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Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Old Post From Dec. 2004
« on: December 08, 2010, 02:02:56 AM »
Get Small........
by 85 Day Jerk » Sat Dec 11, 2004 9:45 pm

I remember an old Steve Martin routine called "Let's Get Small," where he replaced the word stoned with the word small. Well, sad to say, I am not gonna do that or even try to be funny. I just needed a title for what I feel like writing about right now. I think in the end we will all feel a little smaller, and if all goes well, just a little bit uncomfortable.

I have been a member of this forum for 3 years or so and there has only been ONE instance that I know of that a PARENT actually came onto the board and expressed themselves. Their handle was Snow White I believe. She expressed deep regret at the harmful effects that the program had placed on her son, got some advice and then moved on. I bet she sleeps pretty damn good too.

How about your parents? Do you even talk to them, or is it more like you see them mostly during the holidays out of some perverse sense of "owing" it to them, or to give off the impression of being a 'good normal family.' One in which it was 'okay' to house the rebelious teens in a warehouse until they "got with the program, cut their hair, brought them grades up and made a parent proud?"

"Golly Gee Willikers Mom, this is the best stuffing ever!" "Hey dad!,I can't believe you actually bought a Segway," "The Jone's don't stand a chance against you!" And we all kick back our heads like giant Pez dispensers and laugh, and laugh. Then, through the power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the alarm clock rings and pulls me abruptly out of the nightmare.

In the real world, my step-mom would probably say something stupid to set me off and try to disguise it as "simple curiousity," and would be sitting there gurgling like a fish because she has a face full of butternut squash and dad is at the head of the table practicing his Thousand Yard Stare while I do a much better re-make of the Animal House Cafeteria Food Fight.

Now I don't know about the rest of you, but my family is pretty much in denial of the whole issue of Straight. I sent my dad a post card and sent one to the older sister as well. With my sis, I left her my e-mail, but hav'nt heard nothing yet. I don't call them, because the sound of their voice makes me wanna pound beers like I'm a college pledge during Rush Week. I have seen alot of folks throwing their two cents around about Documentaries, Film Projects, Court Cases, Morgan Colling and Gilbert and lastly Montel Williams. After all that is said and done, I just got one thing to ask......... What about Mom & Dad? Do you trundle over to their house for that primo Michelob and Heineken? All that free food, and fancy appetisers? How much alcohol does it take to drown your pride and douse the fire where your self respect once burned bright?

Hey, the sky's the limit, but the buck stops here when it comes to family gatherings. Oh you'll hear them say, "Because it's Christmas," Does this mean I can come up to the house at 90MPH and smash the livin shit out of every relatives car and yell, "Because it's NASCAR!!!!!????" I better stop, now because there is just no stopping how much I hate the holidays. Please don't feel bad for me, feel happy, because this really is therapuedic, (trust me it is....)
Merry Christmas, Bob in St.                                                                                                                                                                                                                Inside a warehouse behind Tyrone Mall
we walked in darkness, kept hitting the wall.
I took the time to feel for the door,
I had been "treated" but what the hell for?
85 Day Jerk
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Wow, I can't believe it's been only 7 years since I started posting on this forum.  It seems so much longer ago, so much in my life has changed.  Moving to Tennessee surely was'nt something I would have thought of just seven years ago.  I'm not as manic as I was in the Bay Area, life is at a much slower pace here.  Depression is the big pill to swallow now.  I tried an anti-depressant called Celexa, but it just turned me into an uncaring zombie.  Glad that episode only took 2 months of my life.  I sure as hell won't forget dreaming about running from oppressors and waking up screaming with the worst leg cramp I ever had.  It would take me a good 2 hours of restless leg syndrome before the drug would take me into a deep dive beneath the icy waves of my subconscience.  While the dreams would be vivid as hell, it did little good with no real therapuetic people around to share it with.  What's worse were the mornings I would walk into the kitchen and find remnants of meals that I had made while doing some serious sleepwalking.  Particularly disturbing was a bag of popcorn in the microwave that had appeared to almost catch fire.  

I'm back to the regular rounds of meds and doing pretty good.  One thing that helped bring me out of a really depressing winter is that my young cat, Simone, had a litter of 6 kittens.  They were a real handful, but I managed to find all of them homes and even collected 10 bucks a piece for them because they were so healthy and good looking.  I got Simone spayed as soon as I could after that.  She is a calico that was feral as a kitten, until I won her over.  Her coat is like Fudge-Pecan Swirl and her left rear leg is solid Caramel colored. Her eyes are a greenish yellow, and I have learned that her meow means business when she wants out before sunrise.  She played with my overhanging foot one morning as I kept trying to dose back off, and laid my middle toe open with her claw.  It was probably an accident, but she DID have a pissed off look on her face as I let her out.  

I came pretty damn close to being in a band, but it all drizzled before it got off the ground, because of the economy and lack of a practice room.  I've been taking up Bass, but I still play guitar a bit.  My big thing is needing other people to jam with.  I've been toying with the idea of applying for some kind of business grant, if they are even available.  Musically, I have managed to aquire a Squire Bass, Squire Fat Strat, Home Made Strat, Casio keyboard, and two acoustics.  I even bought some mic stands and a couple of PA speakers.  I lucked out and found an old VHS tape of Bass Basics with a guy named Beaver Felton.  He was the Bass player for an old Florida band called Hootchie, that was injured and parylized following a tour bus wreck.  He is an excellent instructor and now owns a music shop in Central Florida, that is worth checking out if you are in the area.  I have found that playing the Bass is easier to learn than guitar was.  I just have to keep at it and maybe I'll get snapped up by another band.  All in all, it has just been a day to day struggle to not let shit get me down and try to keep a positive attitude.  I have to renew my lease for another year of glorious misadventures here in Hillbilly Hell, also known as the Cleveland Housing Authority.  I pay flat rate rent, which means I am RICH by ignorant white trash standards.  I am envied and hated upon by most of my neighbors, most of whom live off of Food Stamps and Church Aid.  The most troublesome family finally moved out into "Deluxe" accomodations up the street, following 3 years of deliberately flushing all sorts of shit down the the toilet and clogging the sewage arm.  Crews have busted the shit out of the concrete in front of their old unit for the past week, and still have not found the phantom "pipe break."  Back in '08 I took some photos of the kids dressed for halloween.  I even gave prints to the welfare moms, only to have a hillbilly family start talking shit that I was a pedophile and a pervert child molester and all sorts of other shit, because they were not included and sent their kids to a City sponsored event dressed in For-God-Sakes Underoo's as their "Halloween Costumes."  I am just glad that they are gone.  Things are back to normal now pretty much, but like the Frank Zappa song says..........The Torture Never Stops!
I'll be signing a new lease tomorrow, and with the grace of God, I'll go up north aways to a college town called Athens and register for Unemployment and maybe even get Veterans Preference.  Take it easy everybody and welcome aboard Dave Buick!     Bob in Tennessee

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Happy McGraduation Day
« on: May 30, 2009, 08:10:10 PM »
My neice and several other young people celebrated the "graduation" of what I consider to be a bullshit form of christian based home schooling.  To make it worse, the ceremonies took place at ABBA'S HOUSE, one of the biggest mega-churches in the Chattanooga area.  The place smacks of fakeness and program.  I was all set to drive out to Hixson and it was if some invisible force was draining all the energy from me.  I kept forcing excuses on myself on why I should hurry up and go and all the people I would disappoint and all that shit, and then it just went off in my head like a bomb.  Fuck it!  There is no earthly reason why I should attend something that I do not believe in.  My neice is not even close to having a solid 6th grade education.  Her mother pretty much fudged all the necessary tests and paperwork all along.  It was literally the best education money could buy.  This is all a part of the same segment of control freak parents that force ritalin and Adderall on kids that have nothing really wrong with them because it is so much easier than parenting.  It's either pills, or home schooling, because nothing is good enough for these people.  Most kids that I have seen home schooled are inward social rejects that can't really think for themselves and have very little grasp of the world around them.  Sorta like the way I felt coming out of straight and graduating high school 9 months later at Bayfront Center Arena like a herd of cattle.  My graduation from start to finish was one hour and 18 minutes, symbolizing 12 years of hard work.  I saw less than 25 classmates from that day forward.  On a penisula that is only 62 Sq. miles where less than half ever moved from the first 10 years following graduation.  Sort of boggles the mind I guess.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Maybe if my family spent a little more time building me up instead of constantly tearing my down, this afternoon's activities would not have caused such an attack of social paralysis, but If I am gonna sit home feeling bad about something, I want to be the one making it all happen.  What's the point of using up an eighth of a tank of gas just to have others treat me like shit when I can stay at home and work my way out of it eventually?  I just did'nt have enough reserve strength to go through with it.  I lost my unemployment benefits due to computer snafu, an eagerly awaited interview never materialized, and it was all just a little too much for old Uncle 'Bob to handle.  Aw well, tomorrow starts another week.

One of the worst and most insidious effects of the Straight Program was what I guess you could call the HIVE MENTALITY.
At least for me, and the people I was at Morgan Yacht with, we tended to think alike, talk alike, feel alike, and act alike.
I got so used to this being the norm, that I carried it with me ( sometimes with disastrous results) way longer than any sane and rational person would have long after I left Straight.  My own personality was so thoroughly destroyed that I never acted for ME.  Instead I was just a mindless drone that acted on what I was programmed to do.

My twenties and early thirties are a dull and fog enshrouded mystery to me mostly.  At least I have photos of that time.
Had I not been fortunate enough to have lived in the same apartment building for 14 years, I honestly think I would have killed myself or done something so severely crazy that I would still be either in jail or Chattahoochie.  When I first came onto the board, I had just gone through a crushing defeat career wise and yet was under the hypnotic effect of smooth sailing brought about by a sucessful awarding of Disability Benefits.  For the first time in decades, I was taking it easy.
In an unconcious way, I began to view the world in the same way that I had done as a teenager.  I had no more worries, no hassles or pressures, it was like I was 17 all over again, and psychologically speaking, that's just about where my mind was.

It is no wonder that I came across as a goody two shoes wet blanket to alot of people.  I had no idea that I was doing it or acting like I had just 7 stepped either, and what's worse, in my own mind I actually thought the people I ran into on the boards and at the Conference felt pretty much the same way that I did about everything.  That could not have been farther from the truth.  I never had a relationship with my father or stepmother.  Absolutely none.  I did'nt know how to lie or steal from them.  I sure as shit did not know how to manipulate them, so basically I was their puppet, and later as a young adult in the workplace, I became a puppet for corporate gains.  EMDR therapy taught me just enough to get me into the next millenium fairly intact and even a little ahead in life.  I guess a lot of what's causing this act of reflecting comes from the age that I am now.  I never thought that forty six would feel like this.

I spent much of the weekend going over my 500 or so posts since July of 2003 and in those 6 years I made alot of friends and pissed off an equal number of others.  We had our ups and downs, and yet the forum has still survived.  I am not the same person I was 6 years ago, nor can I expect others to still be the way I last remembered them to be.  That which does not evolve tends to stagnate, and that which stagnates grows old much faster.  Sure, it would be easy to change my user name and post things like its all over and swell and peachy keen, but that would be too easy.  I am gonna remain the 85 Day Jerk and folks are just gonna have to notice the change.  Looking over my old posts, I was so dissillusioned, so out of touch, I must have come across like some kinda asshole, like them old "pops" who used to sit in the Emerald Lounge on Central Ave sipping beer and wine all afternoon until they don't realize the sun has gone down and the young ones are coming in from work and really don't have time for them.  They/We really were'nt there to listen to their "war stories" and our respect for them wore thin when they would get up and stagger to the rest rooms.  We just wanted to get our buzz on and quite frankly, we resented their presence.  I am still the same old Bob, and yet I am not.  I guess you could say I am running on a new operating system and we'll just have to see if it is any better than the old one was. :cheers:

I pumped my first $4 a gallon gas today before heading to Chattanooga to visit my dad.  Back in 1978 we had a gas crisis of sorts and gas rose I guess a whole dollar more a gallon.  I'm not sure because I was on front row.  I remember that it was around 85 cents a gallon when I went in on June 16, and by my 90th day it had gone up to about $1.79 a gallon and people were freaking out.  The clients that lived farthest away like Land 'O Lakes, Sarasota, and Tampa did not have to come in after school and the fringe clients had all sorts of priveleges.  The gas situation led to what was later to be known as the "Tampa Screw-Up."  We had unsupervised clients back on drugs and coming into group high on Saturdays.  Once it came out, we lost about 90 clients damn near overnight and it led to wonderful new inventions such as "Open Meeting Review" which was about as bad as it could get.

In the world of the here and now, I am sorry for being away for so long, but I have been pretty busy.  I got laid off from my part time job in May and have been collecting unemployment.  Being on disability, I did not take getting a new job seriously and then Social Security decided to pull the rug out from under me.  I lost my benefits due to purposely botched paperwork starting July 3rd.  This came as a total surprise to me, and right in the middle of an apartment move.
Needless to say, I had a damn relapse and about lost my fucking mind.  Thoughts of suicide surfaced for the first time since the early 90's, and I lost 15 pounds from the move and the stress.  I've been scraping by and have most of my bills for this month paid for as well as a kitchen full of food.  I feel fortunate that I was able to keep the phone/DSL the same and they even waived the reconnect fee.  Ditto with the Cleveland Utilities and they even waived the deposit and actually refunded the first deposit.  This is unheard of.  I attended church heavily out of fear and a sense of hopelessness and my faith has been made alot stronger by the whole experience.  When it comes right down to it, I have had it fairly easy for a little too long really.  This kick in the ass has really woken me up and gave me the resolve to get the hell off Disability and get back to relying on myself.  I even started a side business venture to sell way-out bumper stickers, buttons, and refrigerator magnets, but it has not taken off like I had hoped.  I just have to hang in there and keep on plugging.  Anyone interested in buying some of my stock for gifts/gags/personal use below retail price can e-mail me at [email protected] and I will send you back an e-mail with some samples along with prices and you can go from there.  My business is called Trickbrain Gift Ideas and is licensed and I have a tax number.  I will only be making 50 cents or less profit per item, so please don't think I am using this forum for personal gain.  I made a sound business decision in some unsound times and its taken a huge bite outta my ass is all.  Thanks for your support,  Bob in Tennessee.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Funny Thing About Health
« on: February 03, 2008, 02:40:36 AM »
I turned 45 recently and one morning at work, I had the damndest time trying to wake up and stay alert.  I live less than 3 miles from my job, so alot of mornings I am out of bed and in the print shop all in the space of just a half hour.  This particular Friday morning a couple of weeks ago had me kind of worried, even though I had taken some Seroquel the night before, I had slept good, got more than eight hours sack time, so there really was no reason to feel so damn tired, yet here I was nodding off while standing up.  I decided to head to the clinic and have my blood sugar level checked. 
The nurse was very informative and counseled me on my shitty bachelor diet and then drew my blood.  I registered 143.  I had a small breakfast, so it kinda threw the results.  I'll be going in Monday after a fast and after a solid week of eating better to see what sort of changes were made.

Over the years, I spent so much time making sure my head was screwed on right, that I neglected to make sure my body was doing well.  Our normal American diet is killing us.  The average person bombards themselves with complex sugars and starches and proteins everyday that the body cannot possibly digest or process properly.  This puts so much stress on the pancreas, that by the time a person reaches their mid thirties, they are what is now called Pre-Diabetic.  I honestly feel that the so called "Chronic Fatigue Syndrome" of the nineties was really just a bunch of burned out overweight yuppies skating dangerously close to becoming diabetic.  The average doctor is not there to care about you, he is there to make money off you.  As far as I am concerned, they should dress like used car salesman, because they follow the same princpals.  It aint health care, its shuck and jive, smoke and mirrors.  Now take lawn care for instance.  They pull up at the curb, unload a bunch of noisy smoke belching equipment, run around like chickens with their head cut off, yet when they are done, the lawn looks great.  It looks CARED FOR so that's why they call it Lawn Care.  So where the fuck do these goddamn doctors get off using the word CARE to describe what they do?  No matter how early you show up for your appointment, the pricks make you wait nearly 20 minutes after the scheduled time just to see you, a skanky nurse takes your vitals, which are fuckin NEVER discussed by the doctor, and for what?  I think it's just a stall tactic so the doc can check with the receptionist on why you came and then it gives him time to work up his bullshit so he can take something simple and complicate it with some worthless test proceedures and what-not.  Like last year, I go to a regular doctor because a saliva gland was infected.  He sends me to a specialist who bursts into the room like he had been smoking crack with his buddy Kramer all morning, feels the gland notices that I take lithium, himms and hawws, and tells me that it's the lithium, and if it keeps happening, he'll have to schedule surgery and have my spit glands removed.

Well folks, it turns out that the saliva gland got infected from my blowing my nose to hard.  I  blew my nose to hard because the fuckin thing had been running like a busted water main for that past 2 weeks.  The runny nose was from not properly treating an allergy to pine pollen.  I was duped along with millions of other Americans into thinking that a small 10mg pill of Loratidine (generic Claritin) would do the trick.  Come to find out that the reason they package Loratidine in 10mg strength is so they can claim that it is Non-Drowsy, nothing more, nothing less.  I was'nt getting enough of the shit to gain a foothold on the runny nose.  Once I found this out, and started taking it in a double dose, the nose cleared up just fine.  This year I did not have a repeat of the "mumps," which was simply caused by blowing to hard into a hankerchief or tissue and forcing germs into the euestacian tubes.

So you say, where is this all going?  Well, I just wanted to say that it is not just the President who lies, they all lie, and doctors are among the worst.  The bottom line is that most of us eat around 2500 calories a day, when 6 to 8 hundred calories is all we really require.  So next time you have a health problem, surf around on the internet and do some research, you'll be surprised at what you might find.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Absolve-a-lution
« on: January 10, 2008, 12:45:04 AM »
A sparce parking lot, the dawn is grey, my legs said "run" but my head says stay.

My life was finished, or so I'dd been told, can't move around freely 'cuz they got a hold.

I forgot my name, I got no reason for waking, I'm rearranging my game, see by the way I'm shaking..............

In the line of fire, you knew what to say, they gave us no choices, just one shade of grey, flapping our arms like seagulls in chains, cuz each chance to speak, leads to one step away.
Back at that hellhole, behind Tyrone Mall, we walked in darkness 'n kept hitting the walls.
I took the time to feel for a door, I had been "treated," but what the hell for?

I finally made it to home, and faced constant changes, but I'm not ready for school, no strength to shake the dangers.........

In the line of fire, you knew what to say, they gave us no choices,
just one shade of grey, I saw the posers, can't stand when they fake, yet each time your called on, is one step away........

Back at that hell hole behind Tyrone Mall, we walked in darkness, kept hitting the walls.......... I took the time to feel for a door, I found the secret, the key to it all.

If played and sung to the song "Combination" from the Aerosmith recording entitled ROCKS this makes for a kick ass anthem

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Helen Petermann Elementary School
« on: December 06, 2007, 01:18:12 AM »
This video blew my fuckin head man!  

This lady is just as twisted as Ms. Pete on her best day.  The scary thing is, this shit is probably for real.  Scary shit, I mean it's funny, but damn, what the hell is it like to be one of those kids?

Enjoy  :roll:  :rofl:

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / nope nuttin
« on: September 07, 2007, 08:41:28 PM »

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Killing Yourself to Live
« on: September 04, 2007, 12:34:24 AM »
"Killing Yourself to Live" was a song on the album Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, and I remember blasting the fuck out of I-275 on the way home from my hellhole job at St. Pete Printing Co. every afternoon as my '72 Gran Torino tore its way through traffic and I sonically vented out the frustrations bottled inside my 19 year old frame.  I had just recieved a two weeks paycheck whereas I had put in 52 hours of overtime.  To my naive horror, I discovered that the government of Ronald Reagan had saw fit to snatch over TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS of my hard earned overtime in taxes.  I vowed never again to work more than 9 hours overtime on any given week after that.  In 1981, if you were young and single, the gov't took roughly 23% of your pay in taxes.  Overtime pay was taxed at nearly 37% if you were lucky enough to work in a job that doled it out.  The Clinton years saw some reforms in how much the gov't can take out of short term pay and I hope the sort of shit my generation had to put up with never occurs again.

So in the land of the here and now, I spent a weekend with my parents who are both of retirement age, yet are still plugging along working.  My dad works for Loomis, an armored cash distributer, and at the age of 67, he pulled a few shoulder muscles last Friday afternoon because his crew got sacked with extra duty and an extra shipment of cash and coins to cover his route for the Labor Day Weekend.  We painted his newly refurbished deck Sat morning and his constant wincing, every time he ran the paint roller along the ceiling bore testament to his over-doing it at work the previous day.
In moving the furniture and grill back onto the deck, I saw how much his strength has waned over the years.  He also has to take shots to manage his diabetes and I catch myself glancing at his feet and hands at times for those tell tale signs of poor circulation.

My step mom is no spring chicken either.  What I used to pass off as just the bitchiness of a mom who's two natural sons turned out to be misfits came sorely to light this past weekend when my dad and I paid her a visit at work to purchase some school clothes for myself.  She is the Southest Tennessee Training Manager for a national outlet store, and I always thought her job was a piece of cake.  She met us all red in the face like she had been in a damn tug of war or something.  I was kind of alarmed, really because she was damn near out of breath and really stressed out.  It seems the company fucked up and sent her twice as much of a certain item and she had  to make room for it and push the product before the halloween and thanksgiving stuff arrived.  She is 65 and has all sorts of back problems.  Instead of settling down upon moving to Tennessee, my parents had to go for broke and buy a fucking 4300 square ft home when the one in Florida was a modest 1800 square ft.  They are both killing themselves to maintain a lifestyle most folks in their 40's could only dream of attaining.  While I was pissed off and envious of all they had when I first moved up here, now I am kind of shocked and horrified at the discovery that with all they have now, most times they are simply too damned tired from work to even enjoy it.
This past weekend saw a lot of revelations and made me see just how easy I have it compared to them.  I don't want to end up like they have, at the top of the mountain with no strength to walk back down.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Beth Update
« on: August 03, 2007, 04:33:10 AM »
I am taking this as a sign from God not to get too involved with her damn dogs after telling me she found homes for them.  She managed to lose her lighter and now has to take the van to the top of Mt. Pilliar and ride the brakes all the way down until they are hot enough to fire up a joint.
  Without a car, she will never realize her dream of causing a 47 car pile-up at Talledega, but there is still time to make the trials for the Iteneron Dogsled race. Trying to help placate the mentally ill on THEIR terms is like trying to sharpen a lawnmower blade while the fuckin thing is running.  It can't be done, and you are crazy for trying.  With any luck, Mom will move her back home, the fall leaves and shorter days will trigger Seasonal Depression, she'll have a good Labor Day, get into a good therapist take some meds that actually work, and by Halloween, she can come as a normal person.
I for one am sure looking forward to that.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Channel Flipping on Acid
« on: July 09, 2007, 01:45:27 AM »
...........enters a smoke filled bathroom. Two teenage boys rush over to the bank of urinals clumsily holding their schoolbooks against their sides as they relieve themselves while at the same time trying to hide the fact that they are holding their breath.  As they turn away and zip up, a tall black youth takes a joint handed to him by another, turns it backwards into his mouth, and blows marijuana smoke directly into the face of the smallest of the boys holding their breath.  The two exit the bathroom to the sounds of laughter and hand slapping.  An older dark haired teen with a cartoonish face reminiscent of Fred Flintstone is standing against the wall.  He calls the two over.  "Hey Bob, Sean, c'mere for a minute."  "Don't you know that's the "Brother's Bathroom" and they smoke reefer in between classes?"  Sean pushed his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose like he did every time he got nervous and said, "Well, Rick Humbert said to just hold your breath and put up with it, what else can you do?"  "Wait 'til you get to class and ask your teacher for a hall pass so you can use it more safely, is what you should do."  "But what if your next class is goddamn R.O.T.C.?,"  Bob asked, "Them Army guys dont play that shit with hall passes."  "Yeah Doug," Sean piped up, "Not everything is all cut and dry for us lower phasers."  "My next class is Driver's Ed, I ask for a hall pass, and I won't get a chance to drive that day."  Doug tried not to show his defeat and moved on after saying, "Well you guys just better make sure you're holding your breath is all,  cuz we're all watching you."

Once they were out of earshot, and moving down a crowded hall, Bob turned to Sean and said, "Can you believe that fuckin dick-in -the-mouth?"  "Just get a hall pass,"  "What a fucking pussy, at least I stand up to the fuckin Boogies."  "At least I piss like a man!"  Sean turned to him and pulled the top of his wool cap up to a point to resemble a DEVO HAT and said, "We are not men, we are Straightlings!" in a robotic voice.  Then with a touch of bitterness, he added, "That fuckin Doug has let 5th phase go to his head, and Rick told me that he put in for Staff Trainee."  "No shit?,"  Bob exclaimed, "God help us all.............see you at lunch man."

COMING THIS FALL..............

They were trained under the harshest conditions.
They were neither enlisted or recruited, they were simply endoctrinated secretly and illegally to fight in a war where the enemy was each other.
Their identities erased, personalities reformed to fit a twisted government agenda.
Their childhoods erased in order to justify the millions of dollars lost fighting an unwinnable battle.
These are the tales of the young soldiers who fought the most senseless war ever fought on American Soil.
The War on Drugs.

STRAIGHT, INDEED    (please check your local listings or call your cable provider for details)   - cut to commercial.........

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Fireworks: Two Different Times
« on: July 05, 2007, 07:02:08 AM »
Last year I saw the fireworks in St. Pete Florida.  In more ways than one too.  I considered myself fortunate to live downtown, just 5 blocks from the water where they blow them off.  Every year, my neighborhood would be invaded by the mongrol hordes of thrillseekers from all over Pinellas County.  They would park anywhere they could and if you left your space in the street to go somewhere, chances are you had to park damn near 7 or 8 blocks from where you lived once you got back.  The crowds were just that bad.  For myself, I had hit the bigtime.  I had a private space in a tow-away zone, lived on the second floor of a nice apartment building and had my own balcony space.  My view of the fireworks were only partly obscurred by trees and one highrise.  I sort of miss it, but one thing I do remember is that the crowds were unusually ignorant, bold, and retarded last year.  When it came time to go home, the fuckin people ran stopsigns in mass, drove blocks and blocks the wrong way up one way streets, and at one point, refused to yield to Emergency Vehicles that were trying to get back to the station for shift change.  St, Pete Police had to arrest 3 drivers in front of the wives and kids, force the cars onto peoples lawns, and then clear the streets to let the Fire Trucks through.  

As much as I miss St. Pete and all my friends, I certainly DO NOT miss living in such close proximity to out and out ASSHOLES of that magnitude.  Even though the economy in Cleveland Tennessee is reminiscent of St. Pete in the late '80's, the people are a vast improvement over the gimme gimme selfish jerks I left behind.  The 4th of July here was kind of weird.  They blew the fireworks off on Tuesday night so as not to interfere with Wednesday night church services.  Fireworks of pretty much all kinds are legal here too.  I splurged and bought a box of 4 Killer Bee mortars, 5 boxes of Big Bangers, (they'll blow off a fingernail no problem!) and a 12 pack of bottle rockets.  I'll probably still have some left when New Years rolls around.

I spent the 4th at my dad's house in Chattanooga.  He's got a nice house way up on a ridge above Lake Chickamagua.  He's 67 now, so I help him with his yardwork and his back yard is about a 35` slope that ends in a small creek.  I missed seeing him crash his riding mower through the fence last year.  He had the fence removed and that took all the fun out of watching him mow the back.
We got on the computer and I showed him this Hovercraft lawnmower thats made by Huesqvarna, and he just might try to get one.  Then in the spirit of "One Upsmanship" he actually fuckin found a website that was showing the World Premier of a freaking Robot Lawnmower, that is completely programable and automatic.
Jesus, he has enough toys as it is!  After a way cool dinner, shortly after my stepmom got home from work, we finished up watching the new Scorcese movie "The Departed."    About halfway through it, I heard something that sounded like someone walking around on the deck outside.  This really freaked me out, since the decks are 15 feet off the ground.  Both parental units were dozed off, so I got up and investigated.  It turned out to be shock waves from the fireworks going off down on the lake.  My getting up woke them, and they managed to stay awake for the rest of the movie.   It made me realize just how old we are all getting.  It makes me realize there really is'nt all that much time left, really.  I'm just glad that I managed to find the strength and resolve to forgive them for the whole Straight bullshit and everything that came with it.   Now while you may be able to pick your nose, you can never pick your relatives, so you just have to make the best of it.  Take care everybody, and if you are gonna still be blowing off firecrackers, remember to use a punk (an incense stick works best) because cigarette lighters have a bad habit of burning the whole damn fuse at once and then BAMM! Then you wind up with the nickname "Lefty."     85 DJ

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / The 50 mg. Surprise
« on: June 04, 2007, 01:26:20 AM »
I looked out the window and the sky was still smokey, then I noticed that all the trees were gone.  "What the fuck?  I know part of the Smokies to the north, and much of the Okeefenokee south of me was on fire, but what happened to the trees?"  What had been a small wooded area behind my apartment was now windblown clay and rock.  I heard some really weird music coming from upstairs.  I guess it must have been around 9 in the morning, but the smoke in the air made it hard to tell and I had no idea where the sun was in the hazy sky.  I stepped into the next room to find a clock, or my cell phone so I could find out what time it was.  I was not in my apartment.  This was getting weird now.  A slim man with long hair and a sparse beard come into the room I was in and handed me a beer.  It was Iggy Pop.  "Here ya go Pat," he said, just as a fighter jet whooshed overhead outside.  " Recon says most of the insurgents will be here in about an hour."  "That was a really cool idea you had, about giviing away free cell phones that were pre-tapped and then just listening in until they find out who the scum bags were.  "You mean this is Iraq?"  "How did I get here?"  He just smiled, and said, "Well you slept through most of the flight, but at least you made it to see your idea come to light."  "Lemme show you around."  We stepped out onto a terrace that went all around the large apartment building I found myself in.  There was a courtyard filled with dirty children and some vending machines had been pushed away from the wall to conceal a large Ack-Ack gun covered with cammo drape.  I started to notice quite a few soldiers with various weaponry.  I looked at Iggy standing there shirtless and sipping on a Rolling Rock and I lamely asked him if I could call him Jim, seeing how that was his real name.  "Sure, he said, You look pretty nervous, man, don't worry, nothing bad's gonna happen."  "What are you doing here?" I said.  "It's your fuckin dream man, I guess were here to welcome these dumb terrorist assholes back home."  With that, the sound of several vehicles parking outside and the shouts of people getting out of them filled the courtyard, then all grew silent.  Suddenly machinegun racket filled the air like the loudest punk rock concert ever played and I saw Iggy man a 7.62 with a savage grin, then all was dust.  

I looked around and got up off the floor of my bedroom, my top sheet wrapped up in my legs, making it hard to stand.  My Westclock was weakly ringing down to nothing.  It was just a dream, but damn!  It had seemed so real.  I had'nt dreamed like that in years.  It was'nt until a week later when I saw my shrink, that I realized what had happened to cause the dream.  Up until that point, I had been taking the Seroquel from St. Pete which was in .25 mg. form.  Well that stuff had run out and I took the stuff from the new bottle without realizing it was in .50mg form.  They both look the same.  It sure helps my sleep and  writing though.  Hope y'all enjoyed it.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / A Matter of Faith
« on: May 07, 2007, 04:49:45 AM »
I attended the College graduation of my neice on Saturday.  It was a real head wringer.  It seems it was'nt that long ago, that I had removed the training wheels of her bicycle and enticed her fears of failure and or getting hurt with a crisp 5 dollar bill while standing between her and her older brother holding on to their bikes while they readied themselves to ride to the end of the street, turn around and first one back grabs the money from my hand.

She was always the bold one, and she took off like a rocket, a little wobbly on the turnaround and started heading back.  Her brother had beat her to the end of the street, but decided to play it safe and ride up into the grass to make his turn, in case he fell over he would land in nice soft grass.  He was'nt counting on how bad it would slow him down and so he fell over anyway.  After yelling encouragement, he clumsily leaned the bike against a mailbox, climbed on, and started back.  I was so focused on him, that I barely felt Danielle grab the five from my hand.  Now she's married, with a B.A. degree, and still plans on taking more classes until she majors in history enough to teach it.  That really blew my mind.  She has enough confidence in herself to stick to her guns and go through with it, instead of settling for second best and taking whatever bullshit job a BA degree gets these days.

There is a downside to this post.  When I got home later that afternoon, I checked my mail.  It seems that the Tennessee branch of Social Security has deemed me completely cured of Bipolar Disorder and my benefits stop effective in June.  It was time for my 4 year evaluation, and instead of evaluating me, they are simply going to Cease my benefits because I have not climbed a water tower with a high powered rifle lately.  Welcome to Tennessee, now GO FUCK YOURSELF!  I have only been an official resident for 4 short months

There is a whole lot going through my mind these days.  I plan on seeing a lawyer, but if it looks like it will end up being a bunch of bullshit, I am simply gonna cave.  I have let a lot of really good opportunities pass me by simply because I was on disability and was afraid to lose it, but you know what?  The whole fucking time that I have been on it, has been one long lingering mind fuck.  I have had to worry that I am making too much money from week to week, yet I was far enough below the poverty level this tax year, that I got back over 500 dollars when they only took out $150 from my paychecks.

I have decided that playtime is over.  It's time to go back to full time work, or better yet, start my own business.  I am throwing off the yoke of Government red tape and will start living the way I WANT TO and start enjoying life more.  Since Feburary I have been the personal Company Monkeyboy for an East Indian immigrant who has inherited 3 gasoline stations and is not even 25 years old.  I have put up with a ton of shit because they pay attention to the limits place on my pay by Social Security and are willing to pay cash on the side for any "extra services" such as my using my pickup truck to move materials for them.  Has it been worth it?  Hell no!  I have worked every damn weekend since Valentines Day and only make 7 dollars an hour for a 24 hour week.  If I have to pay for my own prescriptions, I am still registered with the Canadian Pharmacy i St. Petersburg, so I can go back to that if need be.

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