SpeedBalling

And Klonopin is right at the top of the list!

I did Thanksgiving in the only kind of style that is befitting me. Loads of booze. Coke. Scrips. Delirious driving. Truck stop breaks for hot dogs and beef jerky. Clubs. Whore houses. And I think I pulled my tongue. But not at the truck stop.

The day itself was dominated by a little bit of the old "family dinner," of which I have only vague recollections.

The main thread involves my nephew who is obsessed with Godzilla, and has some kind of weird video or game that involves "Classic Godzilla," "90's Godzilla," and "Godzilla 2000."

As is typical of five-year-olds, my nephew has an active imagination, and so he is prone to whispering things like "there are a thousand Godzilla 2000's outside right now" in my ear, in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.

I found this somewhat alarming, but initially just tried to ignore it. Then, about five-minutes later he leaned over, and in a very heated tone, whispered "now there are a million Godzilla 2000's outside."

"Jesus, those fu... - pigs - are breeding fast," I said, "we better do something."

As soon as we finished are food we went out to the garage to stock up on weaponry for our Godzilla hunt. I gave him a cheap water gun, and took a nice Super Soaker for myself, and then grabbed a crow bar just in case.

"What do you need that for?"

"In case any of these yellow-bellied swine try to mutiny," I replied.

"What's a mutiny?"

"Never mind. This is my secret weapon against Classic Godzilla, just in case he tries to make a sneak attack."

And so went Thanksgiving.

I am on the verge of getting another job now, so my life is about to take a turn for the suckier, but the upside is that I should have a solid budget for Christmas, which is fast approaching, and should be just as interesting.

Wife and kids went to Grandmas...cum over and fuck!! - m4w - 35

I faked like I was sick today. So the wife and kids drove down to Eugene today by themselves to have Thanksgiving with her parents. So any ladies that are interested in some hot sex come on over. We can fuck all day! Fuck on the living room floor, on the pool table, in the kitchen. Try on my wifes clothes and I can fuck you as well. We can drink wine and watch movies all day also. Must be done and out of the house by 6pm tonight. I am 6' tall, 185 lbs and hot. Email with a response and I will give you my number and address.

when it's four a.m. and mister you can't sleep
'cause your blood's still rushing at cocaine speed
and you know all that you need's a little baby to say
ah mister cool down won't you let me fade those blues away
and it's a long way down

I received a package today, not in the mail, but on my doorstep. Inside was a CD-Rom and a nearly illegible handwritten note, signed by Jurgen Johansen.

From what I could read, the note stated that his beleagured "monkey hunting" documentary was finally moving forward, and he demanded that I post the trailer, which was on the CD, on my website.

Well, what the hell. I'm not doing much else these days, so why not post the trailer for this film, which promises to be a masterwork of perversion, lunacy, and ego-mania.

The trailer states that the film will be "Shocking," "Disturbing," and that it will be release in the "Summer of 2005." I'm holding my breath.

Thrill of the Chase - Teaser (7.68MB - XviD)

Who even needs a Minister of Propaganda and National Enlightenment these days? What with neo-fascist CEOs who are willing to spread the glorious message for you.

I wrote this little piece about six months ago, directly after smoking up the last fat chunk of crystal that I had. I think the whole thing took me about 20 minutes to write, which is shocking. I have tried to keep as much of it intact as possible while correcting the numerous errors in spelling and grammar that existed in the original draft. Sadly, the general drift of the piece is somewhat precient given the recent election, but at least the big A (hole) is gone.

What follows is a very strange story, one that I stumbled on only by luck, or providence, and one that will surely be denied by all of the principles involved, if they are ever asked about it now.

At exactly midnight Monday morning I was laying awake when the eerie blue glow of my silently ringing cell phone caught my eye. I picked it up, and looked at the caller ID, which was displaying a number I didn't recognize. Normally I would not have answered, but something told my I should.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"It's Bruce," came the reply, and I immediately recognized the twisted voice on the other end.

"How did you get this number?" I asked.

"I'll tell you later, I don't have much time now." He said.

"Well, what are you calling about?" I asked, the impatience rising in my voice, as I began to think this was some kind of cheap fuck off.

"I'm not sure what it is," he said, "but I picked up some bad vibrations, and I think something very heavy is coming into town. I don't have all the information yet, but I want to get the word out." He paused, and the asked, "Do you know anything?"

I understood what he was saying immediately, and I was quite alert now. "No, but believe me, I'm onto it. Let me know if you find out anything more."

"I will," he replied, "and you do the same. I won't be at this number, but leave a message - I'll get it."

The line was dead, but it didn't matter. There was nothing more to say or hear. If Bruce felt something in the air, I knew it was big. I don't know how he does it, but if an administration official is in town, the Republican Party is holding a fundraiser, or any other group worth protesting against - or demonstrating for - is going to meet, then Bruce will know about it, and be there. If he had contacted me, it meant something, and I was damn well going to find out what.

I lay still again for a moment, considering my next move, and then I picked up the phone, and placed a call to a local "extras" casting director I knew. It was late. But I was sure he would be up.

At first Rubin (not his real name) tried to plead ignorance, but I knew he was lying to me. It may have been the frantic desperation on the edge of his otherwise confident speech, or maybe it was the continual sniffling - that he claimed was due to "horrible allergies," but something told me that he was a man with a price. After some petty haggling, he told me everything.

At 8:00pm the night before he had received a call from a man, claiming to represent the Justice Department, who had a rather extraordinary request. He said he would need 20-25 individuals of mixed age and sex, but all Caucasian for a "special" acting assignment. He needed about 15 relatively clean cut persons, who would be playing journalists, and 10 more scruffy looking "pothead" types for camera men and assistants. The man on the phone said they would meet at an airport motel at 10:00am Monday for costume and prep, and then would need to provide their own transportation downtown to the Hilton, where they would complete the assignment.

Rubin had asked what the contract was worth, but the man on the phone only laughed mockingly, and made some dark references to an underage sex liaison Rubin had been hooked into a year before. "Do your duty Rubin - as an American Citizen," the man had said. Then the phone went dead.

Luckily for my man, actors willing to work for "in-kind" compensation are not a hard thing to come by on a Monday morning, and he already had most of the spots locked up. I told him to count me in, and he said as long as I could pull off a journalist, it was mine. I said it wouldn't be a problem, because, after all, I am a professional.

At that point, I had some time to kill, so after leaving a message for Bruce, telling him that it was on for the Hilton at noon, I drew a bath, and lay, soaking in the dark for about two hours, trying to focus, and calm my nerves.

At the hotel they had us separated into groups of about five, with each group lead by a suited drone. My drone didn't give us a name, and nobody asked. The people with me acted like they were used to this sort of thing, and I did by best to play along. Each of us was provided with a few questions, written in a notebook, and told that if we were called on, we were to read the question EXACTLY as they appeared on the page. This was repeatedly emphasized by our handler, and she had each of us read back questions a few times - just to be sure. We were then given our press passes and, told to drive directly to the Hilton, stopping nowhere in-between. My pass identified me as William Schmidt, of the Seattle Free Press.

As I sped down I-84 toward the city center, I still didn't know who would be at the press conference, but all the signs pointed to only one man - Ashcroft himself.

Outside of the Hilton, at the Sixth street entrance, I had to walk through a cluster of about 15 ragged protestors. I saw Bruce at the forefront, holding a sign showing a mug shot of Ashcroft, with the words "Wanted - Violating Your Constitutional Rights." It wasn't the uneven syntax that interested me. Obviously Bruce had sensed that Ashcroft was the one as well, so it had to be true. I walked past him with confidence, making no sign of recognition, and he didn't either.

In the conference room an expertly lit stage sat at one end, and at the back, a table laid out with coffee, herbal tea, and bagels was set up. A woman at the door was handing out press releases to us as we walked in. I immediately recognized one of the "handlers" from the airport hotel, except that now he Was carrying a large HD television camera with a Fox News logo on the side of it. "Sweet Jesus," I thought, these people have no shame.

Using an old trick I learned during a forced interrogation, I began committing the Press Release to memory. Earlier I had held it up to the light, and as I suspected, it was watermarked with what looked like a unique serial number. Obviously these press releases would be collected at the exits, and if any were missing - well, we wouldn't want it to come to that.



-------For Immediate Release---------



United States Department of Justice

Attorney General John Ashcroft convened a press conference today to announce a sinister new threat to America's children. Still relatively unnoticed to the general public, it has come to the attention of the Department that children are increasingly experimenting with a previously unknown drug, which is known on the street as "OPB." Currently the distribution of this drug seems to be most prevalent in the urban centers of Portland and Eugene Oregon, but it is also known to be distributed across the country, often being referred to on the street as "PBS."

Although users of this drug claim that it is harmless or even beneficial, they are very mistaken, and the public should not be mislead by their claims.

Although they have only been studying it for a short time, top scientists have already determined that the negative side effects of OPB can include but are not limited to the following.

-Delusions
-Anti-Social Behavior
-Anti-Government Actions
-Anxiety
-Depression

Withdrawal from OPB can cause users to become irritable, and they may make complaints to friends, family, and congressional representatives about how "lack of funding" for "OPB" is interfering with their ability to support their addiction. Invariably these individuals spend more and more of their own money on "OPB" only to receive less and less satisfaction from use. Desperate "OPB" users may turn to theft, from their cable companies, when they cancel their cable subscriptions, and use the money for "OPB" instead.

Although more corroboration is necessary, some informants have told the Justice Department that "OPB" distribution is linked to and supported by terrorist organizations that have the stated goal of "overthrowing the administration," and brainwashing the public with the so called "truth" about their government.

In particular, "OPB" seems to be a tool that these groups are seeking to utilize in their attempt to cripple the war on terror by convincing the public that laws such as the "PATRIOT Act," infringe on their civil liberties, and that Department of Justice initiatives, such as the mass incarceration of Arabs, are not in the best interest of all Americans.

Most disturbing of all is information, from informants, that "OPB" is being distributed IN CLASSROOMS, directly to unsuspecting children, whose parents are completely unaware of what is taking place.

Even though "OPB" has not been classified as a Schedule Substance yet, and it is not an analogue of any scheduled substance, the Attorney General is acting now, both to bring about an Emergency Scheduling, and to immediately begin surveillance of all those involved in the manufacturing and distribution of this dangerous drug, so that when it is classified, they can be quickly swept off of the streets.

For additional information, please contact:

Lynn Woodward
Public Relations
U.S. Department of Justice



-------End Release---------



I read, and memorized the demented language in shocked horror. Had Ashcroft finally flipped off the rails? Was he trying to classify political free speech as a controlled substance, or was he so hopelessly inept that he actually believed OPB was some rare chemical substance? Who could know, but in either case, the ramifications of this move were staggering.

My musings were interrupted when Ashcroft swept through a side door. He walked with purpose, and confidence - his face fixed with a mask of grim determination. He mounted the stage in one stride, and made his way to the center where he swung sharply toward the gathered "reporters," then violently thrust his fists high above his head, and with a terrible leer on his face, shouted out the word "victory."

The assemble crowd stood frozen in dazed shock. The image was simply too disturbing for one us, who I recognized from my prep group, and he staggered to the side of the room, where he fell to his knees on top of a gold plated ash tray, and retched into the shallow pan with a quavering scream. Two men in dark blue suits were on him instantly, and they carried him out the rear door, holding him up by his arms, dragging his limp bumbling feet along the floor behind him.

My own vision began to go grey, but I took a deep breath and held my ground as Ashcroft launched into his speech, which was essentially a regurgitation of the press release.

Ashcroft delivered each line with the kind scorching intensity that can only be born of deep, nay-religious, conviction. His face seemed to swell, and he pounded the podium with his fist, shaking the entire stage with each of his hand-falls as he drilled home each point. When he was finished he looked up and grinned at out at the room - smugly surveying us as we stood cowering like whipped dogs. His face suddenly relaxed into a warm smile, which seemed even more grotesque, and he asked for questions.

After an uncomfortable pause a grey suited man in the front row drew up the courage to read his first question. He started with confidence, but then half way through he began stuttering, and was forced to stop. Somehow he got a grip on himself, and finished it off - reciting the remainder in a high pitched monotone.

Ashcroft stared at him intently for a moment, as if he were pondering whether to strike him down with lightning, or answer the question. But before he could make up his mind, things got really weird.

The room went dark, and at the same instant I heard the unmistakable sound of a battering ram tearing through the door at the front of the room. Wretched blood-curdling screams and teeth-gnashing wails began to rise in the room. I suddenly felt someone clawing at my ankles, clutching desperately in their terror at the first thing they could find. I was trying to kick them free when the flashbangs went off, and I fell to the floor as well.

I was still at the fringes of consciousness then, and I could see dark shapes moving at the front of room. Then I heard the hair-raising crackle of a tazer being discharged, and the arcing electricity provided enough light for me to see two men, wearing SWAT style gear and night-vision goggles, dragging the enormous hulk of Ashcroft toward the door. One of them yelled for help, gasping with fatigue, and two others grabbed the body - which looked like the carcass of an enormous swine - by its fat ankles, and together, they all disappeared out the front-side door. It was over, and I collapsed into oblivion.

I awoke with no concept of time, lying in my own bedroom, with my clock showing 5:30pm. When I staggered upstairs, and picked up the newspaper, it read Tuesday, which meant that I had lost an entire day. That realization hit me low in the stomach, and I felt weak again, so quickly filled a glass with water, which I drained along with two Advil.

Before any more time passed, I wrote down everything I could, exactly the way I remembered it.


Postscript:

Apparently someone in the Bush administration decided that Ashcroft had crossed the line, and this time they took action, before he could finish another one of his cowboy press conferences and get his warped shit out onto the airwaves. He was stopped, for now, but how long will it be before he tries again? How long will it be before Karl Rove decides that the American People are ready to accept the classification of Free Speech as a Dangerous Drug? Naturally it will be classified as Schedule I - because it has no medical purpose - and anyone involved in its distribution will face a mandatory minimum sentence of no less than twenty years, without the possibility of parole. I don't know the time table, but credible sources say that six-months is the number being batted around in the oval office.

As I have said before, I'm only sober about 12 hours a day, and I'm usually sleeping for 10 of them, so my memory can be a bit spotty from time to time, and I regularly find myself piecing through the clues left behind in the detritus of my drunken debauchery to try and figure out exactly what happened any given night before.

Inevitably, suggestive and even accusatory questions are bound to arise: Where did these blood stains come from? How did I get this person's ID? Why all the broken glass? Whose car is parked on the lawn? Etc. etc...

Today I was going through my coat pockets, looking for a bus ticket, and instead I came up with a Lifestyles condom.

This was a little surprising since my normal brand preference is Trojan Very Sensitive - or anything I can steal.

So where did this little plastic package come from? I was perplexed. Stymied. Vexed.

My bus pulled up to the stop, and I boarded with a sense of purpose in my step, swerving just slightly, trying to steady the cup of drank in my hand, as I fumbled a two-zone pass into the slot. I slumped onto a seat, casting my bag down beside me, letting it fall with the heavy thunk of a half full bottle inside.

Eureka! Halloween. That's were the condom came from. I shuddered.

The memory was not a pleasant one. Eugene - bad clubs, worse DJs, unspeakable dancing, way too much coke.

Recollections of the night are hazy. I recall four drunken youth rolling down an alley in a big black Lincoln, circa seventies, holding a Bush/Cheney sign out the window. At first I thought they might be Republicans, but no. As they screeched to a halt in front of the club they called to the bouncer who was smoking a cigarette.

"Dude, set this shit on fire," one of them yelled, waving the sign. The bouncer walked over to the window and took hold of the sign as the assembled crowd on the sidewalk gathered in closer to witness the burning. The bouncer took his lighter, and held it up to the side of the sign, trying to set it afire.

"That's plastic," I said knowingly, "it won't burn for shit, at least not without some gasoline." The man seemed to be ignoring me, but I continued, "kerosene would work too."

The driver of the black Lincoln ground it into gear, and started off slowly down the alley, drifting into a stack of liquor boxes as he drove off.

"Fuck this," I said, talking in the general direction of Mr. A, "let's get that cab." We both staggered up to the mini-van taxi, and I recognized the cowboy-hat attired driver from earlier in the night.

"Can we get a lift?" I asked.

"Are you the ones who made the call?"

"No"

"Well, they're not here, and you are, so let's go."

"Cool"

Somewhere along the ride home we discovered that we were both skint for cash, but that's another story.

Back to The Condom.

I had been sitting at a table on the edge of the dance floor, watching in abject horror as a horde of drunken UO students packed the floor to "get down" to some lame ass anthem. It may have been Tipsy or possibly Get Low - I don't remember, and it doesn't really matter.

I was watching the scene with an expression of destitute shock when some fat girl came up to me and pressed a condom into my hand, then leaned over and yelled something like "maybe this will cheer you up" in my ear.

Yes indeed. That's how I got it. But why did I still have it?

Could I have turned down a straight up offer for sex? Not bloody likely, even if this girl wasn't attractive, or was in fact - as I remember - spectacularly unattractive.

I have long held forth that I will "fuck anybody," and even if that is pushing it a bit far, I do definitely adhere to a very open set of carnal standards.

In fact, aside from underage girls, I have only turned down sex on one occasion, and that was because the girlfriend of a 300 pound crackhead wanted to fuck me on the couch in their living room, while her boyfriend was passed out in the bedroom. Given said crackhead's history of psychosis and violence, I wasn't quite up for the act, and wisely declined.

But what of Halloween? Damn these blackouts! Why doesn't my memory last past ten drinks? Why?

Maybe I did have sex with the girl, and just forgot to use the condom. Maybe the nasty shit I found dried in my pubic hair the next morning wasn't vomit...

Ha ha, just kidding. That's gross!

Truth is, I don't remember what happened, and that's probably a good thing.

So, on this occasion, I guess the drugs really did work. And it might be time to get my test on - again.

I got the advance of Xzibit's Weapons of Mass Destruction this morning, and even though I had already heard that it contained attacks on Bush I was shocked both by how cleverly they were done, and how explicitly stated the condemnations of our newly elected second-term President were.

The first track on the album is entitled State of the Union, and consist of snippets of Bush speeches, re-arranged to project a slightly different message.

Tonight I want to take a few minutes to discuss a grave threat to peace.

The dictator who is assembling the worlds most dangerous weapons is here in our own country. He's a homicidal dictator who's addicted to weapons of mass destruction. He's proven he's capable of anything.

The tyrant is me.

I've directed members of the administration to support the use of violence against all of you. I will kill thousands or hundreds of thousands of innocent people in our country and across the world.

I - uhmmm - resolve to bring sudden terror and suffering with horrible poisons, and diseases, and gases. Men and women, boys and girls - thousands of civilians - will be killed in a single day, bombed at random, and without remorse.

My ultimate ambitions are to control the people of the United States, and to blackmail the rest of the world with weapons of mass terror - weapons of mass destruction.

Shit, I guess Hip Hop is nothing but sampling these days.

It's a good thing I found the MPAA's new website www.respectcopyrights.org. It has been a Damascus experience for me, and I am now filled with nothing but love and appreciation for huge American media conglomerates.

But now that I have renounced my evil illegal movie trafficking ways, what's next?

I guess its back to smuggling tar from Thailand. I Better stock up on vaseline.

Get plastered in Paris or you're out of a job (The Guardian)

I used to work for another PR company and they threw a party to celebrate a merger. The party was held at a top West End bar and I was shocked to walk into the toilets and see people openly snorting coke.

They don't say, but I wonder if his firm was doing PR for Emap...

God damn this guy is a fucking cunt.

He is on Russert right now, talking shit about how we succeeded in Afghanistan, and failed in Iraq, because we failed to convince Arabs of the righteousness of our cause.

Friedman actually used the phrase, "call me naive, but I don't think we invaded Iraq for oil."

Fuck Friedman. He is a liar, a scum bag, and an intellectually dishonest apologist for the Bush administration.

Let me make a few points:

We failed in Afghanistan just as badly as we failed in Iraq. Afghanistan was just a lot more fucked up than Iraq before we go there, so nobody in the west has noticed or cares.

If not for oil, then why? It's been three years, and I still haven't heard an answer.

Arab hatred for the U.S. and opposition to its policies has nothing to do with a failure in our public relations. In fact, it is very similar to European hatred for the U.S. and opposition to its policies.

The fact is, you can only spin evil so far, and the U.S. reached the limit a long time ago.

In the interest of spreading the knowledge, I have completed a new guide to Computer Security that covers the most essential topics, such as anonymous web surfing, encryption, avoidance of surveillance, and permanent file deletion.

Whether you may need to use some, all, or none of these techniques depends on the type of activities you are engaged in, and how comfortable you are with the possibility of the feds showing up on your doorstep.

I do think that most people can gain at least something from being aware of the security risks that are out there, and hopefully, once equipped with the tools necessary to operate with true security and anonymity, people will find new and more creative ways to use computers and the Internet to further their goals.

This guide is definitely still a little rough around the edges, but after three days, I am getting tired of working on it, and just want to get it published. I will try to edit it further in the future when I have the time.

Computer Security Essentials

I have decided that it would be unwise to continue posting links to files that could possibly contain copyrighted material. For this reason, all links and posts related to audio/video files except for those created by myself have been removed. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Following the election that just took place I have seen a lot of very intense sentiment expressed by those who were shocked, appalled, dismayed, and disillusioned by its outcome. I myself spent several days getting drunk and stoned, from wake till sleep, just to deal with the reality of the voting results on November 2.

I have seen many people, who I previously considered to be much less radical than myself, talking about and engaging in the kind of action that even I would have considered "extreme" less than a week ago.

Everyone who I have talked to is talking about action, and a shocking amount of the action that I have heard considered is either violent, illegal, or both. The second topic of conversation that I have been inundated in, is talk about how the results of the election are fraudulent, with the most often mentioned source of fraud being electronic voting machines.

Now, while I am not actively seeking to dissuade anyone from immediately engaging in revolutionary action, or trying to convince anybody that Bush's victory was won freely and fairly, I feel that I should make some explanation as to why I am not out in the streets throwing bombs myself, or standing up and decrying the vote fraud that took place on November 2.

Starting with the allegations of fraudulent vote counting:

I don't know if the machines were rigged, or if partisan officials engaged in fraud on election night, and to me, it doesn't make a bit of difference.

I worked to support John Kerry's election. I volunteered to support John Kerry's election. But I never did it because I believed in John Kerry. To me, John Kerry is just another PIG. Now that he has failed to achieve the only function he could have ever performed for me - defeating Bush - I have no further use for him.

Fraud or no fraud - it doesn't matter. John Kerry has conceded. Which means that even if fraud did occur, John Kerry is now complicit in it, because he would rather protect his legacy, and political power, than stand up for his constituency and fight for their democratic rights.

I carried John Kerry's flag before, because it was the best chance I had to defeat Bush. I am carrying my own flag now, and for me, victory can only be achieved by defeating both George Bush and John Kerry.

Aside from my sentiments toward the respective candidates, the honest truth is that Every Election In America Is a Fraud. The results would have been just as fraudulent if Kerry had won as they are now.

Either way, there would still be a PIG in the White House. The only difference that a Kerry victory would have made is that it would be my PIG in the WH, and the other half of this poor fucked up country would feel the exact same way that I do now.

Revolution, etc:

Despite my clear dislike for Kerry, the prospect of Bush's defeat gave me a great deal of strength and hope prior to the election. For myself, the exposure of my weakness and the shattering of my hope was devastating, as I know it was for many others.

For those people who are talking about moving to Canada, or engaging in widespread civil disobedience, or simply running amok and smashing anything that they can get close to, I can't say that I haven't had the same urges. But for myself, I don't view any of those choices as solutions, only as reactions.

Reaction is a strategy of guaranteed defeat. As it is, I have just suffered a devastating loss, and I am now on the defensive. To have any hope of victory, or even survival, I have to retreat, collect my wits, and calmly plot the next offensive.

Even before the election, before I knew who would win, I was planning ways to increase the magnitude and intensity of my resistance. This planning continues now, and my efforts are only driven more forcefully by the election's result.

The focus of my resistance is our country's unjust system of courts and prisons, and the disparities in wealth and power that exist between the underclasses, and the corporations and wealthy elite.

Consider that one third of Oregon's inmates are incarcerated, not for having harmed any person, but only for offending the sensibilities of the ruling class.

The "War on Drugs" is not a metaphor, but a real war, in which the poor and dispossessed people of the United States are conscripted onto the field of battle to fight against the best funded and best equipped police force in the world.

Consider that despite the crimes that individuals commit, the numbers do not lie when they say that, by and large, our so called corrections system is really a chain of debtors prisons that punish the poor for failing to earn enough money to pay the taxes that the rich have imposed upon them.

"Class War" is not a metaphor, but a real war, in which corporations and the wealthy elite exploit their middle class armies, using them to rape and pillage the poor, and then toss them the scraps from the spoils of their conquest.

In this context, it should be clear what an "active resistance" might entail, and for myself, I view it not just as an option, but as an obligation.

...but it was your own damn fault for trusting me in the first place.

Over the past couple of months I have made many wild and varied claims about what I would do if Bush won the election. Most oft repeated amongst these was that I would either get heavy into dope or move to Canada, neither of which I have done - at least yet.

I had also promised - on a number of occasions - that I would be in the streets, throwing bombs in the revolution, if Bush was declared the winner on Tuesday. Since I ended up passing out around 10:00pm, I guess I slid by on that one.

Tuesday was tumultuous, to say the least. By then the coke and most of the speed was gone, and we were left with nothing but booze, weed, and a handful of Vicodin. My memories of the day are vague and intermittent at best, but I do vividly recall that at one point I had a bottle of "Two-buck-Chuck" in one hand, and a plastic pint of "Black Velvet" in the other, and I was taking swigs off both with gusto, only pausing occasionally to pop another pill into my mouth.

By 5:00pm this bullshit was definitely taking a toll on me, but somehow I managed to gather myself enough to go down to some pizza place, where Mr. A's Political Science was gathered to watch the returns. I don't actually remember being there, but apparently some kind of "scene" was involved, which doesn't really surprise me.

After the pizza place, we went to the fairgrounds, which I do remember - probably because I had taken the rest of the speed.

As the night wore on I became increasingly pessimistic about the outcome, and I conceded victory to Bush long before many others were willing to take that step. However, red wine, whiskey, cheap beer, amphetamines, and downers are not a cocktail that will encourage its taker to go gently into the good night. To that point, I recall offering, quite forcefully and on multiple occasions, to "fight any Republican in the room," and I am sure that I made many other scandalous/felonious declarations before the night was through.

Wednesday dawned rotten as hell. I awoke lying in a room more closely resembling something from Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas than I have ever seen before in my life. Empty wine bottles, beer bottles, beer cans, liquor bottles, coke bottles, coke cans, about half-a-dozen pizza boxes, pizza crusts, rotting food, wet clothes, empty baggies, and all manner of other filth were pilled high around the thin mat on the dirty floor where I was sleeping, huddled - sick and shivering - under a thin blanket, like a dying animal crawled back into its nest after exposure to a disastrous chemical spill that has just destroyed everything it had ever known and held dear. For about three hours I tossed around on the floor, trying to get just a little more rest, and gather enough energy to drag myself to the toilet and vomit.

The only real highlight of the day came when a high strung neighbor stormed into the room wearing an American flag draped over his jeans like a diaper, and launched into a speech about how this symbolized his desire to "shit on the American flag," which is a sentiment that I can certainly sympathize with.