Anyone Want A Hit From Our Warsher?

THE MISAPPROPRIATION OF LITTLE WHITE LIES CAN MAIM AND EVEN KILL - Jonathan Swift

Dopes and Dope: A Private History of all of it, and Absorption, Featuring Madame Blavatsky

I know a guy.  Almost every person I've ever met knows a guy.  The guy I know is a polite, friendly, chatty, kind, and most of all, an entrepreneur.  

The New American Way:  Let the guy do it.  

Like too many Libertarians, or better, almost every anarcho-capitalist, the particular guy I've met only naturally skirts the law.  While he has a soberminded attitude, bears a strong voice with optimistic connotations hidden within his gladdening conversation, is always full of heart, definitely has guts, yet, below that, he keeps his avocation private.  

TMI--right? Of course.  Most of us, when asked if we need a spit bath in the hospital, usually just say OK.   One old US Navy See Bee from the WW II era, however, put the answer this way: 

"Sponge me down as far as possible.  Then sponge me up as far as possible.  Leave possible to me." 

Wait.  Why force readers to dwell on the TMI part of these exceptionally material points of interest?  Because "possible" is the dead-center of all Libertarian motivation.  So some observe.  Body moves, body gets.   

The guy?  He slings dime bags of pot.  Or seems to do.  Offers the financially flattened and pedestrian nothings an opportunity to get baked, and then, somehow skips off with all the money.  And since money in the New American Dream is freedom, and since freedom is political agency, guess what. 

Maybe many LIbertarians don't know how badly they long for the just wonderful age of Richard Milhous Nixon.  Tricky Dick.  

Regardless of the truthiness or falsity of such a claim like this, I consider "the guy" a top-drawer exemplar of Libertarianism at its very best: He's not quite a fit for what some in the anarcho-capitalist itty-bitty "mass" movement's "anti-officialism officialism" might dub "the grey market".  But the guy's close to grey.    

Let me break in here: Two new ideologies have been created by moi: Officialism and Anti-Officialism.  Whether you like it or not, we now have made both static stances intractable, immutable, and solid and hard as Fred Flintstones's Bedrock.  Where in the grey market do these rocks not meet and, like, rub? 

That pesky grey market of the whozits of the world!  Which is the oddest term?  Grey market? Or whozits?  Sounds like odd terms, eh?  Not really that odd.  Anyone with a true Eagle Eye can see all kinds of grey markets, i.e. markets that are sometimes called "parallel markets"; markets that distribute various products or items without the direct authorization of the manufacturer.  Think bribery. 

Someone far away produces goods, yet someone illegitimately distributes them.  But let's take that bassakward for a sec:  

The manufacturer?  In strict financial terms, the distribution of illegitimately circulated money often passed off under the table and between partners with no connection to public scrutiny is not authorized by the US Treasury Department Bureau of Engraving and Printing. 

No evidence?  Screw that. Money launderers don't care about objectivity.  Washers?  Here in Texas those are called "warshers".  Clean hands, clean fingers.  Whatever could go wrong?  

Seriously.  How's tricks?   

The people who make the money that hits all the markets probably don't appreciate what is known as "laundered funds".  But hey, people, there are laundries and launderers all over the place.  So what gives? 

Here.  Have a hit of this stuff.  

That clear and present illegitimacy involved in under-the-table nonsense might be the number one reason we have laws against the maldistribution of money that is intended for the regular old market.   

But lookie-lookie: In the US alone, those who examine and estimate the amount of laundered money in the US--for instance, the Anti-Money Laundering Network, a group that tracks money laundering worldwide, investigates and releases frequent reports--tell the American public that something like $300 billion is laundered in the US each year.  

In contrast, I have maybe two-hundred bucks in my checking account.  Pssst...!  Anyone wanna "slip me an envelope"? 

Do it!  So said one Abbie Hoffman way back in times ever-terrifying for the Libertarians who want liberty, not freedom.  Desires liberty, will work for the goods.  

What on earth am I talking about?  Freedom frames liberty so that all stay on the same track.  Without freedom, liberty ain't--well, you know where I want to take the quip. 

The guy.  Supposedly, the guy sells pot.  No biggie.  Anyone alive in a big metropolitan area smells marijuana almost everywhere.  Especially in my 'hood.  

My 'hood?  Five Points is considered one of the worst violent crime areas in the general Dallas-Fort Worth metropolitan area.  

Hey. Winning.  Right?  

The general DFW metropolitan area contains an estimated 8,100,037 people.  And my 'hood's almost number one.  Yay.  I live in a cool spot.  I bet money launderers would just love to "win" my apartment complex:

Hisssssss...!!!  Wan' in on some action???

As earlier stated, the guy is positive.  Friendly.  In many ways he's better than any slam-bang entrepreneur who is brave and strong enough to take-on risky ventures with a strong chance of failure, especially in terms of the rife competition here and there in the 'hood.  He could could qualify for a reward: LIbertarian of the Year.  

The guy'd probably appreciate the bucks.

But we all know the score--even if we pretend we don't.  Why is the guy out there?  Whatever happened to "equal opportunity but unequal results"? 

The guy, while joking, always asks me if I'd like a hit.  Sometimes, his extremely libertarian offer truly sounds appetizing.  I used to smoke pot.  Never been more than a casual user.  For some reason, I already have too many problems with invisibility.  

I encountered the guy the other afternoon.  He recognizes me.  He knows I'm not the 5-O. Moreover, I've told him I have no problem with pot's gray or black market.  Why not run both parallel and askew with "the lack of opportunity economy"?  

"Need anything?" Some of the other pot slingers in this five-mile square of mainly ethnic and racial minorities; they ask me that all the time.  But they know me.  

"You know," I said to one the other day, "I'd love to smoke pot sometimes...but I have to bow down to Texas Governor Greg Abbott and securities-fraudster Ken Paxton."  

The laugh of recognition henceforth ushers use into the reality of unreality here on the sidewalk: 

WORSHIP ME!  I'LL HURT YOU IF YOU DON'T WORSHIP ME!  

Indeed.  The Antiochus IV Epiphames of the botched Republic of Texas hath spoken: No California to you!  Seriously?  Is California the place of all-bad-all-the-time?  Is Texas now attempting to steal California's glory?  

Ooops!  Inflammatory.  Sorry.  We Texans know that the Abbott-Paxton-Patrick Axis are deep friends with Jesus Christ, so deep in fact that all three are likely to be mistaken for Jesus himself.  Regardless, because I'm a sort of invective artist, I'll pop off a few quips.  

I love invective.  It's long been a self-defense tactic I rarely deploy in the living world of big though's and however's.

Here.  Wanna smoke a thought? 

"Don't you know?" I asked one person on the street. "Rather than legalize, the State of Texas is determined to protect illegal dope networks and money laundering operations.  Someone's gotta keep the cash rolling in. . . "

Half serious here.  We both chuckled a conspiracy theory kind of sneer.  But there may be some truth to the situation.  No one wants major cigarette companies cashing in on wacky-tabacky.  They'd fill it all with sawdust and all sorts of buzz-killing chemicals in order to make the stuff truly dangerous.  Of course, there are rumors about how pot gets across the Texas-Mexico border.  

Signals, one told me; signals with things like rags hanging from bumpers or headlight blinks directly at the border--so that by the time the trucks get to the weigh-station, someone or something already knows all about the cargo.  Easy to post a guy nearby, a guy with a walkie-talkie to relay the signal to the weigh station....

Another smart remark by a self-interested robot once popped off more humorously than I can: 

"Pot's so easy to get across the border that people can actually dress like huge bales of marijuana and still get waved through!" 

Stop right there.  Most pot in the US is American made.  America first!

Hyperbole.  Of course, El Presidente of the W & H Chicken Ranch in Washington DC uses his own chintzy exaggerations all the time.  And some actually believe him.  After all, he's famous for claiming he could shoot someone dead on 5th Avenue and get away with it.  Same difference.  Different people. 

No!  I am not pointing at clear and present elitism in the fact some get away with it while most do not get away with it.  

How so?  El Presidente is a time traveler.  He is from the future. He tells his buds, at least in my imagination, "Good to see ya!  See you in the future!"  

Quite weird for a dude who wants to take the US back to the wonderful era of JoJo Stalin.  

See anyone in the future?  Isn't that what classical indie-speak would dub "gay"?

Shhh!  Gay is the way of big business.   

Bowing down to the Abbott in Austin is tantamount to the common invective I like to use with friends: "He's rumored to wish to change Austin's name to 'Abbottabad'!"

"Really!"  

"It's because Abbott is way bad!!!  He wants to appeal to 'The Base'"!!! 

"Shut your mouth!" 

"Al Qaeda in English means The Base." 

I know I shouldn't care about the illegal sale of a relatively harmless drug that doesn't get harmful until someone becomes psychologically dependent on it.  But what about the graft, venality, and underground money laundering?  

Cryptic.  

Wait!  Did I hear a bark? Sure did.  It's Superman's dog Krypto!  Invincible puppy.  Highly intelligent for all the other pups from another planet.   But what is a dog in common outlaw slang?  A dog is a malevolent, vulgar, mean-spirited person who likes to hurt other people.  And what is a bark?  That's someone who betrays a secret.  

Amazing what we hard-put freak-slugs know.  

So. Just for grins, the other evening, I discovered an interesting website that testifies that illegal drug sales worldwide, often distributed by organized crime networks, are so ubiqutous that the blog I read suggested that the Netherlands is now a narco-state.  

Whoops!  Exaggeration!  

Nope.  Here's Jan Struijs, chairman of what the BBC calls the largest Dutch police union: "We definitely have the characteristics of a narco-state. Sure we're not Mexico. We don't have 14,400 murders. But if you look at the infrastructure, the big money earned by organised crime, the parallel economy. Yes, we have a narco-state."

Wow.  I bet Dallas-Fort Worth's local news missed that blockbuster. 

 

But let's allow self-interest to take over here.  There indeed are many people--businesspeople, politicians, talk radio hosts, pod-casters, influencers, even Internet trolls--who have decided they are not obligated to anyone.  It's anarcho-capitalism of a very socialized variety.  But in Texas? A quasi-police state?  How's that stated?  

Easy: "Ain't no flies on Jesus!"  

Enter Madame Blavatsky.  The famous seer investigated by William James as testified in an interesting book, "Ghost Hunters: William James and the Search for Scientific Proof of Life After Death", by Deborah Blum, a professor of scientific journalism at the University of Wisconsin and a 1992 Pulitzer Prize winner.  Blavatsky and her urges toward a Promethean era of reaction against Queen Victoria that all can embrace Theosophy nearly fooled the entire gang of rapt inquisitors.  

Look into this: Madame Blavatsky had hypnotic pale blue eyes.  I have it on good info Blavatsky  knows all about Greg Abbott and Ken Paxton.  Personal friends, rumor has it.  She's also from deep in the past, maybe Atlantis.  I talked to her all the time back in the day.  Or rather, she spoke to me through the music of bands like Pink Floyd.  

A long long time ago.  

"You do know, Gordon, that if you smoke Jesus weed," one lurker once suggested, "you become invisible.  Greg Abbott and Ken Paxton cannot read your mind if all you're doing is strolling around the block on a blisteringly hot summer day and admiring the multiplicity of various apartment architectural designs."

"Sounds good!"  

Now here's a story: A couple of friends, in 1981, concocted a "cool game".  One of the two brothers held a hypothesis: "Pot tends to break down the ego's protective shell!  I bet that if we get one of the ladies we want, we can use a combination of pot and music in order to get them into the correct emotional position to help us get our way!" 

That was what some of us thought in slang: Swuuft!

The two brothers tried it. As one got high with the feminine target, silently, the other took control of the record player.  Started with happy songs like Paul McCartney's "Let 'Em In", then, as the woman became more vulnerable, the "DJ" began playing sadder and sadder songs.  Kinda like the ever-conservative I Heart Radio wants to get one over on the BBC and Radio X London by becoming their "American gatekeeper".  To keep "evil cultural autonomy" on the road to perdition.  

After the sadness, quite commercial in nature, broke through the woman's barriers and inhibitions, one of the two silent partners and brothers told me, "She started to weep!" 

"About what?" 

"That nobody loves her!" 

Bingo. The "consoling brother" comforted the lady.  The next is TMI. Kinda libertarian in nature.  Local control of sexual politics.  

Of course, I'm a skeptic, not a cynic.  I don't completely buy the hype.  But now that I think about that then-amazing tale, I recall raves--when every person, dancing in a sweat, is enjoying the elation wrought by Ecstasy or X.  Where do their minds go?  What happens?  Is it always positive? 

What if someone used X to convince someone else that someone big was actually really cool and that every little thing is copacetic?  Nuremberg rally?  Republican National Convention? Libertarian think tank decision meetings? 

The possibilities are endless.  

Here in the 'hood, it's now common knowledge that, now pot is so ubiquitous almost everywhere, the police, already coerced into triaging their activities to cover real criminality, stop to watch nearby.  LIkely so no one gets hurt.  And why not?  No one is wagging some dog.  It's possible the dog is wagging no one.  

Which is the point.  Who actually objects to intoxication when members of the Texas Leg. are drunk on Jack Daniels while waving arms over the "evils of the demon weed"?  

Can you say "shadow issues in a world with nothing, apparently, better to do with state or federal salaries"?  

"I can!  For $500, Alex!"