First off, I put far more into it than I meant to. Secondly, it was way stronger than I thought it was. Thirdly, I had the worst night ever. It was fucking terrible. My bedroom was full of open coffins, all women and all pleading-some screaming-for help! They were everywhere I looked, it was like we were all floating down the river Styx-black flames exploding up the walls and screams, lots of screams. I couldn't look any of them in the eye because they all looked so desperate. Then in the corner of the room, set apart from the rest, were three mens decapitated heads rolling around on the floor moaning and groaning. I couldn't close my eyes either because then my brain had nothing to reference and things got really weird.

It got even worse though. Because I've been doing little or no exercise in the last month my conditioning has gone to shit-obviously enough. That's fine, but the problem is that when my muscle tone drops below a certain level my shoulders start dislocating really easily. Both went at various times last night as I tossed and turned, I think I eventually ended up sleeping on the right with it still hanging out. My back and shoulders feel absolutely terrible today, a mix of dehydration and being completely fucked inside out.

But the worst came this morning. AAF woke up to find me choking in my sleep, he had to turn me over and shit, I don't even remember it. I was looking in the mirror this morning and have red blood spots all over my neck-I'm a little freaked out to be honest.

This is the cost of one spliff? One fucking spliff, I'm done with this, don't even like weed that much.

When Bernie walked through the door, Helen straightaway asked him what he was doing home in the middle of the afternoon. He hemmed and hawed and came up with a nervous story about needing to retrieve some work stuff. Bernie's jiggly behavior, plus a telephone call Helen had received only minutes before, put her on a Mean-Green Betty alert. She didn't let on, though, just allowed him to think he had lied his way out of the situation. Bernie didn't know it, of course, but he was pre-sunk—that phone call had alerted Helen to the younger woman's resurrection. "Your buddy Fred called," Helen said, telling part of the truth. "Wants you to drop by the police station tomorrow first thing. Some kind of special project."

Fred, the town sheriff, was Bernie's best friend from high school. At one time Fred had also been belly-bumping close to Helen, but she had kept that fact from Bernie, it being a bit of deception she allowed herself out of concern for his feelings—or so she liked to think. Without another word, Helen went back to work on a complicated tuna fish concoction she was whipping up for supper, her mayonnaise-covered hands deep in a big yellow mixing bowl. Bernie picked up some papers and walked out the door. Helen was whistling as she worked, but she had murder on her mind. She had confessed as much to Fred earlier when he called. Helen told him straight out that either Bernie or Betty had to die, and she was at the point where it didn't matter which one. Fred laughed, of course, but he also felt a tad uneasy—not being sure if Helen was joking or what.

Monday was Helen's bowling league and her mom kept the kids, so Bernie was free to do as he pleased—within reason, of course. He went out for a ride and stopped at Jigg's Drive-In for a few beers, and it wasn't long before he got to thinking about old times. The Jigg's crowd provoked it, all them being real young these days—too young—and Bernie realized he didn't really know anyone enough except to nod and say "Hi" to. On an impulse, feeling a tad lonely, he decided to cut out and visit his old friend Chuck. That turned out to be a first rank bad idea. He and Chuck were a duo that went back to the days of running with the booze-pill-and-sex bunch that featured Betty as the main attraction. The three of them were—well, let's just say they got to be very close. Chuck is your basic small burg bachelor, a big rumpled guy with a small neat apartment over the pet shop on Main Street, and he has a small neat brain to match. He's the sort of fellow who gets along by going along, satisfied to spend his days working part-time in an auto body shop, picking up the occasional house painting job and selling a bit of weed or a handful of pills to take up any financial slack. Chuck would never intentionally harm a living soul but he's not above providing the means for folks to screw themselves over.

That evening found Chuck and Bernie in Chuck's living room, shirts off, drinking beer, toking on a fat spliff they passed back and forth, and yelling at a two week old football game Chuck had recorded on his VCR. Three minutes into the fourth quarter there came a knock on the door. Chuck opened it and Betty glided in a foot off the floor, on what appeared to be air currents. Whatever it was that she had ingested also produced an aura of sensuality that glowed off her like yellow-green neon. Bernie and Chuck could tell she was there for one purpose only, to play big-time party tag and those two hapless dolts were "It."

It being hot, the first thing Betty did was take off her blouse and bra and head for the fridge to, as she said, "cool her tits" and get a beer. Bernie somehow came to the conclusion that he was capable of resisting her charms and followed her into the kitchen. Betty was stationed in front of the open freezer door fanning cold air onto her chest with one hand and sipping from a Coors can with the other. As in times past, Bernie felt himself instantly attracted to the incredible muscle definition in her back. "Goddamn it, Betty," he said, "one of us is gonna have to leave this town."

She turned around, smiling, with one perfect breast cupped in her free hand. "Really, Bern? You mean that?"

"It's good to see you, baby—been a long, long while—but I can't afford to play them games no more."

"Your choice, hon." Betty slid past him and headed for the living room where the amiable Chuck waited in ecstatic anticipation.

Bernie stayed in the kitchen for a beat, feeling what resistance he may have had ebb from his body like brackish water from a swamp. By the time he got to the living room Betty was completely naked, astride Chuck in the classic lap dance position, him smiling over her bare shoulder like it was Christmas and he was more than willing to share this gift. Bernie watched those two go at it awhile, then shrugged. "What the hell," he thought, moving toward them, "Helen thinks she's dead."

By the end of the evening the threesome had done everything to each other they could think of, short of man-on-man, which Chuck and Bernie would have no part of even to please Betty. They were convinced, however, that they had invented several trio combinations heretofore undocumented in Chuck's extensive porn collection. Bernie had never had so much fun or felt so low at the same time—especially later, on his way home, drained dry like a corn husk left in some farmer's field during a ten year drought.

Part three of My Wife Thinks You're Dead will post tomorrow.

Three reasons why were  you're best friend when it comes to events.

1. We know you love Hip-Hop
2. We know you are hungry for something new
3. We have exactly what you were looking for

Emcees from East London will be gracing the city of Saints with sounds that will truly blow your mind...at our workshop you will learn that a true trend has begun in the South African market including the music industry and you will learn how to be a part of it.
You will be shown the secrets to start you on your journey things they don't teach you even at tertiary.
Legendary 90s emcee turned business man and record label exec Spex will show you what goes into doing your own thing.

And to top it off you will party with DJ papercuts on the decks. Killing another set.

All you have to do is show up!

So listen out on the Radio(RMR) to Spliff's show Hipocalypse for  more details

There were some points made in TDPF's original post on the IoS story about auto-titration and there was a link to the Schaffer Library of Drug Policy and a paper written by Tod H. Mikuriya, M.D. & Michael R. Aldrich, PH.D. Part of the section on auto-titration follows:

An important consideration in regard to the potency issue is auto-titration, the adjustment of dose by the individual user to obtain optimal effects and avoid unpleasant ones. As noted above, cautious titration of dose was standard practice when cannabis preparations were used in medicine. Smoking marijuana, customary in present social use of the drug, requires knowledge of when to stop in order to avoid symptoms of overdose. The smoked route gives rapid feedback to the user with regard to levels of effect because the drug goes directly to the brain from the lungs, unimpeded by the gut or the liver.

That's the background. If the media and the government believe that the increase in potency should be a factor, then what are they basing their views on? These are the questions that occurred to me when idly thinking about the issue earlier this week: Do the government and the media know what amount of cannabis is being smoked by the average stoner - are there, perhaps, records of the amount bought 'per capita' per year? Could it not be the case, taking auto-titration into consideration, that when there is an increase in potency, the average amount in grams of cannabis purchased by users might decrease and the net amount of THC consumed might actually be unchanged? If the new strains of cannabis are stronger, are they also more expensive than previous strains and wouldn't this impact on the amount of cannabis that smokers could afford to purchase? Do the government and the media know what methods of use are being employed by today's smokers in comparison to the cannabis users of, say ten or fifteen years ago? Are they smoking more spliffs and fewer bongs? Is there, for example, a difference in how high users get after smoking a bong in comparison to smoking a spliff? I haven't heard these points being discussed by politicians, nor do I recall any debate in the IoS articles 'Cannabis: an Apology' and 'Cannabis: a Retraction'. Here and here. And it doesn't matter if the ACMD debates these points, because the government don't listen to the ACMD. Which has been covered here on Drugscope.

Going off on a bit of a tangent for a para or three: I think there's some pretty interesting stuff in this pdf - 'An Econometric Model of Cannabis Consumption by Young People in Britain' - "In Britain, the National Criminal Intelligence Service (NCIS) is the only source of time-series price information with anything like official status. NCIS records street prices and produces (unpublished) regular summaries for a sample of cities. NCIS price data is hard to use because it is presented in the form of price ranges whose interpretation is unclear." and "in Cardiff the price was apparently £86 per ounce exactly in 1994 but £100-120 in 1995 and £100-140 in 1997. The pattern of year-to-year and between-city variation appears too dramatic to be entirely believable" are a couple of interesting snippets.

So the first thing we see is that the form in which the information is presented makes it difficult to use/interpret - it's difficult to see how the government and media would be able to have considered the possible impact increasing price might have on use if the data is deemed by an economist to be 'hard to use'. Politicians and the media often seem to have trouble understanding data and scientific evidence and I'm not convinced they would be best placed to make judgements on hard-to-use data. Google 'Nadine Dorries' if you want evidence that politicians have a hard time with evidence. Perhaps if the government had an expert committe on the misuse of drugs, made up of experts in various fields, then they could ask their opinion. Oh.

The second quote seemed to show an increase in average price which was considered by the author Stephen Pudney to be too dramatic to be entirely believable. Presumably local prices would be affected by a multitude of local factors [possibly including: how many local dealers had been busted, how many shipments had been discovered before reaching the area, what the fashionable drugs were among the locals at that particular time] as well as national and international factors [could the increased security at ports and airports following 9/11 have deterred importers of resin & imported grass and possibly led to an increase in local cannabis farms? Was there a particularly good or bad growing season in a country that had keen cannabis exporters linked to a particular port?]. Other factors may include: the potency of the cannabis available.

I don't think that politicians or the media are particularly well-informed about drugs and it seems that in some instances there is no available data - or the data is hard to use. How can the media publish stories on cannabis use and the dangers of super skunk when they don't know the facts about the dangers and patterns of use of cannabis, and how can the government ignore its own expert committee when not only are they unable to make an informed decision on the matter but (in my view) are led in their opinions by the media?

"Mike Edison, former publisher of High Times magazine and author of the new I Have Fun Everywhere I Go: Savage Tales of Pot, Porn, Punk Rock, Pro Wrestling, Talking Apes, Evil Bosses, Dirty Blues, American Heroes, and the Most Notorious Magazines in the World, demonstrates the ChroniCaster. The ChroniCaster made its debut in the High Times movie in the hands of Tommy Chong."

Haha!!! Thanks to Boing Boing for the story!!!

Now the ruling is quite extensive so it's available on it's own page on this blog. Just look to the right and click on 'ZUBZ RULING'.

Spliff interviewed Zubz a couple of weeks ago about the complaint that was laid by the Freedom Front (FF+). This is what he had to say:
Zubz interview (PLEASE NOTE: When dowloading this audio clip, right click on the link and save it. You will need to change it from a jpg file to a mp3 file.)

Africasgateway.com reported this on the lastest developments:
Rapper Zubz has publicly apologised for causing offence with his racist lyrics, but he doesn’t regret writing the song, which was labelled “hate speech”.

“Understand I’m gonna get this panga to your neck / Take what is mine today and I’ll rob you tomorrow / Take my time it’s payback / Tell my people [to] fight / And tell the oppressor get out,” he raps on his video, which was flighted by the SABC.

His apology follows a Broadcasting Complaints Commission ban on the song and his music video.

The ruling came after the Freedom Front Plus laid a complaint with the BCCSA.

The party claimed that the Zimbabwean-born rapper’s song amounted to hate speech.

The BCCSA said this week that the song threatens violence, and advised that it be banned from being broadcast on radio or television.

In response, Zubz said: “I want to apologise to everyone who was offended by the song. I did not in any way mean to hurt anybody. I don’t regret making the song though, and I know which message I wanted to spread. Our nation is so culturally sensitive and that has taught me to be sensitive.”

Pieter Mulder of the Freedom Front Plus was happy with the outcome: “This is reverse racism and there is no doubt in my mind about that. I am happy that this kind of hate speech can be taken off our televisions.”

The BCCSA tribunal judgment stated: “Its dominant effect is that of militancy and violent threats.”

While the song can now no longer be broadcast, the commercial distribution of the DVD, or other recordings of the song, are not limited by the order

EX a local Grahamstown hip Hop activist and organiser did a nice job of hosting 2 Crews from East London and 1 from PE and the Bionic Breakers in Battle. It was a spectacle to watch only matched by the performance done by the Bionic Breakers at Creepa’s Memorial ‘a local MC who died on Good Friday’.

The local B-boys were so dope the veteran DJ Kamma was on Fire. It was one of those things you had to see for yourself.

The Spliff! There are a lot of great talented artists! Rappers! Singers! Poets! Good Vibes! Check it out! The First FRIDAY of every MONTH!

@ Rehab Music Store

Pico Blvd and Cotner Ave (west of Sepulveda and Pico)

Culver City, Cali!

Tände en liten när jag vaknade (tolvtiden ungefär) och insöp sköneheten av Svearike i vårtid. Drog bara halva och fixade mat, gick ut med hunden etc. sen drog jag resten. Bängheten var total, på ett trevligt och underbart sätt. Jag fixa rlite med disken och sätter mig framför TV'n. Upplevelsen är "far out, man"!

Finer ett program om et gäng som mekar med bilar och snöar in totalt. Jävla trevligt program.
DÅ. Då kommer morsan hem. Jag kollar på klockan och känner efter i huvet. Fan, det där var ju inte 4 timmar i alla fall, jag är fortfarande bäng!

Jag går ut och tänder en cigg och morsan kommer med kebabsalad( eftersom jag vart "sjuk";-) )
Under måltiden får mormin för sig att det här är ett utmärkt tillfälle att snacka droger. Hon har läst i METRO att lustgas är ungarnas nya partydrog. Fuck, nu är jag körd. Efter min OD på DXM och mitt, något överdrivna, intag av såväl Zopiklon som Oxascand så vet jag ju att hon inte litar på mig. Dessutom har jag en hel kasse med använda lustgaspatroner i min knarkarkvart.
Hon hade tydligen sett mig mecka en spliff kvällen innan, men jag förklarade för hene att jag bara hade rostat tobak för jag var så dålig i magen.
Vi duskuterar en stund och efter att ha övertygat henne att efter det som hände när ja tog DXM och hamnade på sjukhus skulle jag aldrig få för mig att knarka igen. För deras skull. Jag vill inte att de ska råka illa ut så att säga.

Problemet nu var att jag har säkert en tvåa kvar! Vad ska jag göra med den?! Jag vet ju at morssan kommer söka igenom hela stugan och skogen, så var fan ska jag gömma skiten. Dilemmat är solklart. Röka upp skiten idag och slippa oroa mig för att hon ska hitta det i morgon, eller spara det i skogen och slippa riskera att hon hittar mig bäng idag. Men kanske hittar skiten i morgon?
Jag lägger upp en plan. En foolproof plan.
Jag väntar tills alla sover och meckar två fetingar. meckar ner allt jag har kvar i två spliffar. Meckar den ena först, röker den, går in. Meckar den andra sen, röker den, går in.
Kvällen klarar sig lugnt. Svinbäng tittade jag på min nya Favoritfilm Mirror Mask ( Recension komer senare) och kvällen gick som sagt bra.

Problemet nu är att det här var riktigt superröka. Jag ville inte ta slut på det! jag hade tänkt spara iaf hälften till Peace&Love! Men icke sa Nicke. så blev det inte. Nu måste jag oroa mig för att köpa mer, och då ska det fan va bra skit med...

Ich bin jetzt raus, jetzt steh ich hier,
das Wasser riecht nach Gift
'n toter Vogel kommt vorbei und stirbt -
der Kellner spielt Klavier.
Wir sind die letzten von hundertzehn -
wir warten bis die Zeit vergeht.

Tausend Tage und Nächte auf See,
das Land kommt nie zurück.
'ne Menge Mädchen war'n dabei und lachen,
viel zu schön um zu gehn.
Wir war'n so hungrig, wir war'n so kalt,
wir wollten nie zurück,
und jetzt treiben wir uns rum auf dem toten Schiff
und warten bis die Zeit vergeht.

Déjà Vu - Déjà Vu - Déjà Vu

Der Rote Hugo hängt tot am Seil,
die Leiche stinkt nach Shit.
Wie'n weisser Engel, schön wie Schnee hängt er da
- eh,du tust dir noch weh!
War'n wilder Kerl mit feuchtem Blick,
doch der kommt nie zurück.
So schreib' dein Leben auf ein Stück Papier
und warte bis die Zeit vergeht.

Prägende Kindheitserinnerung: Déja Vu von Spliff. Ich hatte null Peilung, was der Text bedeuten sollte. Geisterschiff, Roter Hugo, Shit, weiß wie Schnee. Mhh. War aber auch total egal. Ich mochte das Lied einfach. Es krachte so schön und hatte außerdem was angenehm Mysteriös-Melancholisches. Mitternegger am Schlagzeug war für mich ein Held. Ich wollte auch Schlagzeug spielen, durfte aber nicht.

Aus derselben Zeit stammt (Komm, wir lassen uns) Erschießen von IDEAL.

Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
an der Mauer Hand in Hand.
Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
mit dem Kopf an der Wand.
Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
Sonntag morgens 5 vor 10.
Ich kann den Sonntag nicht ertragen,
und ich will keinen Montag sehn.

Langeweile killt nur langsam,
du wirst sehn, es tut uns gut,
mir ist heute so gewaltsam,
mir ist nach Schüssen heut zumut.

Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
zwei Schüsse mitten ins Gehirn.
Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
ich hab nichts zu verlier´n.
Komm, wir lassen uns erschießen,
Sonntag morgens 5 vor 10.
Ich kann den Sonntag nicht ertragen,
und ich will keinen Montag sehn.

Langeweile killt nur langsam,
du wirst sehn, es tut uns gut,
mir ist heute so gewaltsam,
mir ist nach Schüssen heut zumut.

Nach Schüssen, nach Schüssen...

Auch da war es mit meinen phi mal Daumen zehn Lenzen weniger der Text, der mich rockte. Meine ältere Teenagerschwester hatte Erschießen eine Zeit lang zu ihrem persönlichen Protestsong gegen alles Erwachsene erklärt. Ihr sagte der Text ganz offensichtlich schon deutlich mehr. Mir heute auch. apropos Schwestern: Erstaunlich, dass diese der beiden Humpes heutzutage jetzt so gequirlte Nabelschaukacke wie Ich + Ich fabriziert.

Euer Favorit? Déja Vu oder Erschießen? Vote!

Welcome heads everywhere to the Hiphocalypse. Your Boy Spliff brings you only the dopest hip hop each week on Rhodes Music Radio (RMR) 89.7fm every Thursday 22:00 - 00:00.

Find out what happened on the show, comment on issues and give your thoughts about the show right here. Be a part of the freshest 8 year old hip hop movement.

It's your space, step up, own it!

Nuf_Said!

The other day I had the displeasure of overhearing a 7 year old boy and his mother talking.

"Momma, why is Mary Jane a criminal? She seems like a nice gal- always having fun and so sweet. She certainly knows how to have good times! Never killed anybody. How could anybody not like her?"

"Well son, Some claim that Mary Jane is a gateway girl and that it is in your best interest to have the government intervene in your personal choices so that you do not go down the path of associating yourself with Mary Jane's more promiscuous and STD infected friends. Basically because your a little dumbass, and since when the fuck did you start smoking pot?"

You see this doesn't work because the reason it is a gateway drug is because it's illegal. There is no distinction between it and harder drugs, at least not by the government. Which leads poor Johnny into feeling guilty, and figures he might aswell dabble in some of Mary Jane's fatter, more dangerous, friends. After all, he's already in jail for it. The fact is the other drugs are not Mary Jane's friends, but rather her enemies, and none is this more clear as when your stoned to the bone. This is all assuming you want the government making these personal choices for you. If I'm not going to smoke pot it won't be because the Government tells me to. It will be my choice, I think we free men will all agree. Therefore, having the law wont have any effect on how many smoke weed.

The greatest service which can be rendered any country is to add a useful plant to its culture.
Thomas Jefferson

The prestige of government has undoubtedly been lowered considerably by any prohibition law. For nothing is more destructive of respect for the government and the law of the land than passing laws which cannot be enforced. It is an open secret that the dangerous increase of crime in this country is closely connected with this.
Albert Einstein

Make the most of the hemp seed, sow it everywhere.
George Washington

What's that? You suddenly think planting marijuana is American?

In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot.
Mark Twain

Some quotes from Harry J. Anslinger, who pretty much convinced Congress to outlaw marijuana and without whom it would still probably be legal:

“There are 100,000 total marijuana smokers in the US, and most are Negroes, Hispanics, Filipinos, and entertainers. Their Satanic music, jazz, and swing, result from marijuana use. This marijuana causes white women to seek sexual relations with Negroes, entertainers, and any others.”

“...the primary reason to outlaw marijuana is its effect on the degenerate races.”

“Marijuana is an addictive drug which produces in its users insanity, criminality, and death.”

“Reefer makes darkies think they're as good as white men.”

“Marijuana leads to pacifism and communist brainwashing.” (so they become pacifist murderers?)

“You smoke a joint and you're likely to kill your brother.”

“Marijuana is the most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind.”

“Marijuana makes fiends of boys in thirty days – Hashish goads users to bloodlust.”

Rascist law.

Okay so you stupid mother fuckers still can't see why Marijuana should be legal. AFTER GEORGE WASHINGTON HIMSELF made it known he thought it should be planted everywhere, and openly "preferred a pipe with cannabis anyday over drink." The founder of this country. The founder of the closest country to freedom. FREEDOM. Okay, I know a quote that should change all you remaining idiots mind.

"I enjoy smoking cannabis and see no harm in it".

Jennifer Aniston

R WILLIAMS: http://strainreview.com/

Contact Debra Bell at debra@talkingaboutcannabis.com and let her know what you think (you are unlikely to receive a reply, Debra doesn't do debate).

Even better write to one of the charities supporting her, please keep letters polite and to the point if possible.

Addaction's press office can be contacted at
c.mcneil@addaction.org.uk

SANE can be contacted at sanemail@sane.org.uk or join their forum here

Kids Company press office can be reached at anna@kidsco.org.uk

TAC have 4 MPs on their list of supporters (all tories natch)

They can be contacted at:

Christopher Chope MP
office@christchurchconservatives.com
Telephone: 01202 474949

Graham Brady MP Altrincham and Sale West Constituency Office Thatcher House Green Lane Timperley Altrincham WA15 8QW office@altsaletory.demon.co.uk

Tim Loughton MP East Worthing Constituency
01903 235168
http://www.timloughton.com/gettingintouch/email.htm

Edward Garniere Harborough constituency
garniere@parliament.uk 01858 464146

Many thanks, this organisation has the ear of government and this could represent a huge step backwards in the battle for a more tolerant drug policy, please help if you can.

And come and make friends at myspace

i produce a single cigarette from my coat pocket. a camel light. but no ordinary camel light. it had been tampered with, tainted, filled with the devil weed. the tip was crumpled, but otherwise, it was perfectly in tact. i put the filter to my lips, exhaled deeply, sparked the lighter, put the flame to the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. i inhale with my diaphragm, not my lungs. i feel my lungs expand low in my abdomen, and hold. the smoke does not burn, but instead, soothes and relaxes. i feel no need to cough. my tongue is pressed lightly to the roof of my mouth. i can taste the blend of green and brown plants, ignited by flame and turned to ash and smoke, in my saliva. i do, i admit, feel like spitting. but at this exact moment, spitting is out of the question. my sole purpose on this planet for the next 2 minutes is to cling desperately to that smoke.

i exhale. before breathing in some smooth, clean, fresh air, i take another deep drag from the cigarette.

suddenly, the dark night became bright. my surroundings become increasingly vivid in the light of the street lamps. i become excitedly aware of my hands, arms and legs, and begin to shift position. i can't tell if my heart is speeding up or slowing down, but it feels like it must be doing something different.

i exhale. i watch the smoke as the wind catches it and wisps it away into nothingness. i take a more casual drag. i am no longer in a rush. the delicate and precious smoke of the tip of this cigarette was now nonexistent. the high was all that remained.

Hosted by: Spliff (aka The Future aka Your Momma Warned You) and Gugs

This illustration is available for purchase as a print, on tee shirts, and as a greeting card at my cafe press shop, Thirsty Cavern.  Go shopping!!

Just a normal day to start with, got up late, had a spliff and relaxed on the sofa. It'd been a long hard summer at work, couldn't wait to finish the next week, then holidays until Christmas.

In the evening walked down to the restaurant where I worked, for dinner: a nice fat bloody T- bone steak with chips and a pint. Steak was gorgeous !! Afterwards a cuppa tea and a Drambuie to keep out the cold.

Came home and watched the TV with a pint of Irish cider. Being hallow'een all sorts of stuff about vampires and blood and things were on. Thought wouldn't it be nice to meet a gorgeous redhead vampiress in the mood for some blood !

Bit later started to feel a slight pain in the back of my leg. Didn't think much of it, being a waiter my legs are always aching.

The next day the pain in my leg started getting worse and worse, til the end of the night it was really quite painful. I must have pulled a muscle, I thought, and took an Ibuprofen. Little did I know I had developed a life threatening condition and should have gone to hospital !

The day after was the last day of work til Christmas, 40+ Norwegians had booked for their bowling (petanca) club. My leg was incredibly painful, it felt like it was going to explode when I put my weight on it. I had another Ibuprofen and a very hot shower, and put a firm bandage round it. That seemed to do the trick. Went to work and came back no problem.

Le roi des bas-fonds. Le niveau zéro de l'Humanité, une coche en-dessous de l'amibe.

1. Driving and a drunk guy smashes into you
2. Going to the wrong place at the wrong time
3. Too much coffee (coffee is mildly carcinogenic)
4. Committing suicide (you never know when you might feel the urge)
5. Sex
6. A disgruntled boyfriend or girlfriend
7. Choking on roast beef
8. Sunstroke
9. A meteorite

Worried about brain cells and activity? alcohol does waaay more damage, once again i digress. Back to my survey:

According to my "study" when you smoke weed your feel very uninhibited, like you could do anything. The effect takes roughly 15 minutes, depending on the individual, your vision becomes somewhat blurry but good, and you feel disoriented. when you get up to walk you know you are moving but you're not feeling it; its like walking on air.

Now the high effect is action-dependent, that means what you are doing at the point of highness will determine what happens next. So if youre with someone who is interested in sex then you are gonna phuck down the place, if you're alone most likely you're gonna wanna sleep.

You also have the laughers and the starers. The laughers when high will laugh at anything and everything, someone could have just died, they're gonna laugh. The starers are the ones who just look out in space all silent and absolutely content with what they are doing. Remember the whole disoriented part, well if you start talking you gonna think that you talking all sense, but to the listener its all crap (no I'm not high why i love to write crap).

For beginners: don't start big, I've seen it happen. they take huge puffs and because the feeling is new to them they think something is wrong. they start hyperventilating the heart races and they think they're dying. they end up in the hospital (its rather funny), trying to explain to the doctor what happened.

The best way to go is the cake...Hmm the weed cake, minus the dangers of smoking its perfect. You eat a piece (a very small piece) and wait half an hour, it takes a bit longer to kick in than smoking but the effect is just as good, some would argue that it's even better.

oh and if you don't feel anything after an hour of smoking you not doing it right.

Remember smoking kills.

I need to focus on this. Calm, calm.

Yesterday afternoon I jumped on the black bitch and shot over to my folks. Father’s day and all that, grasping an offensive card (I like to deface cards designed for other purposes, it has the potential for both hilarity and offence, a winning combo) and one of those things that can inform you if the wall you’re about to drill into is criss-crossed with pipework and high voltage cables, I arrived mid way through the grand prix. I’d seen the start and managed to time my journey between pit stops, due to some creative biking.

My bro arrived along with my getting-heavily-pregnant sister with my brother in law and we all watched the end of the race together in between distasteful remarks about pedometers and the size of my sister’s remarkably massive tits. I may have mentioned before that I am lucky to have the family I do, nonetheless I still managed to make it home in time for most of Big Brothers On the Couch and BB itself, which I’ve politely reviewed in Watch With Mothers, link right. I ate, wrote (didn’t drink)
and went to bed, wishing that my dad hadn’t told me how he and my 100 year old grandfather drank more than 2 bottles (plus ‘a few’ G&T’s) every night when my parents went up to visit him last week. Mum had a couple of Sherries.

On Friday night I hopped on the tube and met James and Harry in a much-visited boozer in Coven Garden. The pub itself is very old but the décor is very unremarkable and doesn’t give any indication of its age, unless one is really looking. The most important thing is that the beer is well conditioned and absurdly cheap for London. You get change from a fiver with two pints. We three chatted about our recent comings and goings until joined by a mutual friend who’s just come back from Iraq following a tour of duty. Being a Captain his role was pretty much confined to a desk, but I learnt much more about the day to day realities of the region than I glean from the press. The Captain knows of my views on Iraq, indeed, most peoples views on the matter, but it didn’t (and shouldn’t) result in my condemnation of him a person. He’s a very brave chap; in fact he’s a bloody good bloke and takes time to explain things to me even when he can see my lefty liberal persona floundering in his face. He’s one more tour of duty and then he’s out for good. What he intends to do for his swansong (and I mean that in the proverbial sense, I really do) is remarkably dangerous, extremely courageous and not for here.

It was a splendid eye popping evening, James and I were suitably drunk when we got on the last tube and like twats we agreed to go back to mine for a smoke and a couple of cans. After much grindcore James left to the backing of the fucking birds at 5-ish or so.

At midday I was up, because I’d not been mixing my drinks I didn’t feel too bad, I’m sure this lack of the debilitating hangover has something to do with not boozing as much? Maybe? I don’t know. Either way I made it to the shops, I’d actually decided not to go but needed to pick up some more beer and breakfast things for the following day.
A few months ago my old mate from Leeds, Chaz had decided that we should see Motorhead at the Royal Festival Hall; he was going to come down and stay the weekend and I’d lay on the hospitality. Sadly this wasn’t meant to be a following a load of confusion on my part, stemming from a forgotten birthday on his, I ended up with 3 tickets, one for Myfwt, one for Jim, and one for me.

Myfwt arrived at 5, all teeth and tits looking stunning, we met Jim in the local boozer at 6-ish and began drinking. Myfwt reverted straight back to type, on the lager, matching me and Jim pint for pint and after a few we caught the tube and arrived at The Royal Festival in between the support act, Selfish Cunt, and The MH.

It was very odd crowd, largely the audience were 40 plus, some quite clearly well to do types with nervous looking spouses, even the usual MH fans were of an age and the subsequent atmosphere really was that of The Royal Festival Hall, coupled with a bit of grease. Badly Drawn Boy passed me in the lobby looking somewhat apprehensive. I was going to say something but decided against it after becoming distracted by his tea cosy headwear, it wouldn’t have been good for him. We managed to squeeze a couple more in before taking our seats (yes, seats) that were shown to us by an old fashioned usher with a torch and all that caper.

Motorhead seemed as weirded out by the situation as the majority of the crowd, they played a sterling set, despite a few tunes I’d not heard, but the whole scenario was so peculiar it was hard to get into the stride of the gig. I refused to sit down, as did some of the other patrons but even seeing seated a handful of the MH audience, nodding their bald heads against the green velvet upholstery, was alienating. Nonetheless, all was cured by a paint stripping rendition of Iron Fist which blew my teeth out. After the gig came to a close, finding its cowboy boot clad feet in the process, we popped to the upper balcony for some more beers. It was lovely up there, a perfect balmy evening over the Thames, people milled below, twinkling boats drifted past, the entire view loaded with landmarks and pretty lights… I went so far to verbally cherishing the moments, which was met with stifled drunken giggles from my two charming companions.

We got back in time to indulge in a couple more beers on the way to the Lebanese Café for some Shwarma. Myfwt tits to my utter amazement had a chicken one which to her genuine surprise she loved. On the way back to the flat someone bought a load of chocolate, no idea why, and we all arrived back pissed up and full of good cheer.

Sunday morning I made breakfast and Jim departed leaving Myfwt and I in the company of Badly Drawn Boy sardonically discussing Motorheads gig on some sofa based TV show and Hot Fuzz. The latter was fucking brilliant, as with Sean of the Dead I was genuinely jealous to have not been involved. The former was just embarrassing. Myfwt left after lunch and I joined Lara for some more gymnastics and puzzles.

Christ, the flirting couple at work are virtually engaging in oral, it’s stomach churning stuff and is preventing me from focussing on the task in hand, I need to have a cigarette immediately before I say something so inappropriate one of us will cry. I fucking hate Monday.

I've lost my dark glasses too.

This is the band we missed, shit, I fucked up here