Archive for the 'conspiracy' Category

Who Shot Hunter S. Thompson?

I don’t know.

But I don’t buy the Aspen sheriff’s on-scene determination of No Foul Play.

There are, in the words of widow Anita, “Too many unanswered questions.”

Of course Anita is biased. As, unabashedly, am I.

The allegedly deceased is our Hero.

What I admire most about Dr. Thompson is his deliberately risky & good – deleriously good – message to the Youth:

Bet smartly on yourself. When you lose — bet again.

Bet until you Win.

Perhaps taking his own life was a smart bet on himself. A bullet in one’s own brain is an act of ultimate surety. And not wildly out of character for the dude who scribbled Kill the Head & the Body Will Die in his notebook, a quarter-century earlier, for reasons he couldn’t – or simply did not care to – recall.

Is winning just another word for nothing left to lose?

Suicide for Hunter may genuinely have been the act of a man who sought the Ultimate High. Or else – long years after his drug tolerance had outgrown every available buzz – he splatted his brains like electric Silly Putty across the rug just to get high at all. Why not? Cheap thrills!

The act of a daredevil?

Maybe.

On a different day maybe.

On a different day I may be proud of him for it. Cheap thrills? Why not!

But not that day. Not right that second.

Fuck nope.

Something about it ain’t right.

Many theorize that the Good Doctor was done in by the Government because he’d set out to prove that 911 was an inside job.

Not so.

911?

The government didn’t do it.

The slumlords did.

And Hunter S. Thompson learned decades ago that slumlords make lousy enemies.

Like my personal Lighthouse that I could see from anywhere in the world – no matter where I was, or how weird & crazy & dangerous it got, everything would be okay if I could just make it Home.

>>HST

Hunter Thompson — who once dedicated a novel To Richard Millhouse Nixon: who never let me down. — loved his enemies; loved how his enemies made him feel about himself. Hunter S. Thompson’s enemies made him feel right. The more wrong they were the more right he felt. But only up to a point.

Right up to the point where they evicted him from his home. That was too wrong; too wrong to go home & get paid to write about.

Landlords — especially the kind who blow up World Trade Centers for money — are unworthy enemies.

Look: Hunter S. Thompson said Richard Nixon fucks pigs. Did he have proof? No. He needed none; as per the central thrust of Gonzo Journalism, to wit:

You can’t always find 2 Reliable Sources to verify what you know is true.

Thus his claim – that Richard Nixon was a pig fucker – needn’t be backed up with the Facts.

Why reiterate the obvious?

It would serve only to insult his reader’s intelligence. Like if the New York Times ran a headline that read:

BUSH LIES!!

Well No Shit Sherlocks.

What – did ya all of the sudden hire some actual reporters to work there?

Fat chance.

This headline would be more like it:

NEWSPAPER GROWS BALLS: RUNS ‘BUSH LIES’ HEADLINE!

Now that is news.

The front-page story, were there one, would detail the mechanism – congressional subpoenas perhaps — by which the newspaper was forced to report facts long known true by the vast bulk of Earth’s inhabitants.

George W. Bush does not fuck pigs.

Richard Nixon was a crook & a cheap gin shot & I despised everything he stood for — but if he were running for president this year against the evil Bush-Cheney gang, I would happily vote for him; and he would Win.

>>HST November 2004

The truth is uglier.

Bush’s inner circle has a thing for homosexual prostitutes. Not a Sin, not in my book — but nevertheless an infamously caught red-handed Fact. Less known, but no less factual, is Hunter S. Thompson’s work — at the time of his death — on a piece which, if completed, would thread the Gay Hooker Connection to the Republican party in detail all the way back to the Nixon days.

Such an article would lead any respectable journalist inevitably to the blindingly too-obvious-to bother to prove conclusion, that — in accordance with his own much-touted Christian adherence — George W. Bush sucks a pig’s dick for jollies.

One is forced to admit his point: I don’t see anywhere in the bible that expressly forbids it.

The potentially resultant headlines seem likely cause enough to get a man “suicided” by his own Government — as Hunter S. Thompson famously predicted he would be.

This explains some things; sheds light on unanswered questions. Like: Why did the good Doctor choose to blow out his brains in the midst of an otherwise productive telephone conversation with his loving wife — while his son & daughter-in-law played with his beloved young grandson in the next room?

A classless & unconscionable amateur act; my hero would never do such a thing!

Unless he had a good reason.

Perhaps Thompson indeed fired the gun on himself. The proposition in no way rules out the Foul Play angle. Suppose he was forced by rouge players to forfeit his own life — or forfeit the lives of his family?

In that case his gruesome timing makes perfect sense — because it was so wrong — as a way to tip folks off to the inescapable fact that something about it weren’t right.

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ADD + CIA: the Connection

When I see one I know it — and this is a Very Good Bet:

America will soon experience an absolute hissy-fit explosion in crystal meth use.

I know, I know. I know what you’re saying: “Soon? But Mike E — I heard crystal meth is already the Scourge Of The Nation!”

So they say. But if crystal meth is the Scourge Of The Nation I ask: How come I’m not on it right now?

Why indeed? After all I just bought four 30-milligram extended release Adderalls for $5 a pop from some jerk off the street. I call him a jerk because he opened two of the capsules and scooped a third of the speed out from each. When I confronted him a few minutes later he basically said “Tough Shit.” And only a jerk would say that to the dude — a friend — who just payed a premium price for the pills to begin with.

But I didn’t call him a jerk to his face. Why? Arithmetics. The law of Supply & Demand.

I didn’t want to piss the dude off because Demand is high. Supply is low. Brattleboro is in the midst of an Adult ADD epidemic of historic proportions and we plain old don’t got enough medicine. It took me two days to hunt the jerk down as it was; piss him off and I’ll be shit out of luck the next time around. It’s a Seller’s Market for Adderall in this town — and in Seller’s Markets the Jerks call the shots.

Especially when the Buyer is more addicted than Jane.

Sad fact is — from the addicted standpoint — I’m real close to shit out of luck already. I will be completely, not long from now, when those few paltry pills wear off. So I ask again: If crystal meth is the Scourge Of The Nation why didn’t I instead spend my $20 on that?

Why indeed? A twenty sack of meth packs roughly a billion-proof stronger punch than even a smashingly good $20 deal on Adderall. Twenty dollars worth of good meth will keep you up for 3 days; whereas 120 milligrams of Adderall practically puts me to sleep.

I need 150 milligrams to actually fall asleep.

So why not go for the meth? One could propose Good Reasons. Mostly having to do with the overall evil-ness of crystal meth. You know, like the shit kills you & all. Even I may be inclined to agree that — from a general health standpoint — I’m better off with the type of speed doctors prescribe. And you, dear reader, may be inclined to pat me on the back for choosing so wisely.

Fuck you.

I want some meth.

Why? Arithmetic reasons. Meth is cheaper plus it lasts longer.

Total no brainer dudes!

But the fact is you can’t get crystal meth in Brattleboro.

Why?

Part of me thinks it’s because — for reasons of good conscience — people who could bring meth to town don’t want to. And the fact is that people who intermittently may wish it were — people like me — do not in actuality want it around. For obvious reasons.

I took my first Adderall in 1999. I thought it was awesome dudes. I took to pharmaceutical amphetamines with literally uncommon zeal. I like them little buggers so much that if I had had steady access to crystal meth — for any prolonged time-stretch since — I bet money I would be something quite like dead.

In the late 1990’s America experienced a near hissy-fit explosion in OxyCotin use. So-called the “Hillbilly Heroin,” these legally prescribed painkillers introduced widespread swaths of rural America — where heroin is scarce — to the opioid in its’ crush & snortable (or injectable) form.

Recently, on the heels of a multi-million dollar class-action settlement, the makers of OxiContin admitted they had deliberately encouraged doctor’s to over-prescribe the drug — to reap profit windfalls from the illegal resale of the surplus.

Whoa.

Surplus of OxiContin? Way.

Excellent!!

OcyContin has two major advantages over heroin. It’s better. And it’s better.

But when the Feds crack down on doctor’s who over prescribe Oxies — bogus! — and all of the sudden you can’t get one to save your life, heroin — typically available in the nearest medium-sized city — is the next best thing.

A huge difference between O-C’s & heroin is the ability to measure your dosage. OxyContin comes in pills containing a precise number of milligrams. The largest, 80 milligrams, will very likely not kill even a first-time user. Two 80 milligram pills pose a mortal danger to even seasoned junkies.

So now you know.

But you don’t know how much heroin is in the bag they sell you. So when your town gets strung on the Dirty there’s a very good chance that soon a friend will die.

Hasn’t happened around here recently. Mainly because — most of the time — the bags are small & the dope is cut. That’s why people do so much of it all at once. And that’s why people die.

Another major difference between OxyContin & heroin is that the CIA sells heroin. Etc. So when the Feds crack down on the doctors for getting millions of new heroin customers addicted to opiates — and your friends die because you suddenly can’t get an OxiContin to save your life — the CIA laughs all the way to the bank.

Almost like they planned it that way.

Same way as They plan to get the population of Brattleboro, VT hooked like a guppies on meth.

Look: This blog is twitchy & lengthily jabbered proof that doctors over prescribe Adderall. Not that they prescribe enough exactly. Not for me. But my own habits are a different story. This one is about how soon the Feds will crack down on the doctors for over prescribing speed.

Then the CIA will dump a whole wazoo load of the bomb meth in Brattleboro.

Heh heh.

That’ll way rule!

Hillary’s B.S. Exploration Committee

Is it just me — or does Hillary Clinton’s announcement that she has formed a “Presidential Exploratory Committee” seem a touch disingenuous? Even a little contrived.

Huh. Like, Hillary Clinton is officially thinking about running for president. No shit??

Really!

Wikipedia says:

Candidates use an exploratory committee as not only a transitional phase for their bookkeeping but as an extra claim on media attention. Some of the most skillful handlers like to leak word that their candidate is testing the waters, then leak word that he or she is thinking about forming an exploratory committee. Additional “news” can be made when the same candidate actually forms such a committee and registers with the Federal Election Commission. Yet a fourth round of attention may be generated when the word exploratory gets dropped from the committee filing.

Barak Obama also recently announced formation of a committee to explore his own presidential ambitions. I buy that, somewhat, on the basis of a possibility that Obama may yet not run for president — dependent on what transpires between now & the first televised debate in April.

Senator Obama wants to run. Everyone wants Obama to run. Barak Obama may win & that’d be awesome dudes. But he is scared. He should be; Obama is a presidential campaign trail amateur. Hillary Clinton — his presumed chief rival — is a very unique kind of Pro.

Who, if taken at her word, has of late been bit by the whim to explore her viability as an ’08 conteder.

Forget that her first run on the US Senate, 6 years back, was that exploration’s literal inception. Forget for now that Hillary enjoyed front-runner status in the ‘08 race before John Kerry even conceded his loss in ’04. Remember what Hunter S. Thompson once pointed out:

“A man on the scent of the White House is rarely rational.”

And bear in mind that Hillary Rodham Clinton was keenly & irreversibly & deservedly on the White House scent back in the day when America’s Vice President attended DC-area Grateful Dead gigs. Before America “was ready” for wildly popular women & black male presidential candidates. Before Barak Obama made his first run on the Illinois state assembly.

Of the Democrats, she has wanted it longest. No doubt.

Remember when First Lady Hillary was publicly accused, in the early 90’s, of wearing the pants in the Clinton family? The media suggested she maybe wielded more presidential powers than the duly elected president. To hazard a guess: that’s when Hillary first laid her own designs on the presidency.

She’s one smart cookie. A cosmic rule-breaker superbly poised to be our next Commander in Chief; potentially the most dangerous woman in Planet Earth’s history.

So why launch her bid with some lumpy bull about an Exploratory Committee?

Not for the free publicity. Contrary; her non-committal stance is designed precisely to avoid media scrutiny. To temporarily dodge the question: What has Senator Clinton done for America lately?

Last thing I remember was her go-ahead to unleash a truly frightful catastrophe on the most volatile region of an already perilously war-whipped world. She voted to use force to topple Saddam Hussein from power in Iraq. For it she remains unapologetic. Perhaps not wanting to appear like a girly-girl & a sissy.

At all costs not wanting to alienate any pro-war Republicans who may swing their votes her way.

But now that the race for her party’s nomination is heatedly on Mrs. Clinton by appearances has taken steps to secure a few votes from her own compadres.

Very recently the senator conceded that — had she known then what she knows now — she would’ve voted the other way.

Well no shit Sherlock.

I mean…ya would‘ve? What a gigantic relief!

Know what? A yes vote for War was the dumbest vote ever cast by any US lawmaker. And that Says Something. But who the fuck cares? The question is now how do we deal with it?

Let’s talk about how to bring the right end to the war in Iraq and to restore respect for America around the world.
>>Hillary Clinton 1.20.07

Ah? Yes. As I suspected. Mrs. Clinton turns now to her party’s freshly empowered senate majority for salvation:

Clinton said [her proposed] legislation would establish conditions for the U.S. government, such as certifying that the Iraqi government had disarmed the sectarian militias and made constitutional changes to ensure rights for all ethnic minorities, as well as requiring participating in diplomatic activities with Iraq’s neighbors.

If those conditions are not met, the legislation would require a congressional resolution authorizing the mission in Iraq.

>>Washington Post 1.17.07

Hmm. Disarm the sectarian militias. End the civil war? WAY — sounds like a plan! Require diplomatic activities with Iraq’s neighbors…Like, Iran & Syria? Well. No harm I suppose in a little chit-chat with the terrorists. If it’ll help spare the human species from the embarrassment of self-extermination!

One question though: How will Iraq’s government disarm those militias? And…will we really talk to Syria & Iran — is that what Hillary means? I can’t tell. But to hazard a guess: these things won’t happen. Clinton’s proposed legislation will accomplish no progress on the ground in the war zone. Because it’s designed not to bring peace but to give Hillary Clinton a way to change her 2002 yes vote for War into one more befitting the Democratic Party’s presidential front-runner.

If those conditions are not met — ie disarmament of sectarian militias, diplomacy with Iran & Syria…the really impossible ones — The legislation would require a [new] congressional resolution authorizing war in Iraq.

Just in time, perhaps, for the leadoff primary contests in the ’08 election season?

Cheap Thrills on Planet Earth

part one: conspiracy theories & longshot bets & make.believe

How does one describe the Super Bowl to Plutonians?

First question: why would I want to?

I need practice.

I’ve been hired to cover the ’08 presidential race for a periodical on Pluto. Which one you ask? I, ah…I get back to you on that. I’m not done making it up yet.

It’ll be a good one though! Very prestigious.

~e

To gain an intellectual grip on what their problem is one must understand Americans’ relationship to their National Football League.

“What’s the big deal about American Football?” Any Plutonian will ask. That’s because they think football is a 2-team contest where players kick a ball into nets with their foot.

Every toe & heeled inhabitant in the cosmos plays football, right?

Yes. For certain. But in America they call Football soccer. American football is a different creature entirely.

Dig:

[For video: Click then scroll to 11.27.2006 Hail Mary Play option].

Despite that it largely involves an oblong shaped, just barely ball-like object handled, when it counts most, by the hands of two violently opposing hoards, Americans are raised to believe that the word Football most accurately describes their nation’s version of the game. They accept this failure of linguistics as fact and are prone, even, to wonder bewildered why the rest of the world calls soccer football.

Stupid foreigners.

Each year in early winter America’s National Football League holds its’ playoff/elimination contests to determine which two teams will compete in the final match known as the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl’s winner is the World Champion of American football.

As I write this just four hopefuls remain. One of these is the New England Patriots.

In the north-east corner of the nation, New England is the region of America that was first colonized by Europeans. This wave of settlers came from England across 3000 miles of sea. The British royal family claimed lordship over these colonial settlers. Charged them high taxes to live in what, soon after, became America. So the colonials declared their independence from England and fought them off with rifles, cannons & bayonets.

Proponents of America in this war were called Patriots. The war began in the region we now know is New England. So they named the local pro US football team after the Patriots. The New England Patriots.

After two planes knocked the World Trade Center down in 2001 it was very important to be a known Patriotic American. One example: in the wake of the attacks, tens of millions in the US attached miniature, red white & blue American flags to the FM radio antennas on their automobiles. The fuel efficiency lost to reduced aerodynamics was more than offset by a sense of participation in this unprecedented display of national pride; this way for ordinary Americans to show they, like Patriots in the Revolutionary War days, wanted America to win big.

Who wouldn’t? Unless you’re With The Terrorists…

Those flags are long ripped, tattered & gone poof. Like sad snips of confetti swept up in dirt piles from the dance-floor of last night’s party. Another good time that was too good to last. But back in the day…boy! Everywhere you turned there was a flag snap-whapping in the noxious, exhaust fume-filled breeze. And it was good to be an American.

Hell the PATRIOTS even won the first Super Bowl after September 11!

Security was tight at whatever stadium hosted 2002’s big game. Officials feared America’s most-watched sporting event could prove fertile ground for another attack. But the game came off without a hitch — right down to the celebratory confetti.

Much ado about lost American Lives was made during the pregame television programmes. Paul McCartney praised the US military for their fine work bombing Afghanistan — a conflict, coincidentally, whose commencement was announced on TV by the so-called President, some months earlier, during the half-time break of an NFL game.

At half-time in the 2002 Super Bowl names were scrolled across a giant screen of all the innocent American heroes who courageously gave their lives for Freedom at the World Trade Center & Pentagon on Sep 11 2001.

Stored at each end of the playing field in gigantic container drums, the confetti was red & blue — Patriot team colors. There were drum-loads filled with their opponent’s blue & orange moniker colors as well. But these were arranged for only to not tip off the confetti vendors to one blindingly plain Fact: the likelihood that the blue & orange team would win was roughly equal to the odds that something George W. Bush said was true.

The game went down to the wire. The score was even with seconds left to play. Then, a heartbeat before time ran out, the Patriots scored & broke the tie & won.

BOOM. Phwoof!

Confetti.

Hurled skyward.

The stadium’s lights reflected from the confetti snips to conjure the optical illusion of a third color, white, flashed amid gargantuan, resplendently spiraled red & blue plumes.

Like a Freedom Tornado. Ripped out from the top of a big ol’ can of Osama bin whoop ass.

The confetti settled. America caught its’ breath. And the profundity sunk in.

The Patriot’s long-odd victory provided proof positive that God is America’s staunchest proponent. A Patriot of Biblical proportions. God had the Patriots win that day so there’ll be no doubt that He wants America to win & Win Big. Bigger than big.

God wants America to win everything.

I watched the ‘02 Super Bowl with friends at Superstar Brown’s crib. We were swept in by the moment and got a little carried away.

“U-S-A!” The room erupted in chant.

“U-S-A!!! U-S-A!!

U–S-ayyy!!

Yeah — and we think America sucks. Shit I don’t even like Football — I think it the dumbest game in the whole wide world of sports. The only thing I like less than football itself are the New England Patriots.

They stand for all the wrong things in my book.

Still I cheered like a goon when they won. Because the ‘02 Super Bowl was a farce; the outcome rigged surely as the 2000 Presidential election’s. And we knew it. We called it for the Pats, at a beer party the night before, on the basis of conspirtorial hypothesis.

So we cheered for ourselves & had us a cheap thrill & some whoops.

What truly amazes, in retrospect, is that it worked. It was, and remains, America’s single greatest — indeed only Global War on Terror triumph.

Hail to the Pretenda Chief!

~e

This year I’m hootin it up for the New Orleans Saints. I hope they win it all and stomp lots of opponent’s faces along the way.

I don’t like football. Really. But I’m perpetually broke & a sucker for a good time. And when you pick a team you want to see win & they do it’s cheap thrills that don’t cost a dime.

Only thing is: the want must be genuine. There’s gotta be risk taken; to get a hoot when they win it’ll need to not matter precisely but bum you out a bit nonetheless if you lose. Cheap thrills don’t come free afterall.

Here’s why I’m for the Saints:

1. The time me & Superstar Brown dropped $150 on breakfast in the French Quarter. We couldn’t finish off the bottle of wine that accounted for a disproportional share of the tab. So the waiter brown-bagged it. We stepped out in the mid-morning New Orleans soup-heat. Promptly passed out on the sidewalk, bottle of wine gripped firmly in hand.

Awoke. Sipped. Whooped & strolled on. Thinkin to see if those girls from Memphis were still around…

2. I favor the underdog. I like it when someone who’s not supposed to win does — I like what that says about me. And — based both on their team’s Super Bowl win odds (5-1: the longest shot on the board) & by virtue of their city being submerged recently — the underdog qualification is well met by the town of New Orleans.

I say bet ’em smartly to win on the basis of their own raw want to. That’s my plan — soon as I get my first paycheck from Pluto.