Fruitless Shrubs and Nightcrawlers

Some things just never produce anything useful.

Even a freaking lowly earthworm can pinch a loaf that has a positive benefit.

Take the whole pot growing deal for example and let's contrast and compare the earthworm to the efforts of the growers.

Hey! Shut the damn door!

Big growers like Don, John, Tom, Dick and Harry make as though they are gonna squeeze off something tangible every time they show up to see the Soup.

They drop their drawers and talk your ear off but all they ever really do is 'file a motion' without completing the agreed upon deal.

Sometimes it looks like they're trying but all they can seem to manage is to fart and clear the room.

I knew a guy that used to think that was funny until the time he did it in a closed up car on a hot day and turned his pants into a strainer.

The big growers don't really want to actually fertilize the situation with anything that could be useful since they know that would mean they'd have to follow some rules so everytime it looks like somebody is gonna make some rules they make sure to show up with all the pachouli reeking dirtbags they can find to stand behind in case the shooting starts.

Then you got your earthworm. Earthworms dont stink like pachouli oil and they can stand by their decisions like the took the advice of that county dude Coal. He says decisions should be decisivecisions or something and the spelunkers couldn't agree more even if we don't know what that means.

Maybe the Waffler knows.

Big growers know that if a decisivecision happens their gonna have to follow some rules and it's gonna change the way they get to spend their dough and that's not a decisivecision they can really get behind.

They'd have to let Unc Sam know where the beamer and the house come from so they show up at all the meetings to make sure nothing actually gets done. Like filling potholes or whatever.

Then you got the earthworm burrowing along minding its own business and poopin' out some serious product that's probably even legal with the federal government.

If the fed could criminalize number two it probably would but the earthworm crawls around in that gray area of the law and gets all the credit and profit for what it's doing because of lack of government oversight.

I suppose if the g-people would get their act together they'd impose some regulations on earthworms and tax 'em til it hurt. 

The other cool thing an earthworm can do is fishing but these local asswipe growers can't seem to produce anything that isn't toxic. Which reminds me, just the other day I found out there's some kinda forest beastie called the fisher that the growers are killing.

So they aren't just not producing stuff, they are killing stuff I've never even heard of - like the fisher.

Keep out, dangerous peach.

I guess thats worse than one of those stupid ornamental fruit trees. Those Peach Surprise Cocktails you were looking forward to never happened after you spent all that time growing 99 peach trees on that empty lot you own.

But it ain't because the DEA ripped em out.

Surprise - no freaking peaches on ornamental peach trees so you wind up getting soused on rum and tripping over those sacks of potting soil you never did remember to put away.

Flailing around trying to combat the nastier side effects of gravity with your head sailing right into the trunk of one of those stupid fruitless wonders you think to yourself 'at least these stupid peach trees didn't kill the neighborhood pets.'

Who goes fishing in the forest anyway?

Supposedly it's some kinda rat and I haven't got a clue why they call it a fisher but nobody asked me when they were naming it. If they had I'd probably name it Merrill since that's some kinda rat too.

Pricklier Kinda Love

Ain't love grand?

So much love in the air these days. That relocated BOS meeting was just oozing love and people kept saying one love or something to bring it home. At one point the passion was almost too much for a couple of the more amorous types who almost got carried away with the passion.

Get any on ya?

Maybe it was the crowd or being in sexy old Fritch hall where the goat smell isn't so strong.

Maybe it's Rainbird's stylish hair donut on top of his coif but whatever it was Rainbird and Pineapple Boy just about couldn't keep their hands off each other. Some said it looked more like a fight but if the spelunkers know about anything its about mating rituals and that was the real deal.

Those two have such a crush on each other they locked eyes, gazed at each other and nearly lost themselves in the throes of passionate embrace right there in front of god and everyone.

I guess they were just so excited about the idea that the BOS were planning on letting them grow some plants or maybe it was because they were planning to file an injunction against the permission that their buddy Don Merrill the pot delivery boy had help craft.

I was a little bit confused about why Merrill would spend all that time going to those cultivation meeting deals only to sue when he got what he wanted but that's why I don't smoke today's blends. They really mess up your head.

I guess Merril just can't be happy anymore regardless of what happens. If he loses he's mad and if he wins he's mad. At least he's got plenty of resources to hire expensive lawyers when he wins so he can pretend he lost and that's why he sues.

We started thinking about what else might have happened and we went back to the beginning when the county did that first ordinance got passed and Merrill emerged onto the scene to help somebody else spend a bunch of money to make the soup not give permission to grow.

In those days they were saying that getting permission to grow was draconian. I looked that word up because it sounds pretty dang cool.

I'm Draconian!

And it is. It comes from a guy named Draco from a long time ago. Apparently Draco was so well liked that his supporters threw a bunch of hats, shirts and cloaks on his head that he suffocated, died and got buried where he fell. Kinda like Don Merrill did.

I'm not really sure how that relates to getting permission to grow pot but what the hell because Merrill's own Council of Four Hundred showed up to the meeting to explain how they should be able to grow as much weed as they want since they are stressed out. Hell, I'd be stressed out too if I had fifty plants in my yard that all the other scumbags wanted. I'd be so stressed I'd set up cameras and trip wires and unleash my hounds from hell to guard the stuff.

That is stressful stuff so I'd definitely want to smoke a bunch of weed to help me calm down so I didn't stumble into my own tripwires or get bit by one of the hellhounds when they weren't busy dry humping each other like Pineapple boy and Rainbird.

The False and the Furious

Ever watch some kid get caught in a lie? Its one of my favorite things since it just brings back all those warm childhood memories and the taste of cheap soap.

That's not cherry flavor!

Mom always stocked up when it was on sale.

Everything can seem like its going along just great then when you question whether that kid actually 'found' whatever it was that they were showing off they get all flustered and if you don't ease up on the truthiness they get furious.

I'm guessing francis' mom didn't buy soap wholesale like they did in my family.

Still mirthin' it baby!

Its kinda like that with our own despicable and vindictive conman francis. Okay, I didn't coin that one, that came from the Mayor of Mirthy-ness who just held his own confident-ness vote thing.

That Mayor guy didn't really come by it on his own either since the soup were already inviting revelers and truth seekers to their own cremation of confident-ness deal but got sidetracked by another one of francis' asswipe stunts.

I guess it all goes back to when francis was born. Or maybe he was a cute little tyke like most are. Could be it started with his first arrest or maybe his second. Whatever it is it all got rolling solid after he applied those skills he picked up getting arrested to transform himself like some bleary, directionless cocoon devoid of a moral compass into a law-man.

Most cocoons unleash beautiful and fascinating things into the world, except those f'd up killer clown cocoons like the one francis popped out of.


Everything was going along just great till francis quit going to work I suppose. Then when people started asking after him he clammed up like a steroid laced pit bull with his jaws locked on a campaign of transparency and started hurling out legal threats and lots of other tooth gnashing designed to change the subject.

What was the subject anyways?

Oh right, the cremation of confident-ness. That's what official people do when they quit believing stuff some other people say. The soup get so many telegraphs telling em how folks don't trust somebody anymore so they take away the confident-ness or something and that tells other people that something isn't on the level anymore.

Only this time most folks already knew nothing was on the level in the first place before the Poobah ascended to the royal throne of top law enforcement in the world or something so the other folks who decided to give the benefit of the doubt to the guy are falling off one by one under the withering fire of the truthiness crowd who knew the score in the first place.

Its all just pissed francis off royally.

Talk Real Slow

Some people are so damn dumb you have to repeat yourself when you tell em stuff and they still get it wrong.

I remember one time I had to repeat myself so many times once it pissed off the bartender and the bouncer so much those guys tossed me out in the street just because they couldn't understand what the hell I was saying.

Or maybe they did.

Hell I dunno I can't remember much about that evening or morning or whatever the heck it was.

Usually you don't see people talking about having to repeat themselves when some total dumbass either can't or won't understand the most basic crap. But sometimes, just every once in a glorious while you get to see some total fool get dressed down by one of the people they can't seem to understand.

It can be an embarrassing moment to hear such a thing like when it's you and somebody explains that you just can't understand much at all. Even more embarrassing than when you wet your pants or find out your bad ass guard dogs were humping their brains out when the garden got snatched.

Damnit Lucifer!

Other times it can be more enjoyable and it can sound like those bell deals or harps or whatever that sweet golden sound of angels and stuff sounds like.

It can be like when all the fruits line up on the slot machine deal and you get steak for dinner. That kinda enjoyable, good like steak.

With A-1 sauce even. 

That was what it was like when that buffalo dude told off francis recently. Seems francis has real bad comprehension issues and only wants to hear what he wants to hear or just doesn't know what the hell is going on because he's stoned or something.

Check the video - even the Waffler says he understood what the buffalo dude said even though francis just doesn't get it. Some folks, like francis, may not want to watch this one since like I said sometimes it's funner when it's somebody else.

Thing is, francis has been going around whining about stupid shit he says everybody else is doing because he probably thinks nobody notices the stupid shit he's doing. Lately he's been griping that the buffalo dude has a schedule conflict or something and can't make rules that affect francis' friends the pot growers.

By strange coincidence those pot head types have a real difficult comprehension problem too so for whatever reason they all sound just like francis. I'm not sure why that is but its like they share a maggot infested brain or whatever.

Load up the Batmobile.

You don't want a maggot brain like those guys.

Anyway so francis kept nagging the buffalo dude so much that finally the buffalo dude had to explain to everybody what francis' brain problem is.

Basically, francis is a retard so you have to repeat yourself a bunch and talk real slow. Real, real, real slow. But even that doesn't work sometimes so you just give up trying to explain stuff to them and just sit back while they do some stupid shit like those pencil dicks that pretend they are batman and wear their underwear outside their pants or whatever.

I thought only girls kicked francis in the nutsack but it looks like its open season on francis for co-ed nutsack hackysack and the buffalo guy drew the long straw.

Some people have all the luck.

Tom's Big Pole

Remember those guys who always had to compensate for some shortcoming so they got big fast cars, revved the engines up real loud and screeched around like mutated flying monkeys on speed? Yah those guys.

Turns out some of em were using steroids and it shriveled their nuts so bad their tighty whities fit kinda loose.

Other guys were just naturally handicapped so it wasn't their fault they had something to prove.

Our own federally convicted drug criminal Tom Cartel is like the second type, it isn't his fault and he wants everyone to know it but he doesn't really want to drive around in a hot rod since that would be so 80's.

Cartel was clearing some land for his garden far away from the noise and bustle of the task force helicopters and discovered he'd made kind of a mess. He didn't want to just leave all the stuff there, some folks might call it evidence, and as he stood there looking at the virgin growth redwood trees he'd just slaughtered and puffing on a reefer he had an idea.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Creative uses for dead trees.

Tom decided he'd find somebody dumber than him and convince them some of those slaughtered redwood trees might make good symbols of peace. What could possibly better symbolize peace than redwood trees brutally murdered in the pursuit of material gain through growing illegal drugs to sell to children, he'd just leave that part out and tell folks he 'found em.'

Kinda like when I was a kid and found my dad's metal grinder and used it to liberate a bike I 'found' that some control freak had chained up to the library fence. I found it, it was mine.

Tom figured once he found some other rebel without a clue he'd plunge those trees into the ground so everybody could see what a big pole he has.

Around the same time, idiot-point-one was trying to figure out how to raise some money without actually having to do another fund raiser so they gathered their collective heads, nearly got a rock pile together and chose one of the most violent, divisive times the county had ever known and call it the summer of peace so they could go around asking everybody for money.

So they got Tiara San Jawn to be the patsy and go around asking for money so she could declare this summer the summer of peace. But Tiara wasn't content to simply call it the summer of peace and hold hands around a campfire singing like most folks do because that wouldn't mean any money for idiot-point-one.

She huffed and she puffed and went around to all the local offical type folks and asked them for some cash so she could throw one big shindig and call it the summer of peace.

Much to her surprise, they all said no.

Tiara had to figure out some way to pull off her plan since it didn't look like she was going to get to take tax dollars that pay for stuff like parks and such for her peace thing.

Enter Tom Cartel. Who better to celebrate something as nonsensical as the summer of peace when the county is at war than one of the main thugs?

And Tom likes the idea since it means he can stuff his pole into a crack and show everyone how big it is.

Then after summer time the cops can show up and rip out Tom's and everybody elses plants so they don't have to mess up all those peace pipes they buy this summer.

Nothing says peace like killing redwood trees and guarding pot plants with rifles and pitbulls.

Sum quoque Donec enim negotium

Some people never learn. Like me, I sometimes do the same doggone thing over and over again and never learn how to quit wasting my time with it. Like Dishes for instance. If I could really learn I'd probably get some paper plates or some of those cool biodegradable eatin' deals I could just toss in the back yard like my neighbors do.

Actio ante protocollo

Unlike yours truly, francis seems to have gained an appetite for education though.

At least I learned to quit going to school after I was old enough to buy beer and hit the strip bars when I was around fifteen.

Word is francis is over studying to be a liar since he's just isn't so good at it without some formal law school education stuff.

So francis packed up his favorite Sponge Bob lunch box with some nifty snacks and scooted along to class. He can get lots of snacks since his GOB job pays a boatload more than mine does and he doesn't even have to go to work to collect it.

I show up an hour or two late four or five times in a week and my boss starts to behave like I don't deserve my job or something.

Kinda feel bad for the guy having to drive all the way down to Santa Rosa four times a week but I guess the county probably pays for the gas so that's good.

I suppose.

Thing is francis has so much use for legal opinions he's decided to learn what those really are. Besides, he gets to hang out with some smart folks they probably have all kinds of interesting conversations that he'd really like to understand. Maybe some smarts will rub off on him after a while.

Time will tell.

Opus calidum legalis consilio, infantem?

On the other hand that place is probably chock full of hot lawyer gals he can brush up against and cop a feel.

That's probably it.

At least that's about the only reason I'd go to law school anyway. The rest of that lawyer crap is dull as hell and they make you remember so much stupid shit. And who cares about latin besides that goofy dork from that movie anyway?

The only latin I know is Vicecomes superfluum carnis and I don't have a clue what that means. Sure glad I'm not a lawyer since the only place latin comes in handy is in a courtroom and south of the border.


Could be he's got wind that he's gonna be spending some time in a courtroom and just wants to know the language so he doesn't make an ass of himself like usual.

That would be a welcome relief for sure.

Twas the night

 A rock hurled into the cave had this note attached. So we thought oh what the hell, let's share it.

Twas the night before the election and all through the Lovelosers house, not a creature was stirring not even Phil’s arse. All the sample ballots were hung by the door jam with care, with hopes that Francis would soon shoot one there.

Bruce, Tom and Brian were nestled all snug in their one bed, with visions of a Moss victory dancing in their heads, and when outside of the double-wide there arose such a clatter, Bruce sprang from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window he flew in a flash, pulled down the soiled sheet and threw up his hands.

The moon on the primer gray Chevy gave off such a shine, when what to his bloodshot eyes should appear, but 'ol possum head’s rattling pickup holding eight dead deer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, Bruce knew in a moment it wasn’t another Lovelace dick, more rapid than Tom chasing a cheeseburger and fries, possum head leaped out, and he whistled and shouted and called out their names.

Now Dwain, now Ron, now Frank and Becky and on Olga and on Phil, and on with you Blackmoore. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of many police hooves.

As I drew in my head and was turning around, down through the roof came a buffalo rancher. He was dressed in all leather, from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with Loveloser's hashish soot.

A bundle of warrants he held in his hands. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His gunmetal .45 ready to shoot and his humor as dry as 'ol possum head's solitary tooth.

He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed, like Joan’s KY jelly. He was chubby and plum, a right old jolly dude, and Bruce laughed when he saw him knowing he was dead. With a wink of his eye and a twist of his cuffs, the rancher moved quickly and arrested them all.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work, and torched their double-wide and Joan’s only tooth. Laying his finger aside of his nose, he sprang up through the roof and flew them away in his gas-powered sled.

I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Lovelosers are busted, and to all a good night.