Soviet history includes the story of Lithuania around the time of World War II. Up to a third of the population died and had to be eaten by the other people. History is worth learning. We don't want to have any accidents here, and we have learned ways to avoid them. A lot of people feel the problem is things like national healthcare systems and decent public education. Russia has never been known for their healthcare.
When you cut corners and save a bit of money on property taxes, your property value will plummet. At the bottom of that hole, you are likely to be eaten. Almost a quarter of a million people died in the war in Afghanistan, altogether. More people than that already die on the streets of America every year.
Ask not what my problem is, bro. You're bad hotdogs waiting to happen. It sickens me.
I am a marijuana addict. If any drug should be legal, it should be marijuana. I just can't personally handle anything, and that's a separate issue. I'm also a tobacco addict. I just can't help myself. I'm also a caffeine addict.
Opiate overdoses in the US account for more American deaths per year than in the entire 20-year-long war in Afghanistan. Opiate pills are still cranked out by companies, made from poppies harvested in Afghanistan. The dealers at the bottom end up in prison. Plenty of jobs are available as prison guards and soldiers, why would anyone ever be a drug dealer?
My marijuana dealers and I might have conceivably ended up side by side in treatment. We're all still friends, no one gets angry about marijuana. It's a good drug to be legal if any drug is.
The leading cause of death in the US, however, is still heart disease. I will never end up in treatment alongside someone at the bottom who sells me tobacco or fast food, will I?
Mass shooters account for only a few hundred deaths in the US per year. I would appreciate if you all stop looking at me sideways. What's the issue here? You never encountered an honest white person before? I'm never going to be a mass shooter. I just always choose to throw down with the suffering underdog. Don't read my blog, go read Camus and the Soviet history of Cannibal island.
Don't make me come eat your candied ass and leave you alive to learn the lesson.
America is tanking. The national debt is still going up and up in an economy based on selling mostly bullshit to each other and buying things of arguable worth from other countries, measured in US dollars backed mostly by the greatest military the world has ever seen, which has a policy of training unfortunate poor people then leaving them homeless. There were far more deaths on the streets of America in the past year than the entire Afghanistan War combined. One of the objectives of the War in Afghanistan was to protect opium poppy harvesting rights for American Pharmaceutical manufacturers. Kids who don't serve in the military are often on one drug they don't need yet or another, watching TV shows that glorify crime and often depict human death at five minute intervals. The entire country has rallied to chase unusual people around on suspicion of all sorts of things. Mass shooters account for a few hundred American deaths per year, out of a population nearing 400 million. Tobacco is the legal drug, keeping poor people poor and sick but not affecting their ability to work as much as opiates, while heart disease continues to be the leading cause of death in America.
This isn't the time to give up hope. When this town floods, everyone gets together to pitch in, placing sandbags to keep the water at bay. America is flooding now. Almost all of us should be doing something radically different than we have always done. The people who are already at the very bottom mostly don't care if it all collapses. A few of them are crazy enough to keep trying to place cards in the collapsing structure, a few others are crazy enough to be lighting the cards on fire. Mostly, no one cares enough to be changing what they've always done, from those at the very bottom, to those at the very top.
We have no control over the past, it has already happened. We have no control over the future. In every moment we have only what's in front of us to do. It is past time for all of us to stop doing the same stupid things over and over, and do a lot more to help the current situation.
I'm not going to lie to you America, at this point fixing things will require a lot of thought and cooperation.
Who My Shadow Is
I had a dream recently that I kept waking up from, like the movie "Inception." I woke up in a cot right in the gas station, right in the aisles. They shook me awake, saying, "we're closing now, you gotta go home." The gas station was more like my home. A witch's haunted gas station. I woke up there several times, out of each nested dream. Finally I was getting home, walking up to the door. As I walked through my yard, I startled a deer. It jumped up and ran a few feet, then jumped into a strange military aircraft. The strange trained military deer jumped into a strange attack helicopter with a body bag for a cockpit. I startled it so badly that it flew away in a top secret military aircraft for deer.
I woke up to the reality I live, day in, day out. I was hurt horribly by psychiatry in this area. We only have one psychiatrist. People I know who go to him sometimes say things like, "yeah, I like him a lot. He seems like he's a criminal like I am who really understands." He prescribed me Abilify, which I was on for most of my adult life. I didn't need medication, I never did. I still don't. I need real love, the type that cannot be found. I would join a monastery but I don't trust any of us not to fail me at this point. I told the doctor early on, "this medication makes me more anxious, it turns me into a nervous wreck. There will never be a benefit to taking it unless I do enough weird drugs to be so crazy I need it." He replied, "no, this medication can't make anxiety worse. It will protect your brain from the harmful marijuana." I said, "I don't believe marijuana causes brain damage. It's the other drugs potheads inevitably end up taking," like I did. We went back and forth about it until my mother fired him. One day he was so frustrated in session that he threw a pen. Then I went to the therapy mill, I was on abilify for most of my adult life. I screwed up a lot by feeling strongly that I was doing anything wrong by smoking weed, and that I was doing anything right by taking Abilify.
If I live on his taxes forever I am not in the wrong for it. America is tanking, though. The bourgeoisie is going down. That's me, too. I would be homeless otherwise and I would get no treatment to speak of, until I died young.
"I don't care if your world is ending today, because I wasn't invited to it anyway." - Marilyn Manson
You are rats, jumping from a sinking, burning ship, clawing at each other to survive. There will be a war. Let this system that failed so many of us burn. It will be bad for me, too, but if I stand alongside wickedness, even if it's in my own best interest, no one will be able to tell me apart. We could all move quickly, like I am, to salvage America. America is a good system. There are a lot of good things that should be salvaged, and good ways it could be done. Otherwise, let it all burn. This system has failed far too many of us.
Captain Reynolds just needed a drink. He just needed one drink. The world had been going to shit for too long, and now it was just a pile of crap with houseplants growing in it despite the most parched odds. Captain Skippy had been due to report back for over a week. The situation in the Middle East had reached a head when a creepy Muad'Dib character over there had risen from the ashes of everything Holy and started making horrific demands. The situation was rapidly snowballing into one deadly avalanche. Far too many people were following the crazy asshat now. Far too many people. Reynolds couldn't drink now. There was too much at stake. It had become too much of an issue. He was supposed to be on vacation going skiing, too. --- PFC JJ Sanders had never wanted to do anything, per se. He had always wanted to be the happy husband of a happy wife. He stood a little under five feet tall, but he had always packed a wallop. He was a lover, not a fighter. He had done his time and been honorably discharged twice basically, happy to go. It was nice to feel that he had made it through nothing much, to a happier life with enough of a pension and a good job, a bit more attractive, a bit more seasoned. He always explained to people that he had made it out of it all with flying colors, ranking on par with dirt, not lower than it. He had fallen right into the perfect job as a ski lift operator, selling weed to beautiful snow bunnies on the side. Life couldn't be better. Sanders' sergeant had gone insane. He had also been honorably discharged, a little before Sanders. It had been one of the defining factors in his choice. Sanders had always missed the sergeant after he left, and he had pulled as many strings as he possibly could to go home too. He knew a lot of what had happened to the sergeant, and a lot of it seemed to add up. JJ had been horsing around when the sergeant had been toting a shell one day well in excess of his own weight and dropped the fucking thing right on its tip, right on the detonator. The sergeant had screamed and literally crapped his pants, but the shell didn't go off. The sergeant had almost hit PFC Sanders, and he was known to be able to throw a punch that would kill an Elephant. Sarge had broken down in tears, sobbing on JJ's shoulder. He left for a while to get to the bottom of what had happened. When he got back he explained the whole thing to JJ, but he was clearly driven insane forever after that. The last thing Sarge had said to JJ was, "the rifling arms the sons of bitches. There's somethin' hinky about Skippy." JJ knew Sarge had grown up homeless, been honorably discharged once before, and been homeless again after that. He loved that man. It was disturbing to see. --- JJ's twin brother Spec. Sanders, another Specialist, and Sarge had been detailed to a strange task. Big bro never should have even told JJ, right? How do you explain a wound like that, though? The three of them had been detailed to guard a vast field of opium poppies. It stretched on beyond the horizon. It was a strange mission. Sarge was spooked. The other Specialist was shaking like an electric dildo on high. Sanders didn't grasp what he wasn't getting. Sarge was being too careful, he thought, and it didn't make a single bit of sense. Sanders took one round through the upper right part of his chest on that mission, but all three of them lived. Sarge is at the end. The other specialist went home to just do heroin forever, until the day both his wife and mom died. --- Reynolds was done with this shit, but he wasn't going to drink. Not a drop. He was going to take Skippy's plane and clean up the mess. He marched up the nose of the fuselage of the ancient bomber, pulled out his sidearm, and put two bullets in the place the man had insisted that a fake nickname be painted. "Damned". --- JJ had enlisted a second time. He needed to see Sarge again. He told no one, but he figured he had it all figured out. They had lied to him that he wouldn't be sent overseas again, but he had enough strings to pull to get stationed at Mardi Gras. JJ knew what he was doing. When he saw Captain Skippy again though, his blood ran cold. He tried not to stare. He knew his life depended on not staring. It was great until the hurricane was coming in. Everyone panicked. The troops stayed to keep things orderly while panicking. Civilians disorganized rapidly. It was chaos. Someone was firing on them, right before the hurricane hit. A civilian took out the guardsman next to JJ with one shot to the head from what looked like an ancient bolt-action, then froze in shock. JJ went to take him out, but his commanding officer stopped both him and the dude to his left and screamed to leave the man. Leave the poor fucker alive. The dude to the officer's left was going berserk. He stood up to deliver spent uranium into the open mouth of the civilian standing there anyway but was gunned down first by another one. Skippy was late to get them support. He rushed them all to a warehouse where they would be safe. JJ was the first to figure it out. There were glowsticks everywhere and all the different drugs anyone could have ever wanted laid out like a buffet. They had been left there to die. Most of them were tripping too hard on something to operate their fingers, much less any machinery, as they stumbled down the nearly-empty streets of New Orleans right as the Hurricane hit. JJ survived it, and he just changed his name after that. --- Reynolds was in the air with one poor sap on one gun in the shitty old bomber. It moved painfully slowly at the best of times. He didn't have to fly all that far, but he was done. He was going to nuke the entire fucking city. Skippy had to be stopped. Sarge was down there, Reynolds knew it. He felt sick, but at least he wasn't drinking. Two jet fighters approached rapidly, adding to the radio chatter screaming at him to come down. This was it. The gunner was so reluctant to fire that when he finally did it only gave away which position he manned. The plane was going down over a snowy, picturesque mountainside. The captain would be damned if he didn't drop that bomb. It was ready to go but the plane was wrecked in the air. He went to bomb bay, looking sickened over the precipous of the open doors. He kicked the bomb hard. It didn't budge. He got on top of it and started hammering at it with both feet, stomping on it, grinding his teeth. Finally it released, and he tumbled out after it. Far below, his stomach dropped simply to realize it was falling right onto that fucking ski resort. He saw JJ far below gazing up at him. His spirits lifted instantly. He was sure JJ had died. JJ didn't look all that confused down there. --- Sarge had cornered him. He had done it. Skippy had always been a fast talker, but there it was. In a back alley no one ever came out of alive, Sarge sliced Captain Skippy's face off with a machete. The nose of a velociraptor unfurled, popping out like a normal rubber dildo under pressure in a can. "Fuck," it said. --- The nuke landed in the snow, buried all the way down to one fin sticking up. The piece of shit didn't come close to denotation. The captain bounced off of it and landed at JJ's feet, everything in his right leg shattered and shredded up to just above the knee. He didn't go into shock or anything. JJ was there already, tying the tourniquet. He did an extremely good job of it. The profuse bleeding stopped. Most of the snow was white. He knew Captain Reynolds well enough. He said cautiously to the man, "did you know alcohol withdrawal can literally be fatal sometimes from the shakes alone?"
When Protagonist was a little boy, he hated eating bugs. His mother would say to him, "eat your bugs, Protagonist. You can't get big and strong if you only eat vegetables and never eat your bugs." He hated bugs, though. He would eat one and dump the rest onto the ground when she wasn't looking. He did get bigger and bigger, but he was never the strongest. He was probably the smartest, except for maybe one boy a few years older than him named Adam. Protagonist always looked up to Adam. As they grew up, Adam was the first to notice women. Adam always had bad taste in women. Protagonist knew how to pick his favorite woman, but he was always a little bit crazy. The young men would rough each other up, never too badly, to impress the women. No one ever roughed up a woman. Adam and Protagonist were never in competition for a woman's heart, but Protagonist always told him that he thought that was unfortunately due to his older friend's choices. The two of them were sort of known for their odd choices sometimes. Adam was quiet, people said he would go on to become very wise. Protagonist was crazy. He ate too many vegetables. Protagonist always liked the same woman, from the first time he started noticing women. She was a woman named Love. Love was crazy in her own way, always going along with Protagonist's worst ideas. Protagonist always took the lead, but she never protested, no matter how crazy as it was. Adam tried to keep an eye on them. Some times were harder than others. No one likes to eat bugs. Sometimes the king came and ate people. Times like those were horrible. When the king was around, people's true colors always started to come out. During one of those times, a man as old as Adam tried to rough up Protagonist for Love's affection. Protagonist felt beaten before the fight began. He knew he stood no chance. Love wouldn't have had any interest in any other man, just like Protagonist wouldn't have any interest in any other woman. Protagonist wasn't thinking about that though. The older man wasn't a good person. Protagonist had clearly lost the fight, and was struggling, pinned on the ground, when his hand touched a large, sharp rock. He picked it up and bashed it into the other man's head. The man collapsed, blood coming from his head. Protagonist got to his feet, shaking and elated. He had hit the man so hard that he was asleep. No one had ever thought to do something like that before. The other man didn't wake up, though, like an old person going to sleep for the last time. Protagonist felt as evil as the king, and wept. Love couldn't console him. Protagonist never felt right again. He obsessed about it. He wanted to do it to the king. Love followed him, and they prepared to fight the king. The dug holes with sharp rocks in the bottom, got sharp rocks ready, and they took the fight to the king's home. It didn't take long for him to arrive. He bounded up to get them, and Protagonist wasn't even afraid. He shouted at the king in defiance. The king came up to the hole, but he stopped. It wouldn't be that easy. Protagonist and the king circled the hole towards each other. The big rock was no match for the king. He hit Protagonist so hard that he flew, blood coming from his side, and started walking towards him. Then he stopped, turned around, and bounded over to Love, smashing her to death instantly, and roared. Protagonist ran up behind him and jumped on his back, beating him to death with a sharp rock into his head, over and over. It came at a great cost. Everyone came and ate the king like a giant bug, just like Protagonist had said. Adam stayed with him to the end, as he bled to death.
It's too hard to write good stories without any badguys in them. Therefore, I am hereby changing the purpose of my blog. In light of recent global situations, I am assuming command of all Earth military assets. You have all been reassigned to diplomatic envoy duty. I do not enjoy micromanagement. Do not fail me again.