12 April 2013

Time Out

What is everyone's fascination with drugs? Specifically, marijuana. That's what we're talking about here. 
I've been a staunch anti-drug advocate for most of my adult life. 
Which isn't to say I've never smoked, never tried it. I have. Numerous times.
I just don't get it. I'm a reasonable guy, smart, rational (to an extent), and pretty open-minded. But I never have, still don't, understand people's fascination with marijuana. 
Frankly, it's fucking stupid. Come at me. 
That's right. I said it. It's stupid, and pointless, and a waste of your time and money. It smells like shit, it doesn't make you smarter, or more fashionable, or more creative. 
I grew up with stoners. My friends in school were stoners. My mother was a stoner for a while. I live with stoners. What I mean to say is, I'm not like completely ignorant of this stuff. I see what it does to people. I'm experienced. I just still don't get it. 
And frankly, I'm tired of all the people pushing for legislation to make pot legal. What's the point, honestly? Think about it for a second. Don't misunderstand, I've heard all the arguments before, and I already know what everyone will say. But taxes. But liberty. But freedom. But happy. But feel-good. 
But I don't care, honestly. About taxes, or your liberties, or what makes you feel good. I don't care if alcohol is more dangerous, more addictive, or more deadly. I don't care about any of that. 
I never have and I never will. 
The truth is, if you get high, you and I will never have a close, meaningful, real relationship. Not the way I will with a sober person. It's just not possible. We are leagues apart, might as well be living on different planets. You engage in something that I literally do not comprehend on the most fundamental level, and that makes it pretty hard to relate. It's like knowing someone, and talking to them, but you're seeing them from across a gulf. 
And I know it's not a gateway drug, and that it won't kill you, and that you aren't becoming more violent or aggressive. I still don't care, and I don't get it. I don't like it. 
So why bother writing about it? Because it plays such a prominent role in my life. I never wanted it to, but it does. And I hate it. I'm around drug dealers and stoners every day. It robs them of their ambition. It inspires laziness. It discourages productivity. It renders deep, meaningful conversation impossible. 
That's what it really boils down to. I like talking to people. I like getting to know them, probing their minds. Seeing what makes them tick. It's sort of my job. But a high person has no depths to plumb. It's like unscrewing someone's head, all giddy with excitement, then finding...nothing inside. There's nothing to talk about. 
Don't get me wrong, I'm not that bitter. Do your thing, do what makes you feel good. I'd just prefer you didn't do it around me. Because I don't like it. 
So again I ask, what's the big deal anyway? It's more of a rhetorical question. I don't actually want to know, nor do I care. Every answer everyone has ever given me is the same regurgitated, tired bullshit. Everyone keeps imagining this golden future with weed everywhere, on every street corner, at your local pharmacy, cops winking at you from across the street. A whole population united together in smiles and munchies and good will. 
That future scares me. I hate that future. I don't want to live in it. Imagine the opposite for a second. Just for a second. 
Imagine a future with no drugs, ever. Everyone's just the way they normally are all the time, perfectly clean and sober. 
Would it really be so bad? Would that be such a huge deal? 
Actually, what if instead of getting high, you just didn't get high? 



Don't bother answering. 

07 April 2013

Tournament of Lies

Pure laziness...



      Back to Channel Five news. “Our main story tonight: deadly killer strikes again, claiming another victim last night. Police say the man, 32 year old Calvin Trank, was found floating in a small creek behind his apartment on the east side of town, genitals mutilated and removed…”
            Flip. “A new study indicates suicide rates are skyrocketing in America, especially among veterans, and now is the number one cause of death by injury…”
            Well that was certainly disheartening. What on earth was happening to people? Jeffrey could hardly make sense of all this craziness. He pushed a button and landed on more news. News, news, news, he thought. I’m ashamed to be a part of this. Hell, I’m almost ashamed to live in this country anymore.
            Almost.
            “A local middle school teacher was arrested this afternoon on charges of exposing himself to his students in the middle of class. Sources tell us Mr. Michael McKenzie pulled down his pants and was wearing, quote, ‘A bright red thong.’ The district superintendent could not be reached for comment.”
            Switch.
            “Today police raided a known meth lab in a downtown neighborhood…”  
            Jeffrey pushed his tray away from him and stuck one finger in his ear, then ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. Dandruff fell like snow from his scalp and dotted his black button-up shirt. He got up to throw away his empty tray, the trash can in the kitchen overflowing with refuse. Two flies landed on an empty beer bottle and promptly shit on it.
            Switch.
            A music video was playing. A large pair of voluptuous tits bounced on the screen, liquor pouring down them in slow-motion. Disgusting.
            Flip.
            “…and the authorities have no known suspects at this time.
            Flip.
            “Two students walked in and opened fire this morning with a 12-gauge shotgun, killing five people and wounding…”
            Jeffrey stopped. “Well that is awful!” he declared. He felt sorry for all the dead students. He changed the channel again.
            “Another baby was found in a dumpster this afternoon; authorities were called after…”
            He banged his fist on the dinner tray. “This is a disaster!” he bellowed. He felt sorry for the dead baby.
            Flip.
            Glenn Beck.
            “This is a fucking outrage!” he screamed. He felt sorry for everyone.
            Jeffrey stood up and turned off the television. It was like this every evening. He could only take so much. I need a sandwich, he decided.
            Jeffrey walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, the bright glow illuminating a series of dismembered penises dangling from hooks, which he brushed aside, and grabbed the mayonnaise. He really did feel sorry for everyone.