That’s the same thing as Santa told me when we were on the moon. We were ice fishing at the time, trying to catch space weasels. Remember if you ever go after them their slippery buggers, electrocute you too.
Anyway the important thing was I was wearing an onion on my belt which the style at the time…
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Run with it. I am staring at six journals of material I’d love to share.
…
Well, they are at best half full each 
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I’m write here. Whatcha need?
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I have some time to kill before my next pitch, so here is another story.
A Study In Diesel
Look, father’s are jerks. They don’t mean to be, however given that men are tested for strength, masculinity, and protectiveness, dad’s generally have odd, warped, or cringe-worthy senses of humor. Thus, the Dad Joke.
Case in point.
Lighting fires is fun. It is primal, fire keeps us warm, it cooks our food, and few people are adverse to a nice blaze in a campsite with the shared experience of combusting organic material with friends and family.
However, there are limits
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While I enjoy the occasional prank, some things go to far. In this chapter it concerns a burn pile. Many people are familiar with burning tree trimmings, branches, leaves, and other normal, organic material.
The problem occurs when a “Loki-Like” character pours small amounts of diesel on a burn pile. Every week. For a year.
What could possibly go wrong.
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Loki, as I call him, asks his son to throw a lit match at the pile. While Loki and one of his friends, let’s call him Jeff, were safely away from this looming catastrophe sipping 16oz cans of PBR, something happened.
I have it on good authority the fireball was seen a county over. While the kid with the match was physically knocked back by the conflagration, thankfully noone was hurt.
The End
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One last, then I have to put on pants
Stop Huffing Ether
Ether is a hell of a drug. When stored in particular ways it can be explosive. Ether was also used in cartoons such as Looney Tunes as sort of a running gag or occasionally a McGuffin, but with mostly–and I mean mostly–and effect.
When breathing in low amounts of ether one experiences a euphoric, somatic effect. At higher doses it causes people to pass out and lose memory, which is the basis of the joke:
Does this rag smell like ether to you?
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Cletus and The Chesh
Cletus is a good friend. He is a maker, tinkerer, and artist in the best possible way. However he and The Chesh had a bright idea in the 90’s to experiment with this chemical. Granted it is not addictive like opiates or benzos, but similar to ketamine can cause unintended side effects.
So as their want, Cletus and The Chesh started huffing ether in a slightly dodgey–fuck it, super dodgey–fuck in a scary part of Eugene Oregon. And along came a Good Samaritan on a fixed axle bicycle.
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Full disclosure. Fixies are awful. If a person wants to ride a fixie I wish them the best of luck and hope they don’t have a huge health insurance deductible. That is largely beside the point, since this irritating hipster had noble intentions.
“Is that ether!?” The Samaritan ejaculated.
“Sure is!” Replied Cletus.
“Fuck off, fucker!” was the only intelligible thing The Chesh could utter.
The Samaritan took this in stride and promptly replied with a deal.
“I will give you a trash bag full of weed if you promise to stop huffing.”
Cletus looked at The Chesh. The Chesh looked at Cletus. And they both responded, “Sure!”
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“Five minutes”, replied the Samaritan, as he rode off on his ridiculous bicycle.
True to his word
When the Samaritan returned, which the actual timeline may have been thirty seconds or four days because ether, he was carrying a trash bag. Also true to his word it was entirely full of weed. To be fair it was trimmings, seeds, stems, and low quality material. But the vast amount made up for the low quality.
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Coda
The exchange was made, and all lived happily after. Except for The Chesh, he is still in jail.
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So that last line is an Ether/Or kind of joke…
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That my friend is an entirely different story, but does involve a ridiculous battle axe.
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Mwerp?
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Yes, plus copious amounts of PBR. And… Look, I can’t spit off my best quotes Willy Nilly.
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Okay, another cause ffs I can’t sleep. My roomies are playing a stunning version of Girl from Ipanema, so I have to keep listening.
The Case of Cocaine
The first rule of life is to never ingest something you find in a baggy in a street gutter. This is, believed by many, to be common sense.
It was a nice brisk day in Oregon. Nothing unusual, none of the habitual riots, buskers busked, and pan handlers were dealt with dignity and coins. Just a bright, sunny, cold, yet uplifting day.
However, things can change on a dime.
The two characters in this fucked up story are Buford and James. Miscreants, both. However miscreants in the best and worst ways. Abusive, compassionate, self destructive, empathetic, and generally annoying.
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Qualities
Good qualities are endearing. And their qualities endeared them to many people. Misanthropes are entertaining, as long as you aren’t one.
On this particular day, self destruction reared its quite handsome head in an odd, yet predictable manner.
Buford and Jason found a bag of white powder in a gutter.
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On the one hand ew Facebook. On the other. Glad you shared even though poetry isn’t a thing I usually read.
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The Question
What does a reasonable person do with this conundrum? Gutter. Baggie. White powder. A reasonable persons remarks might be, “Damn, that looks sketchy!”, And most reasonable people just move on. But Buford and Jason were less than reasonable.
To Buford’s credit he insisted it couldn’t be coke. If it was, it would be Baad. Jason was a little more open minded.
Jason quietly pocketed the baggie, both went to get a burrito and headed to Buford’s to get shitfaced on Guinness’s.
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