his old man... not that there's much i can do about it, as is the mantra he's heard, it's your life kid and you gotta live it and take accountability for it... that said i know the kid is afraid to grow up, he's said as much but as i've told him, doesn't matter, shit is gonna happen whether you want it to or not... now his girlfriend is leaving to go across the country to school and he's going to a state school here in Pennsyltucky... granted his GF is a bit of a princess from a wealthy family and the truth is i'm not exactly a big fan of her or her family but that's a whole other kettle of fish (as the saying goes)... but mainly what i've been doing is watching the other people in the household to make sure they are okay cuz what's about to happen is going to be a change for all of us... 

It's been a contentious couple years with the I-mac and it's had a effect on all of us, not the least his little brother... i'd always hoped they'd be close and watching them drift apart for the last couple years had been tough, of course part of the problem was the amount of time and energy the I-mac took up with his antics, yes he has ADHD but not all of it can be attributed to that, some was being a teenage shithead, something we've all been and combined with the ADHD made the place a nightmare sometimes, especially when the I-mac and i were getting into it not to mention the fact the BW spent immense amounts of time working and helping the I-mac and i'd often remind her that we had two boyos and that one seemed to just float along under the radar cuz he could, mainly cuz he didn't cause much trouble and did what he needed to do even if sometimes that was just skating by... even at the beginning of the summer the boyos weren't that close, something that actually did bother the I-mac, but as the summer progressed things began to change.. 

Sometimes siblings are just at different ages with different interests but even this past year  there was a distinct distance between the two but as summer wound down they began to hang out more, granted part of that was the I-mac spent too much time with his girlfriend and thus alienated a lot of his friends and at times didn't really have anyone to hang with so he'd drive his little brother and his friends around... it was a bit strange and at one point i even compared the I-mac to David Wooderson (see the film Dazed and Confused) but in one respect i saw my two sons actually hanging out and having a good time, bonding, as they therapists say, and though i told the I-mac he better not be hooking his brother up with certain things (to which i had my suspicions) he swore that he wouldn't (though i also know how he felt about being the cool big brother and recognized there was a bit of bullshit in that statement), but i've been around long enough to know how shit works and seeing as the days were winding down to the I-mac's departure i let it slide.. even better, the night before the I-mac left he and his brother were out and Disaster (this was relayed by the I-mac) looked over at his big brother and said, "i love you bro", i laughed out loud when i heard this cuz Disaster plays it pretty close to the vest and hearing this warmed his old man's cold heart, the I-mac stated even he was taken aback and somewhat apologized for being a bit of dick to him over the past couple years and not hanging out and talking to him more... but from their old man's perspective it was good to know things were now going in the right direction.. 

Which of course brings us to the BW and her state of mind as her first born baby boy was about to head off to college... the BW was a bit more emotional about things than i was, she had spent the last dozen years worrying and fretting about her boy, she saw early on the signs of ADHD, had worked with him endlessly and sometimes did way too much for him, call it a mother's love but i often mentioned that if he didn't start doing shit on his own he'd never learn how to do it, i added that failure is one of the greatest teachers of all, call it a father's love, we butted heads about it but her rationalization, particularly over the last year, was that she needed him to graduate and go off to school cuz she needed a break... granted the boy has been at Uni a few days and has called his mama repeatedly... funny he hasn't called me once... then again i was always the one who told him to do shit himself and that i wasn't helping him by doing it for him, granted the more the boy and i clashed the less i did for him as i explained that if one doesn't appreciate shit and proceeds to act like a shit then one finds people stop doing them any favors... but the BW has had her moments when the tears begin and she worries about her baby boy... and with good reason, see above line about all the times he's called asking where to find things on the school's app or in his room, she's still his personal assistant though we both know the calls will decrease as time goes by, that's just how it is... 

As for his old man? well let's just say it was probably best the boyo went to school... it's been a bit of a strained relationship with the oldest boyo the last few years, i understand it's the teenage years of pushing boundaries and testing limits but the biggest difference is what i call the respect factor... yes i did the same shit when i was a kid but i also had massive respect for my father, for my mother as well, but i also knew what my dad (and mom) did for me and and appreciated what they had done... the eldest boyo often showed a distinct lack of appreciation and respect at times that was both infuriating and insulting, the way he spoke to his mother, the things he called her, the same things he'd try to say to me but quickly learned his old man was a bit different, shit didn't have the effect on me, in fact i did my best to hold my acid tongue but now and then when he really pissed me off it took roughly one sentence to settle the matter, not something i'm particularly proud of but it's the gift/curse i've been given... i've made my fair share of mistakes with the kid and have told him as much but i've also explained that i've tried to do my best even when i didn't get it right, granted i'll miss the boyo but i also know it's time, time to leave the nest and get off on his own under the somewhat controlled environment of school, how he fares is a whole other question but it wasn't going to be healthy for anyone if he hung around here.. 

So now we watch and wait... we wait to see if the kid takes responsibility and does what he needs to do, the I-mac has grandiose ideas, big plans to make big money, problem is in order to get to that point one has to put in a lot of hard work, a lot of time and yes there will be setbacks, sometimes failure, but the question is how do you rebound from that, does he put in the work to make the setbacks minor bumps instead of major obstacles? the biggest problem is his tendency to want to jump from A to Z without all the steps in between... i'm pulling for the kid, i'm sure there were lots of doubt when i got on that plane so many moons ago and headed some 2000 miles away to school, i managed and grew and came home a different person, i'm hoping the same happens to the boyo, i'm hoping he succeeds and accomplishes whatever it is he sets out to do... i'm worried about the boy... but i'm pulling for him... and at this point that's all his old man can do. 

Acceptance

 For the lounge aficionados out there (if there is such a thing as a lounge aficionado) one might recall that in December of 2017 our hero here fell victim to a night of mind numbingly painful and crippling back spasms... a night where i was stuck painfully on the floor while the Breadwinner googled home remedies because she deemed it was too expensive to call an ambulance and have me carted to the ER to get some high quality drugs to knock me out and relieve the misery... that night, after spending close to an hour just trying to get up off the floor, i shuffled gingerly to a futon bed in the downstairs where i would once again gingerly fall into it seeing as that any movement made the spasms flair up again... it was here that i spent the next week barely moving and fearing the next round and it was also here where i vowed that i would never let this happen again, the back spasms that is... or at least try not to let it happen again... 

After taking up residence downstairs i noticed how much i enjoyed sleeping alone, i was woken up less, didn't have to deal with any snoring, didn't worry when i got up to take my late night piss about waking anyone up or worry about moving around with my new found pillow that i had to place under my knees to help the back, granted these day i don't have to use that pillow but for a year or two it was pretty essential part of my existence (i'd be lying if i didn't add it still helps and i still use it though it's not imperative)... of course now and then there would be a comment from the BW about when i would be returning to the upstairs bedroom and every now and then i thought about it but then i'd usually get fed up with being treated as some sort of incompetent hired help and decide i quite liked being downstairs by myself... in fact for a few years after i started sleeping alone i would hear some subtle and snide comments about me not sleeping upstairs and how it wasn't unusual for a partner to want to sleep in the same bed as their significant other... granted i wanted to comment that i was like an other without the significant and then i'd cite many statistics how the situation wasn't all that unusual... i'd then elaborate on how roughly a quarter of couples didn't sleep in the same room for various reasons and then go even further and point out how i was being nice due to the fact that when i moved i'd have to adjust the pillow and what not and how i would definitely wake her up and so i was looking out for her best interests... but the truth is for the reasons laid out above i really had no intention of sleeping in the same bed unless i absolutely had to.. 

(Side note: at one point when citing said studies about people sleeping separately i as going to point out that part of the reason of sharing a bed was for this thing called conjugal relations which someone had  seemed to become allergic to so if such activities weren't really on the cards i might as well get a good nights sleep... of course i was wise enough not to point that out since it would have been an game of finger pointing with most of the blame being leveled at yours truly which if fucking laughable... peruse the history of the lounge and other than the Story of 8-Ball i was never one to abstain and deny a woman her wishes, nudge nudge wink wink...) 

For the first few years i could tell it still irked the BW that i hadn't come back upstairs and though i wanted to explain that this situation had deteriorated into a MINO (marriage in name only), why bother? i was acutely aware of it and i'm sure she was as well and while it doesn't reflect well on our communication skills or the health of the relationship it was basically functional... it's what's called the family business, the people involved might not like each other or be attracted to each other but in the name of running the household and "protecting the assets" we bury our heads in the proverbial sand and give the impression as if everything is alright... it seems to me that this is sadly a type of American white middle class bullshit type of existence, a statement more on the consumer and capitalist culture and the reason why there are so many on-line sites helping people fill in the missing pieces (aka finding people to fuck... it's also the reason people separate after the last child has fled the nest, the realization that they'd be happier apart...)

Fast forward seven years... (strange to think the lounge is now 18 years old), we had come back from the yearly shit show known as vacation, this year being particularly trying due to a certain boyo, and i noticed the lovely smell of cat piss coming from somewhere, of course it took me a few days to figure out exactly where and of course it was a blanket and the futon/couch i slept on... seems Phat Paco had decided to mark his territory while i was away or maybe he was showing his displeasure with my absence, (much has been written on this subject and those smarter than i tend to assert that it's not that said feline is pissed, no pun intended, but stressed and anxious and that somehow pissing all over their favorite humans clothes or bed makes them feel more secure... though i still tend to think it's cuz he was mad at me, though i'm quite happy to know how much he loves me...) and so i set about cleaning up the mess with various types of cleaning products used for this very purpose but as those with cats know, cat piss ain't no joke, and so while i got most of the smell out it wasn't as if it was gone... of course i could have moved back upstairs but the BW's cat sleeps with her and is quite skittish when it comes to other people though i'm sure she'd have been alright with me but if given the choice and being honest about it the BW would rather have her cat sleeping with her than me... which to be blatantly honest is also perfectly okay on my end... 

Now if there is one thing the BW is proficient at it's perusing the virtual halls of commerce known as online shopping, she often sits at the kitchen table or on the deck pulling on her e-cig, asking what i'm making for dinner, complaining about things not getting done, she also scrolls away and buys things, which becomes particularly bemusing when i hear how "we're" spending too much money... what's this we shit? the only money i spend i earn from the old gig, which isn't much, but does keep me stocked in weed and shrooms, the occasional record or book, a smoothie, i don't ask for much and i definitely am not about to ask the BW because while she likes to pretend this is a partnership i often hear the words "my" and "I" when it comes to money, meaning she's the breadwinner, hence her name... so imagine my surprise when she began asking me about a new futon/couch for me to sleep on... the thought of me heading back upstairs must have really frightened her! as she did her usual research she even asked if i just wouldn't rather have a day bed (whatever that is) seeing as that might be more comfortable... needless to say it was all sorted in a day or two and few days later a truck showed up and dropped off the new futon... in two boxes of course, i'd have to build my own bed in order to sleep on it and though it sat there for a week in it's boxes in the hall it was soon assembled and ready to go... Paco and i had a new place to crash and i sat him down and had a talk about not pissing on this one (though things were put in place just in case he did and for the record he had never done anything like that before)... he purred and gave me a few head bumps and settled in to his usual corner and took a bath... 

It wasn't lost on me how quickly the BW had moved in procuring me a new "bed" to sleep on... there was no talk of "maybe you should just come back upstairs", no subtle and snide remarks... it was "here look at these and tell me which one would work", it's basically the same one that was in that room, courtesy of the Swedes... it was the level of acceptance that i believe surprised me as i can honestly say that once i discovered what had happened i had resigned myself to cleaning the futon and sleeping on it regardless of it's condition, fact was i did for about two weeks though i had put layers of sheets down over the old futon, in the end though the BW had no intention of my moving back to the bedroom and it was actually comforting to know, in a way we know where we stand, my role as glorified personal assistant is just that, i cook and clean and drive, i listen and nod and do what i'm asked even when those tasks are mind numbing, she considers my pushing the cart through the aisles "quality time", i consider another activity "quality time" but that's been absent for too long to mention and the reality is there is no going back, it's a business now, we all know our roles even if some don't always acknowledge them, but they're now accepted... maybe that's progress? or maybe not... maybe i'm just a whore (metaphorically speaking of course) for a decent place to crash and a nice vacation... but then again it is America and the culture often pimps us out to something... 

With the new couch built Paco is once again happy and spends his time going back and forth from my chest to my feet... he likes to give me the big eyes, as i call them, and then walk up and lay on my chest, which sometimes isn't the most comfortable thing given his size but the fact is when he lays there purring and head butting me what can i do? we call it Paco and dad time, it usually lasts about 20 minutes or so or until my arm and shoulder fall asleep and i have to move him at which point he makes his way back down towards my feet and his favorite spot on his favorite blanket... the next order of business might be to try and get more of my stuff actually stored in the room instead of upstairs, sort of officially turning it into my bedroom but i'm still gauging how well that would go over (as well as putting a turntable in said room so i could listen to even more records).. but regardless at least i have a new, (and for the moment) cat piss free place to crash... and more amazingly no one seems to have any issue with it... 

-----

Before i had a chance to hit the old publish button a new development occurred... seems the new kitty Korra likes to harass the BW's girl Maya every time she tries to use the litter box, the situation being that the BW was having to take Maya down and guard the door so poor Maya could do her thing, Maya being the skittish cat type wasn't real thrilled with things and the BW decided it was too much work to escort her a few times a day decided to order some hidden litter boxes for her room... one looks like a plant and one like a bench with the boxes hidden inside... why two? because Maya if very particular and uses one to pee in and another to dump in, so now she has her own private boxes and the BW doesn't have to take her down to the main ones... the problem was she needed to have me move more of my stuff out of the room to make space for the bench litter box... i almost started laughing when i was told to move the stuff and half considered asking her if there was a way to outfit the room i sleep in so i could move all my clothes downstairs, maybe even my turntable and then the separation would be complete... see in the evening if i go in her room i'm often asked what i'm doing in there, i'm not allowed in if the BW is changing because "people don't do that", which i find funny cuz i know a lot of couples who have no problem changing in front of each other, yeah kids the writing has been on the wall a long time but at least there i progress being made.. or something like that... (last note, said kitty has yet to use the new boxes and still wants escorted downstairs...) 

 

The Mushroom Diaries - vol. 28

 It's been well documented here at the lounge that i have absolutely no use for religion, particularly western religions, mind you i don't view many eastern "religions" as religion but more philosophies, in particular Buddhism and it's many forms (something i've stolen from Alan Watts) and while i read a lot of that philosophy i still don't prescribe to any specific one, years ago after much dwelling on the subject i narrowed the meaning of existence down to one sentence, the one commandment if you will, don't be an asshole, or as much as possible don't be an asshole... pretty much sums it up... honestly like most western religions i make it up as a go along or maybe the reality is i'm much closer to the views of Carl Sagan when i discuss "religion" in the fact if by god or religion one means the natural world, the wind and sea, fire and air, the periodic table of elements, chemistry, organic chemistry, the vast and spectacular universe, then yes count me in, we are all born of stars and to those stars someday we will return... (though full disclosure i am and ordained Dudeist priest...)  

Speaking of organic chemistry... the beauty of things always brings me back to those lovely bits of fungus which allow us to tap into parts of our brains and consciousness which seem to bring us closer to the middle of those stars of which we are born, opening doors to things we haven't developed the ability to tap into yet... as i skip towards the void i think about it now and then, one can't help but ponder their mortality as the days roll by, not in a "i'm scared to die" way but in the fact that i know it's out there and i know it's coming and that's okay, it makes me appreciate the here and now more and understand that's really all i have, to live here and now, to try and not be a fuck-up though the relative success of that statement can be debated greatly most likely varying on when and who one asks.... and while we all must traverse each day and the mundanity it brings i've learned not to really think about it, each moment is a lovely thing, like sitting here and typing and listening to cats purr and the rain, drinking a cup of coffee, thinking of a song i heard and humming a tune in my head... watching the boyos i know i've done some things right and made some mistakes but i also realize i have to let them do what they're going to do, to let them succeed and fail on their own, not that i don't try and guide them but that ultimately we all live our own lives and must accept and own what we do... that while i can try and pass on some sort of knowledge or wisdom like young people they'll most likely shrug it off only to remember it years later and think, damn, the old man was trying to tell me something helpful... (how do i know this? cuz i've had those epiphanies thinking about the things my father told me, not that any of it is special, it's the circle of life as the cartoon movie says...) but back to the mushroom... 

The internet if for the most part a vast and enormous wasteland of dog shit... social media is an even bigger pile of dog shit with the added bonus of being put in a bag and lit on fire, a vast majority of the "content" put on these mediums amount to nothing more than seconds and minutes and hours of one's life being wasted "doom scrolling", i mean fucking hell the name says it all, doom scrolling... and yet here i sit on the oldest of the platforms, the blog, typing away knowing full well that all these posts are much too long for any modern citizen to read, that it takes a special sort of weirdo to actually read a whole post on the lounge (and hopefully enjoy it or get something out of it)... yet every now and then something pops up on the old interweb that's useful... don't get me wrong, i spend a fair amount of time online researching books and music that i love as well as getting sucked into the commerce side of it, either trying to find those books and records or occasionally jumping to the other side and selling things instead of tossing then into the landfill... to be honest i'm nothing more than a hippie in grunge clothing and i fret every time i must drag the garbage cans out to the curb... but let's stick to the path before i get lost in the woods here... 

Our hero has stumbled upon a site that is selling mushrooms... and not the sort that one puts on a salad but the one our hero has been known to take while laying on his couch in a dark room... now with the inordinate amount of scams perpetrated on the web i did my research.... or as much as i could... the site kept popping up on one of those social media cesspools that i peruse under an alias mainly to avoid all the people i've known, i kept checking the comments and seeing if these were real people or some elaborate site set up to steal bank info, i read all the info on the site, read the comments that stated that regardless of what one thought it was legit and that people actually got what they paid for, some even posted pics in the comment section and a few explained the company was exploiting a loophole in the system (so get while the gettins' good)... another interesting fact was that they took credit cards... being a med card holder i know that cannabis dispensaries can't take credit cards due to the fact weed isn't technically legal in the federal sense, it's all cash or debit card, but this place took credit cards, which one savvy commentor pointed out meant it was somewhat risk free as the credit card company would reimburse you if you got scammed... of course that didn't ease the paranoia that crept in late at night when i was stoned after i placed my first order... in fact i had already worked out my line of defense should the fuzz show up at my door, the ignorance is bliss/ banking issue defense... basically stating that i thought it must be legal cuz they took credit cards and dispensaries didn't and boy oh boy i would never do a thing like that if i knew it wasn't on the up and up... i'd smile and point to my spotless record and apologize, i  know how the system works and figured at best it would be a stern warning and at worst a slap on the wrist...  

As for the site? it's brilliant, yes the prices are a little high but as has been pointed out one is paying for a service... and my oh my, they have 5 or 6 different strains of boomers, the Golden Teachers, Cambodians, Puerto Ricans, Albino Penis Envy (super strong) and something that may just be the greatest invention since fire... they have taken the magic and put it into a gel tab, meaning no horrible taste, a little easier on the stomach, i read the few reviews as this was a new item and decided hmmm, why not? they were a bit more expensive than the run of the mill boomer but sometimes one must treat themselves... one pill is apparently equal to one gram and so when they arrived i was like a kid on Chrimbo morning, i couldn't wait to try them... and so at the first opportunity, see the night i got them, i took one cuz as the old saying goes, you can't take less but you can always take more... and to quote the kids, OMFjah... this shit is brilliant, one sent me to a damn fine place and i was thinking how two would fucking be stellar! of course the next thing i thought was, fucking hell i need to get more of these cuz who knows how long this little thing will last and so i began scrimping and saving the dosh because as i get older it's a bit harder to find the connections for these things, the cannabis has been sorted with the card but knowing how much i enjoy the boomers i tend to try to stock up (keep em cool and dry and they stay good for a long time)...  

I'll freely admit that i was worried about the old supply line cuz my old connection had seemed to dry up, the guy i knew who introduced me to his knew guy seemed to have disappeared and since it had been a little over a year since i had talked to the new connection who had only met me once it felt a bit strange texting out of the blue and asking to get a zip of the boomers, last time i kept roughly 20 grams from the ounce because i as i've stated i feel like mushrooms are an essential part of my existence at this point, yes i'd be fine if i didn't have them but damn if i don't enjoy using them, they seem to teach me things, help me sort through things, remind me to be empathetic and kind, it's amazing the positive effects they have and i understand completely how valuable they'd be for those battling things like depression and PTSD... hopefully one of these days the people will let the powers that be know that this isn't some Class A but medicine, a way to sort out the inanity of modern living, a way to get us back in touch with our natural world, a way to be a kinder and gentler species, if we want to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony, fuck the soda commercial, pass these out and let the love in... let the healing begin... (but let's face it, the ever present cynic in me knows big pharma will do all it can to keep something that grows naturally out of the hands of the masses... it hurts the bottom line...)