Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp I: Acknowledgement)

It was 1997, I was just 6 years old when my father left on his first business trip as a manager of a garage door manufacturing plant in Wisconsin. He was just a few states away, and the sorry excuse for a human being that he married had a sinister plan in mind for my big brother and I: kill them with heroin. I had just got back from playing out in the creek in the back yard with my best friends; we were playing cops and robbers. Then we decided that we would have a contest on who could jump the farthest off the swings. We found some frogs that had gotten too far away from the creek, so we brought them back to ensure the neighborhood cats didn’t kill them. It was a hard day’s work.

Little did I know that that night was going to be the last night that I had something that could be considered a mother. She came into my room as I was about to go to sleep; I had just read myself a bedtime story about the Rainbow Zebra who finally was ok with his rainbow colored stripes and the black and white zebras accepted him for who he was. It was my favorite book. She told me she had some medicine that she was going to give me, but I told her that I wasn’t sick. She told me that I was, and proceeded to stick the needle in my arm as I struggled to be let go.

I don’t know how I survived, but I woke up in the middle of the night in the basement laid ontop of my big brother who wasn’t breathing. I cried and I cried and I cried for him to wake up, and out of some miracle, he started to breathe. I had no idea what was going on, and I didn’t know how I ended up in the basement. So, to make myself feel better, I turned on the TV in search of something to watch. The first episode of Jackass aired that night and Johnny Knoxville was the only one who could make me laugh. Thank God he did. The story as to what happened to this whore is hard for me to explain, but after the cops were called, she was then able to escape the hands of the law off of some OJ Simpson evidence loophole. I was stuck as a human body to be used in any way she pleased as the sorry excuse for a father I had turned the other cheek out of fear of being killed himself for the next 12 years.
I’m not the only one who has suffered for the likes of the industries who run wars on everything in order to make a system of control over the individual and thus control over society. The problem in America with the widespread use of opiates is that the racketeering of governments, military industrial complex, Hollywood, music industry, and pharmaceutical corporations.

Your public service announcements against the usage of heroin, studies on keeping heroin off the street, and donations for non-profit organizations are all a part of a scheme to make you think that the only people who are interested in the heroin market are gang bangers and the prostitute standing on the corner. It goes much deeper than that. There is something that addicts do to make sure that they are not suspected of being addicts by calling out people who are known addicts in order to take the heat off of them. Not only do federal and state politicians have an addiction to the profit that this drug brings them from the opiates sold my the pharmaceutical companies, but the news has covered the likes of many individual “leaders” having the actual addiction themselves.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that Dianne Feinstein is holding kickbacks with Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner, shootin’ it up and listening to Nine Inch Nails, but with all of the weird shit that goes on with these swine, I’m sure that something like that isn’t out of the question. These are the same people who support the “War on Drugs” which takes the blame of drug usage and posts it on your neighborhood dope dealer as if he’s the only one who does the shit. Then, when the shipment comes in, NYPD arrests the dealer, puts him in jail for 20 years, and what in the hell happens to she shipment? It sits in the evidence locker until the “criminal” goes to court, he’s convicted….. Then Michael Bloomberg holds a kickback where he and his henchmen shoot it up and listen to Nine Inch Nails. Haha. Oh, some of you might read this and think that something like that would never happen, and of course, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Not only do these soulless political accomplices support the War on Drugs (declared by Richard Nixon who just looked like a junkie all along), but they also support the War on Terror. As you well know, I am a veteran of the United States Marine Corps. Oorah. There are countless stories of Marines who were sent on patrols in order to protect the poppy plants that the locals were growing. The excuse was, “It’s a direct order, Marine. Now, get your gear ready.” So, Marines who are already going crazy from seeing their buddies dying and killing people try to make an excuse for protecting the plants by saying that it’s “a part of their culture,” or, the most painful one, “it’s the only way the country can make any money to sustain the economy.” To hear my fellow Marines make these Stockholm Syndrome excuses as to why they were helping the government and the distributors of this plant (which has legitimate medical uses in its pure poppy form) turn it into chemically distorted versions of its pure form in order to create an addiction much worse than any other addiction in America…. And I don’t need any statistical evidence to prove that.
Around this time last year, I found out that the man that I married was cheating on me with prostitutes that he was using in order to find heroin. I woke up one morning to find an unexpected visitor in my house. I grabbed my weapon of opportunity (a knife I had stowed away in a safe place) and proceeded to threaten him, trying to find out who he was. He scrambled to find words as I held the knife up to his throat, “I’m PJ, I read your blog and I’m your biggest fan. I have something to tell you.”

“What?!” I exclaimed.
“Please put that thing away, it’s freaking me out.”
“No. I don’t know who you are PJ. How do I know you’re just not trying to get me to be complacent?”
“You’re never complacent.”
“Ok.” I put the knife down, but still had it brandished, just in case, as he sighed knowing he wasn’t gonna die that day.
“Look, I came in here to tell you that your husband is cheating on you.”
“WHAT IS YOUR PREROGATIVE?!” as the knife went up to his throat again.
“I don’t have one! JUST LET ME SHOW YOU! I have to take my phone out of my pocket.”
“Are you sure it’s a phone?”
“Take it out. Slowly.”

As he took out his phone, I started to calm down a little bit as I wasn’t sure how he was going to show me that my husband was cheating on me. Little to my surprise, not only had he taken pictures of him and these whores outside of our apartment, he also hacked into our wireless system to show me sex videos that he extracted from my husband’s computer. I freaked out as the evidence was shown to me, cursing the bastard I married and wondering what it was I was going to do next. Then I realized I had a friend in the room.

“Are you stalking me, PJ?”
“Ok, yes, but don’t kill me.”
“I won’t it’s just weird.”
“Yeah, I know it’s weird. But you’re a great writer….. and I needed to tell you.”
I sighed, “Well, since you’re here, wanna smoke a blunt?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Pff…. Yeah…. Busy smoking blunts. I have to go to school in a few hours though.”
“Wait… You wanna hang out with me?!”
“Of course. You’re my biggest fan. Oh, just so happens, I already had a blunt rolled.”

So we lit up the shit, and I calmed down a lot. When something like that happens, my Marine Corps training kicks in and it takes a lot to calm me down… Like a whole blunt of some stanky Cali weed. I took a second look at my stalker and started thinkin’, “That’s a hot man. I wonder…. Hm…..”

“So,” my interrogation began, “I notice the ring on your finger as well.”
“Well, I just found out that my wife has been cheating on me and that the kids that we have aren’t even mine.”
“Oh damn, that sucks,” I eyed him, “Must be why you wanted to come and tell me, huh?”
“Yes,” as the shit-eating grin started to form on his pretty face, “It’s just that I had to find out on my own. I didn’t have anyone to come and break the news to me.”
“So what is it that you like so much about my writing so much?” I smiled.
“It reminds me of Hunter S. Thompson, and he’s my favorite writer.”
“Oh,” my pupils dilated, “he’s mine too,” as I took in a huge hit and handed it to him.

He took a hit as the tension rose higher, put the blunt down, and so started the affair I had been waiting for. I knew that the bastard was cheating on me, I just didn’t have any proof of it. He was using me for the money I made in the Marine Corps. Steady paycheck, bills paid. That’s how every Marine gets fucked over, but by this time I was already out and collecting the GI Bill, going to college. He came to visit me randomly, and I fancied a stalker due to the the spontaneity of the affair. I was his polar bear and he was my beluga whale. I started to wonder what it was that he did that allowed him to come and see me so often while skipping out on work, and still working at the same time. He lived in Clairemont and I lived in San Diego. Long drive. He was very secretive about it and talked in code as to the problems he was having at work, so I kind of thought he was some sort of gangster or fucking spy or something. I didn’t ask very many questions, I just let him vent ’cause he needed to.

But one day I just needed to know because of how weird he was acting when we walked down to the beach. I always walk around like a Marine, scanning and assessing individuals, but today was different because he was doing the same thing. So, we sat down at the beach, and I looked him in the eye and asked him what he did.

“Why do you want to know so badly?”
“Um…. Because we’ve been seeing eachother for four months and I still have no idea what you do.”
“I just don’t want you to think of me differently.”
“Why would I?” I laughed.
“Ok, I work in construction.”
My husband was an electrician and I knew that was bullshit.
“Oh really?! What do you construct?”
“Are you a foreman or something? ‘Cause you miss an AWFUL amount of work.”
“OK! OK! I construct movies.”
“What kind of movies? B movies?!”
“No,” he sighed, “Hollywood movies.”
“Oh….” I was running through who he could be, “What movies?”
“You still don’t know who I am?!”
“Uh……….. No.”

Then he started listing off some movies I hadn’t seen in a long time and I couldn’t remember any of them. He started to get upset.

“Holy shit. Jackass.” he said.
“You were…… Uh…..”
“I’m Jack fucking Holiday.”

I couldn’t help but burst out into laughter which confused him a lot.

“What’s so funny?”
“You. For one. For two, it’s just funny how where ever we go, people always ask you, ‘Are you Jack Holiday?’ and I’m like, ‘DOES HE LOOK LIKE FUCKING JACK HOLIDAY?! He’s PJ!’ and they get all mad and shit, but you’re really Jack Holiday and I had no idea!!!!!”
“Heh! That is pretty funny.”
“But you’re still my PJ,” I smiled.

He didn’t find it as amusing as I did and started to pout. I was trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Baby, what’s going on?”
“Now you can’t stop thinking about how much money I make.”

Now I’m fucking pissed, so I got up and stormed off with a purpose. I was walking so fast that he had to run to catch up to me and I dwarf him by about 10 inches.

“Cassandra!” he yelled, “Baby please stop!!!”
“I’m sorry!!”

He finally caught up to me and grabbed my arm. We were making a scene and people were filming it. Haha. Oh man.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” I snarled, “What do you want?”
“No you don’t. You think that I give a FLYING FUCK about how much money you make?”
“No, I do. I don’t— Shit. Look….” I turned away and crossed my arms, “The reason why I care about you so much is because you care about me for who I am and I was afraid that if you found out who I was that you would start caring about how much money I make.”
“Well, that’s a FUCKING insult. Like I would give a shit about that,” my eyes started to water, “like you even read anything I wrote…..” and the tears started to fall and his eyes started to water.
“No. I did read what you wrote. It’s just that the people in Hollywood condition us to think that people who aren’t in Hollywood only care about how much money we make….. and I truly apologize for making you think that you were one of those people to me….. because you’re not.”
I saw a tear fall from his eye, something that I could tell was real, “Ok, let’s go back to my place and get this sorted out. I have something that I’ve been wanting to tell you and now that I know what you do, it makes it a lot easier for me to say it. I just need to figure out how without pissing you off too much.”
“Do you still want to see me?!”
“Yes, you asshole,” just let me think on the walk back.

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