Its In the Mail awaiting Delivery

If a company can no longer produce a product at a profit, the company has to start laying off workers/employees to stay in business. The global economy is based essentially on oil production. 99% of every product produced on the planet uses oil somewhere in the process.

If water begins running short on a lifeboat, it starts being rationed out. The individual/s handing out the rations, if they are wise they will never say how much water is really left as an attempt to maintain order in the lifeboat. If need be, blame can be placed on another passenger on the lifeboat as an attempt to shift the focus on not how much water is left, but rather who gets access to the water supply.

So lets say the lifeboat is the planet we live on, a living being w/finite resources i.e. oil, food etc. Now lets say the "water" on the lifeboat is actually oil. Iran has now cut off the oil supply to both UK and France. Saudi Arabia is cutting production, not in order to make more money (though they will when demand skyrockets) but they are cutting production b/c there is only so much oil left in the ground. High demand accompanied with low supply will be messy!

But they dont want you to know that. So the royal we are told that gas prices are going to go up due to Iran cutting off France and UK. Saudi Arabia knows how much oil they have left. Iran knows how much oil they have left. The US wants that oil, the US needs that oil!

My point is the United States is a corporation and all the "citizens" of the United States are its workers/employees whose main job is to move the product/US dollar around. The dollar is failing around the world and when a company's product is no longer flying off the shelves, it's time to get rid of some dead weight. Then unemployment rises. The pink slip is in the mail for the United States. Its just awaiting delivery.

Peace & Love for All though they hate that shit! 7/1/9/1/9/7/9/?/?/?/?/?

The ones rationing the water/information will shift blame by starting conflicts b/t

Ch. 9 Isthmus Coincidence & Other Mad City Strife

CHAPTER NINE

We were crossing the street to get in the car because I had to go get some money and I swear I felt raindrops.

“So did you get Courtney Love’s number?” Mark asked as he turned away to check the traffic.

“Up yours you gumjob! This girl makes Courtney Love look like, well, Courtney Love.” I said, “But I can tell you I’d gladly hang out with her before I hang out with you and your balloon-knot bandit drug dealing buddies giving each other hard mouthfuls.”

“I’m going to tell them you said that.” Mark replied as he stopped in the middle of the street and started messing with his belt for some reason. The car in the right lane swerved and honked their horn and yelled some cliché obscenity. Then I heard a female voice come from a porch just up from where my car was parked. She apparently knew Mark who was still messing with his belt.

“Playing and staring at it won’t make it any bigger you pervert!” She screamed over the traffic.

It took a moment for Mark to realize it was he that was being addressed. He looked up and scanned the second floor porches and saw the girl as she was flicking him off.

“Blow me you walking dirty leg sperm bank!” Mark yelled as he stood there waiting for me to reach over and unlock the passenger side door.

“Why does everyone hate you?” I asked as Mark climbed in and slammed the door.

“Fuck that hobby horse! She’s just mad I don’t trade drugs for butt massages anymore.” Mark said as he lit an American Spirit.

Butt massages? I thought to myself, the more I heard Mark talk, the more I was starting to believe what was being said about him and what had transpired earlier this week. It was a cause for concern. I put the car in first and released the brake and pulled right into traffic without looking. The night was looking weird.

I exited the money-lending place on East Wash across from the Hawthorne Library Branch and glanced around the parking lot to see if Mr. Pockets was out tonight. I took one last look at Nadia, one of the tellers inside, and smiled then hopped into the car.

Nadia was a beautiful latina who worked at the corporate call center that I do for all of four days. She got offered a better paying job at the check-cashing place because she speaks fluent Spanish. I can honestly say I would’ve married her. She was the first person I thought I’d never see again but because my landlord takes three months to cash a personal check, and Nadia spoke fluent Spanish as well as Portuguese, she was now handling my money order business and I can say I’m happily stalking her.

“I’ve never heard anyone refer to a money lending place as their bank.” Mark said as I put in my Unified Theory disc and skipped to track four, Wither.

“Oh yeah, they know me here.” I replied as I put the car in reverse. I’m going to rob the place someday with Nadia’s help. It will be a thing of beauty.

I pulled out on to East Wash and headed down to Fair Oaks Avenue where Mr. Dean lived. I was a bit nervous driving because I was nearly convinced these shrooms would kick in at any moment and driving while tripping is a test of true skill and Sister Finten said I was a bad test taker and that always bothered me.

We pulled into Mr. Dean’s gravel driveway and I felt I could relax a little bit. I didn’t notice until we parked that I had the windshield wipers running.

“Are the wipers really necessary right now?” Mark asked as he opened his door and got out of the car.

“They inspire confidence.” I replied as I retrieved some cash out of the glove compartment and followed Mark.

I lit up a Camel because they are incredibly cool and we walked around to the back door of the house and knocked on the door. Almost instantly the door opened up and Dean stood there in a jogging suit you’d see a European mobster wear.

“Well I wasn’t expecting little pissant trick o’ treaters this early.” Dean said as he gestured for us to come in to his house.

Mr. Dean looked like one of America’s greatest actors, Christopher Loyd, wild hair and all. Every time he sold me a good-looking bag of nugs, I would say Great Scott. He never laughed which means he never got it or he just ignored it because it was extremely lame.

We walked into the living room which looked like a hotel suite from an early James Bond movie, which I thought was funny because it was just a one bedroom house with a full basement.

“I heard about the trouble you got into this week.” Mr. Dean said looking over his glasses at Mark as he pulled a briefcase out from beside the couch and set it on the coffee table.

“Fuck you, you dumb codger!” Mark said trying not to show his broken tooth.

“I wouldn’t fuck your lil bit on a fork with Oprah’s dick.” Mr. Dean said shaking his head and laughing with his eyebrows raised while he was finishing weighing out the ounce. He rolled up the bag, licked it shut and threw it on the table. I picked it up and examined the goods.

“That ounce has got a little bit of everything. California Orange, White Widow, Northern Lights, Train Wreck, Dirty Girtie, Split Mutton, Twange, Poor Man’s Blessing, OG Kush, Nameless Knick Knack, Bird Nest, Honeypot, and of course some Texas Tumbleweed.” Dean rattled off as he closed the briefcase and set it back on the floor.

“What do I owe you?” I asked putting the bag in my pocket.

“Four hundred will do nicely.” Dean said as he picked up his glass of Scotch and took a sip.

“I’ll give you three-twenty and you’ll like it!” I said with a smile as I threw the cash on the table. Dean knew damn well all those different strands were not in that bag. Hell, half of them he made up. Texas Tumbleweed? Give me a break.

“Fair enough.” Dean said as both Mark and I stood up to leave. We walked out the front door down into the front yard, or what was considered the front yard and we got in the car.

We got on Aberg Avenue from Fair Oaks and that is when the reality hit me so I took a head count of the situation. I had mushrooms in my system and I didn’t know when or if they were going to work, a full ounce of marijuana in my pocket and an idiot that everyone in town despised at the moment riding with me who was also on mushrooms.

I was betting big against the House and I started getting nervous again. All I wanted to do was get back in the neighborhood and get my car parked. Then I could walk the rest of the night and blend in, hide in plain sight, only then could I rest easy and enjoy myself.

Just as soon as I started to relax, Mark screamed as a car came racing down onto Aberg from East Wash almost slamming into us. “Jesus Christ! I think these goddamn shrooms just kicked in!” Mark yelled as he almost took a fifty-mile an hour shit in his pants.

“You aren’t tripping you asshole, that shitbag is drunk!” I yelled back as I had to swerve again to the left to avoid hitting the car.

I tapped the brakes and let the mental midget get ahead of me. I hit my brights and got behind the car which didn’t seem to affect the driver in any way. We couldn’t tell if it was a woman or man driving but which ever it was, they were driving like the Devil was on the hood of their car and they were trying to shake him off and get away.

We were going to call it in but then decided it would somehow be wiser and more fun to watch this idiot try and make it home. They got off Aberg and onto Packer Avenue heading back towards the airport and for a brief moment I thought it might be a pilot that was running late.

They passed the turn to the airport and weaved about another mile or so before turning right into an apartment complex. They would have been home free only they didn’t let go of the wheel in the middle of the turn and instead of doing a soft ninety degree turn, they ended up doing a hard one hundred and forty degree turn and took out a cherry tree.

I stopped the car and we watched in amazement as the driver finally got their vehicle in reverse after finding neutral and drive another three times. They backed out over the curb and back onto the asphalt. They whipped the piece of shit into a parking spot, the door swung open and a woman who had to be in her sixties stumbled out making her way to the front door of the building. Someone buzzed her in and she didn’t even turn around to see that she had left her car running with the door wide open.

We just shook our heads in disbelief and before I could say anything Mark was already out of the car heading straight for the vacant vehicle. I wasn’t surprised. I had seen Mark on a few occasions hop into complete strangers’ cars.

The owner always caught him but he always seemed to avoid fisticuffs. Saying the vehicle was parked in a safety zone was one that always seemed to defuse the situation even if Mark was holding a pint of beer he smuggled out of the bar. I didn’t have a clue what he was thinking of doing with this lush’s Tracer. He put the car in reverse and backed out and pulled up next to me.

“I’m going to teach this bozo a lesson, follow me.” Mark said as he pulled off throwing a bunch of cd’s out of the window.

We headed down Sherman towards Maple Bluff. Every four or five seconds Mark would throw something from inside the car out of the driver’s side window. He was leaving clues. A trail of bread crumbs if you will, bread crumbs that looked like a shoe, purse, more cd’s, paper, jacket, and of course two empty bottles of wine.

Mark found the most remote set of railroad tracks, which happened to be just up the street from the Inferno Bar. Mark pulled off the road and started heading up the tracks. He went about two hundred yards and then stopped and parked the car, turned on the hazard lights, hopped out and closed the door and put the keys in the door lock and ran back to my car.

He opened the passenger side door and dove in and I pulled off before he could even get the door shut. “You do realize we just committed a felony? Grand theft auto.” I said, not exactly thrilled with his stunt.

“How can one be expected to uphold chivalry in this town if it is scoffed at on a daily basis? Fuck that! Blame it on the video games, we just saved lives.” Mark said as he lit up an American Spirit. Who needs video games?