fetaman.com

Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Die. Cot. Ah, me.

The wonderful world of alliteration.

The pageantry of being able to see the defining moments of the world that is seen to be so clear, and crisp to some, but clouded to others.

Some by choice have had this path thrust upon them, as a reward for the vengeance that they sought to take on anything that was to control them. The parrot speaking to the wooden dummy, a host of the outcast misfortunes that led him along the seizure, a salted taste on the good days when there was a river of it on his tongue, hydrated for a moment as a man should be walking the piles.

Around we see the badges of accomplishment, flare that is presented to stress our importance and want for an acceptance or a call. We see people that will lie and cheat, not to preserve some kind of mental challenges they may face or the hardships of their lives, but more so to flee the horror of their own choices. Leaving a path of almost undetectable traces to the naked eh, to another – it is a clear presentation of the fraud that they presented, and in time they will get to enjoy the fruits of their labours.

Bitter or sweet is not only a sub routine of the season alone.

It is a parcel of the package that was delivered to the senses, and then tasted with the intent of the day.

My heart bleeds for the challenges here, and the reality is much different than anyone could imagine – unless they had walked a mile in my shoes. It would be a slow walk, for many reasons. I would hope we could pause a little, and gather some thoughts from the fields beside us. It is hard to believe, but I am going to prove that the grass is orange, and that is the truth.

Whether other’s want to see it or not, will not matter to those of us that do.

The site is not dedicated to selling anyone anything.

There is no beggar here that is pleading for some kind of hand out, or screaming that there is a way for you to make those lovely pumps shine with so much love if you lose 10 lbs. or wear this floral print propaganda.

I am more than happy to hoist an ale, or smoke a smile or two with you.

I really don’t care who you are, just know who you are.

Stand and take pride in that, regardless of the adversity that you made it through.

The complexity of philanthropy is not an easy one to understand for ourselves, let alone for others.

It is always your choice, and you can smile knowing you did what and how for a reason.

But that reason, is all mine.

These, are just the spilling syllables of the tales I tell, and the life I have lived.

Two spreadsheets and a microphone.

Listen, and you can hear the fuq’s given.

Understand if it was a fuck that was important enough to be saved, or one that was entered in the alliterative form of modern day gladiators entering their own arena of stupidity to do battle with the legions of the fucks that will pander to the machine for want of being accepted.

Stand tall, and know when one is proven to be real – not some fictional picture, or some false prophet on radio speaking the words of his kind.

Real – then you can get more than the nickel.

But those dollars you took, they have another toll that has to be paid.

If you listen closely to the complex symphony, the overture – you can hear the sound of the timpany drum in the forest.

Here it was, thinking that no one would listen.

No one cared enough.

It was not the cost of the beer, or the flavour of the weeds. It was not the gester that would be seen as anticipatory, earning one the right to get a pre-release of the book he was penning on that corner. He was a broken man, broke by the standards of the society that many thought were just to judge him. There his riches were of another kind, here the multiplied in force. In purpose, in a tense capacity moving naturally.

They had come from the heart, because they had been touched. Like walking around the corner and touching the pavement, anxious to see the man who had a story for every day.

Many days, there was no day without his stories. It was merely a stretch of the same composite construction of lame office humour and a desperate hiding spot until Ollie has had enough time to ponder his weak mule as an ox. It was a sad circus, and the man knew it. But he had to find something in his day that mattered, and so he came and listened. He thought no one else would.

You did, and that – has made all the difference.

*abide*

By

This is how flying was invented.

Naked honesty.

When reflected upon and in a retroactive basis, is wild.

Beautiful and mesmerizing. Shanked by the sharpened edges of the social norm, restricted from being provided in the state of nature man was born into, for it would drag us back to the cave to be beaten.

Suffering fools, chained to the anomaly of convention sold as a bill of goods by the piper.

I wish that experience on so many, but alas – for a variety of reasons, and some within their control with others not so much so, they will never get to feel the rush of creating something so real and passionate that taking it down would be the sin, not posting it in the first place.

Sorry is the man that has never felt the rush of a solid sequence of syllables in a wave of emotion that brings him to tears, listening to the darkest of the memories tell him of the night hell broke loose and decided to bend your ear and hold your hand.

You held it back.
It was a wild night.
Do it again, I would.

Hollow is a life that is posted on a “timeline” and never reflected on again, wondering how the tree is worshipped and the memories that have made it so are forgotten to the fruits seen to be able to be harvested each year from a branch that would melt minds if it could reach into a garden of another kind.

But it can.
We can.
It does.

Gus does.

I am so unbelievably, fantastically, and cosmically stoked it is not even funny what a surreal trip this is. I am shaking with joy and emotion, at a level that is magical.

That is no lie.
That is alive.

That is fuck cancer, fuck cowards, wake up and live – alive.

No machine, no cubicle, no green grass only – orange grass.
Alive.

Where other’s see misery, and pain, and misfortune…I see opportunity.
To live, and be free from the thoughts and the illness, and ailments that want to consume me.

They shall not, but I offer them my soul and my life selflessly at the will of Abide.
If that is what it sees fit for me, then so be what I see fit for me.

To the ages of ages.

Reciprocity in piece, and being.

If you had made millions, and wanted to pursue a dream – would you?

Really?

Good, nice to meet you.

Me too.

*sip

Get ready, ’cause if you want the ticket I got one.

Enjoy the ride.

Υγεία, Φιλία kai θρησκεία
Egia, Filia kai Thriskia. 

“Health. Friendship. Faith.” is what many would get from a dictionary.

What I get out of that, well…it may not be as interesting as what Gus does.

The grass. It is orange.

*abide*

By

Albedo fingertips.

Albedo.

Reflection coefficient or, range?

Fingertips made of the same sensation.

Water.

Rushing, can’t stop.

It has been a trip – to get here.

To release the pounds.

Fucking.

Gus.

What a beautiful trip – the sheer, majesty of it.

Glorious really.

Breath taking.

A story based on fiction, that is fact? Factual account turned to reveal the reflections of a man in those moments the glorious waves just tumble and turn, providing us a moment to be thankful?

*sip

The journey was delicious, and it still is.

“There was never meant to be oil in the branch. It comes only from the olives offered at the table.” – Gus

*abide*

By

Doubt anyone else, but Feta.

Gus is raging.

The time is now.

The updates will be here, and the timing will be clear.

“The book” – is being published in the next 7-14 days. All ISBN information, and administrative functions have been cleared.

The “discussions” with other parties is no longer going to prevent me from completing my personal goal and intentions. Editors, publishers, agents…this is my arena, and I am tired of waiting to be told what and how to do it, sacrificed for the pittance of some time that needs to manifest itself on your calendar repeatedly to prove you have prestige in that position on the wheel.

You know where I am, the book will be out there.

Check, raise.

All in.

Fucking Gus. One “crazy” man who always believed the grass was orange, it was any colour he wanted it to be. He had a plan. It was all so simple, it seemed. Take the millions made, find new wealth and excess and create a magical marijuana operation. It was beyond criminal. It was life threatening, and life changing. The wild and drug fueled world of Gus and his associates, his family, his enemies – the life of a brother is lost, logical illusions crumble as paradox is crucified and marijuana is hung for treason while Gus reasons and has to fight to not only save his family, but in fact, himself and humanity.

This is no longer a testing pattern.

The grass is fucking orange.

Come play in it.

It won’t bite.

Promise.

*abide*

By

Fly when there is sun.

  • 100,003 @ 5:32 p.m *genuine humble bow is observed
  • 2oo posts
  • 12 pages, *some selections still private and exclusive*
  • 21 categories
  • 1,028 tags
  • 1000+ embedded links, laterals, tangents,”hints” and “blades of orange grass”
  • 2500+ hours of development and effort, media, iFeta, FetaChops and general brinesanity

Long hard road, with a hell of a lot of what some would refer to as old fashioned effort. The site over 14 months has managed to get to 100,000 impressions and hits.

No bullshit, despite the haters and the bots that look for scams and weak points.

It is all right here.

Regardless of my great boasts, and braggadocio* flare (*remember a small tribute once in a while to the cousins, the fellow Greeks that went west seeking pasta, and found wine to allow them to rest, learning some of the finer traits the modern Greek goes without such as more discretion, common math skills and a gentlemen’s agreement he will allow his wife to drink the same tease, but hers from a bag different than the one he ensures is diamond endowed, fluffed and proud) I am not perfect.

I have tried to interact, and keep the faith. Many folks are still around, and have become better friends, for lack of wanting to get into some kind of psychoanalytical state of discretion about the definition of the word, but please spare me the need for you to ask the teacher if he can tell you where to draw the imaginary line in your playground. If you choose to look at it that way, imagine a giant oil dipstick filled with black gel in an Oldsmobile Cut’ass that is pulled out and drawn across my imaginary sandbox as well. It is here, let’s just for the sake of argument call it Fetaman.com.

Any questions, any time sunshine.

I shake my head at pursuing the “dream” of writing, creating my own site has been a “trip” considering it was going to be meant as an outlet for some expression, and used to help provide a figurative backbone sliding to the works that are coming out in 2013. That should include two separate “books”, one fictional that will likely be a series of 3 smaller ones to cover three very distinct reasons and commentaries on “orange grass”, and another biographical/research driven. The beginning of another project has yet to be fully announced, and all of them remain incredible new places and things in my life for which I am most grateful.

Nobody would argue it could be perceived as very challenging, so I am sure you will accept my apologies for the delay in the launch, but if you are following the site, or have some idea, you know some of it has been “writer’s issues” and the rest, just the way if is. Sorry.

Hell? Sure, the writing for some, but for me that would be much too arrogant of a word for it.

Non sequitur it appears, my heaven and “hell” has been one of my own making, intentional or otherwise. Whatever it has been, is something that I have been responsible for, and I am not ever going to be playing a victim role. Stating fact, or fiction, is still a statement when they are kept in the context of their own minds, and remain relative to the participating parties in a capacity that is both physically safe and secure, of course mentally assuring oneself of the control you have over your own thoughts is key lime in the pie.

I would suggest, but fuck. You don’t even know me, why would you take my word for it? Some random on the internet, no pictures, no public person – man almost as good as the politics and the childish bullshit you can find on Twitter, or any other social network. The anarchists, or the sleuth – the “artists” of their own works, making sure to spend time in some kind of soap opera setting.

I am not a “kiss and dump” guy – if you are still on the mutual following, which is a term I find ignorant and truly not worthy of the interactions that can occur, there has been something that kept us here, but seriously – how the fuck do you even begin to try to manage all of that time and those experiences while looking forward? Can we provide some kind of response to every small mathematical clue that is given, and still have no idea what we are doing about some definitive answer?

Nothing easy comes for free, or without some kind of contribution of effort, commitment and extended over the longevity. A delta trapped in the mindset over a period it seems and quite frankly, a transition and an experience, every part of it as real as the growing of one. From allowing certain pivot points to reflect their own directions and then sailing on, to carrying on – in whatever capacity you want.

No one here at Fetaman.com is going to be judging you – wherever you came from, in whatever social network – you converge there for the ability to do what that physical place or that site facilitates, and you come here to speak and contribute about whatever you want. If you think you are being judged, it is by yourself alone as you interpret these words.

I am grateful to have been a catalyst, said not with an arrogance or a reward demanded for service of acclaimed reactants forming their natural evolution.

Recall, that cold winter night and the shallow naive – there is a difference in judging and understanding that, which is not mutually inclusive.

I want to be including more of you in the site, and can only do that when a hand is extended in good faith.

That simple.

With Twitter, I have tried to venture back into the world of greetings, and small blurbs of information. Hits, quick bong hits, shots, candy and sugar rushes, smiles, passing out taint grenades, shitting on all the crap you despise in society, screaming at the asshole that did something wrong…the sound will resonate somewhere…so I can dig that. You are here for another reason tho…me as well…some have been nudged, and from their own diligence, and from what I clearly deem the lack thereof, they have made decisions to not pursue more of an interaction.

A mutual musing, and for a muse, in whatever shape or form – a welcome respite from the blend and bland lacquer finish on the aluminum, powder coated food machine that will hula hoop your goop.

My need for expression is in my own waking dream, my own “invisible brown acid”, and I shall not ask for permission, nor beg for forgiveness in order to satisfy the wondering of the amused and the confused at the sum of shit that is going to happen because of the magic that comes from my declaration, and proof, that grass is orange.

Form a line by the reaction to the expressions. I know for a fact, the velvet ropes have arrived, and they will guide you with the comfort of the gull wing shoes and the dark tones. If you are in a challenging headspace because of health, happiness, love…money…whatever it is, it colours things a vivid orange, and makes it all seem much more real in truth, handled by capacities chiseled with resounding devotion.

Passion ne’er looks back but to smile, and if now those colours are the same ones, even now, they must appear different. You are no longer in that space, that place, that time – that moment. You are “further” away from it, and so see it in a different shade. A different variable colour.

I can dig it – there is no sun, without any darkness – there is no happy all the time, to lie to oneself about it, is one of the greatest bullshit cons this world has begun to truly deal with. Professing to know, and do not believe I do so, I state very clearly what I do know, and am beyond well aware of it’s relevance.

Travesties that mankind continues to perpetuate, inflate and saturate. then wonder why the invisible brown acid makes people hallucinate, or whether those “friends” you have close to you, are really being sincere and genuine. Considering what that is, has to be based on the information that you do know, or what has been shared with you.

Even the best friends that you have in your life, are not going to be able to even know a drop in the bucket of what the real happenings in life are. Lift that pitcher, make me laugh – be there doing something for me, and I will be more than considerate of the terms. Ask to be given support, and kinship – be seen as the wink link in the chain or the one that is not welcome to join the procession of the luxury car cavalcade. Who the fuck wants to be seen with a CCM 10-speed/buckshot handlebars upturned grooving the bottles down the street in an obscure and unseen way…

*context smirk*

Your hell, is going to be something that is much different than the starving children and people around the world who have nothing to eat, and are in a position to do nothing about it. Seriously nothing. I am older now, and find myself wanting to do more in this regard. Helping those, that are in their own living hell – and have no way out. Other than a small miracle, a genuine hand of fate bringing some stranger to this calling. A sacrifice, for those that have prayed for it, and know they are blessed. As I am, for no longer seeing what I have gone through as the hell it was, but the hell that was manifested.

Your hell, is not a kind one, or of another one can consider making unless you are a coward. Makings of your own creation, your hell will involve yourself and after time, getting a firm grip on where you want to be going, you begin to see the wonder and the beauty in the admission, an apology and some empathy which emphasizes respect moving forward. Saying sorry, from the heart, for real is not a hell, neither is hell itself something to be sorry for.

Is.

Stay real, please – vent when you need to, laugh when you don’t. sing when there is darkness, fly when there is sun.

*smile*

I am on the ground, and others in mid air.
Sending in the clowns.
Approved bliss, still or moving.
Sending is an acknowledgment, not an arrival.
It was always there, as sure as the lines.
Sand, time, air – cares.
Don’t you love a farce?
Whine, and an outfit made of cheese.

Don’t bother, we’re here.
Is it rich?

Oh, how timing is everything.

My bow, is of the most humble today more than any other.

Grateful to be alive, to be blessed, to have so many folks who have come by to say hello and share a smile, or a tale and have out days better because of it, somehow.

“The grass, it is orange man.” – Gus

100,000.

*abide*

By

Into the Void

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky they blast
Through the universe the engines whine
Could it be the end of man and time
Back on earth the flame of life burns low
Everywhere is misery and woe
Pollution kills the air, the land and sea
Man prepares to meet his destiny

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky so vast
Burning metal through the atmosphere
Earth remains in worry, hate and fear
With the hateful battles raging on
rockets flying to the glowing sun
Through the empires of eternal void
Freedom from the final suicide

Freedom fighters sent out to the sun
escape from brainwashed minds and pollution.
Leave the earth to all its sin and hate
find another world where freedom waits.
Past the stars in fields of ancient void
Through the shields of darkness where they find
Love upon a land a world unknown
where the sons of freedom make their home

Leave the earth to Satan and his slaves
leave them to their future in the grave
Make a home where love is there to stay
July 21, 1971

The fury to be cut into a mask, is made from leadership. Today, the masks are digital impressions and accomplishments masked by hard drive walls.

The paths are etched not by the soul that took it on a journey as great as the void it crossed, but by the tips of something calling for a wanton attention in the mass metallic hysteria of today. The need to generate more grunge with a new rebellious atmosphere that seems to want to forget the past, and not embrace the historic epitaph of walking legends.

There is too much going on they say, I have to remain connected to today, where the relevance is deemed necessary by the media lollipop I want to suck on.

I can’t break free, and do my own thing – that might separate me from the school.

That would be bad.

As a sardine, my sea of brine is made of brainwashed pollution.

If I get too close to the sun, I will be burned to a crisp.

Besides, i want to join some of my cousins, the lemmings for the moon walk anniversary. They are giving away hot dogs that have some kind of magic on them. If you lick them first, before you eat them, you get to see bright, vivid hallucinations of social grandeur.

A land where tales wag the tides.

The tides, move you.

If you are lucky you will find, behind this void – a gulch.

There will be no fuq given for you in that way, but that which you give.

Buy the ticket, take the ride and then...just...

*abide*

 

By

Stink no more.

Fear and the Monkey

by William S. Burroughs

August 1978

This text arranged in my New York loft, which is the converted locker room of an old YMCA. Guests have reported the presence of a ghost boy. So this is a Oui-Ja board poem taken from Dumb Instrument, a book of poems by Denton Welch, and spells and invocations from the Necronomicon, a highly secret magical text released in paperback. There is a pinch of Rimbaud, a dash of St-John Perse, an oblique reference to Toby Tyler with the Circus, and the death of his pet monkey.

Turgid itch and the perfume of death
On a whispering south wind
A smell of abyss and of nothingness
Dark Angel of the wanderers howls through the loft
With sick smelling sleep
Morning dream of a lost monkey
Born and muffled under old whimsies
With rose leaves in closed jars
Fear and the monkey
Sour taste of green fruit in the dawn
The air milky and spiced with the trade winds
White flesh was showing
His jeans were so old
Leg shadows by the sea
Morning light
On the sky light of a little shop
On the odor of cheap wine in the sailors’ quarter
On the fountain sobbing in the police courtyards
On the statue of moldy stone
On the little boy whistling to stray dogs.
Wanderers cling to their fading home
A lost train whistle wan and muffled
In the loft night taste of water
Morning light on milky flesh
Turgid itch ghost hand
Sad as the death of monkeys
Thy father a falling star
Crystal bone into thin air
Night sky
Dispersal and emptiness.

*abide*

 

By

Free beer.

1)    RT this post.
2)    Beer?

  • Farmer’s beer, entry
  • Canadian, or European – 2 entries for Canadian, and 3 entries for a European (*all entries once entered, have unlimited retweet/post entries for each separate post) + receive FREE the first “Orange Grass Abides” e-book at publishing + VIP* access to exclusive Gulch events and opportunities.

3)    Once posted live, you are entered to win a new 4GB iPod Shuffle *marijuana green
4)    Each additional RT, from the site – another chance(s) to get some abide.
5)    Winner/friend receives iPod shipped to their address/confirmation by end of this week, via UPS Tracked Package Delivery.*

It does not get any more complex than that.

If only I could be this elite, very productive game it appears. *fuqtarded by choice

Somehow we all wonder through, and seldom spend enough time with the feet on the ground and not six feet beneath it. The grass is orange, and today is your day to make a difference. This is more than just a “promotion” of the upcoming site, it is the assetized right to do right, for a just cause, a choice, like enlightenment, is universal. Warning is not an asset, it is an act. No catch – participate, get a chance to get a 4GB iPod Shuffle, in ganja green to celebrate 4/20, 2013 and to pass on a way of connecting. The “twitterverse” is just a knock, somewhere out there are some answers, orange stars. The grass is orange, it is any colour you want it to be.

Over the next 72 hours**, I will be giving away an iPod Shuffle, 3rd Generation, 4GB.

It is green.

Like grass, and money.
You believe in grass.
The orange grass?

Then just retweet this post – spread the word, and enter with a “farmer’s beer”, a “meagre” $3.00 beer, by using the pull down on the right side of the main page. (*or here if in another forum/post)

I don’t get “paid” to do this, and yes, it is a function of “branding” a writing style, and an approach to reach out to people of the same mind. What kind? Just a couple of thoughts, of the top of my “baked” head, you know, as a fuqtard myself;

  • 100% of this site is free. To date, the time allocated and upgrades have been all to ensure that there is something unique and appreciated out there on the site. It is a work in progress, and the stories are multi-media based. The “tales” are the invisible brown acid, the invisible paranoia that has been cropped, too close like the nail you just never imagined would be the degenerate that hangs on to skin torn off. No questions asked, no questions answered.
  • The person who is going to appreciate that 80% of my “tweets” are attributed to RT’s. I hit them hard, and have an affinity for not being able to “promote” when I smile, and hit that button. Those that will eventually sit at a table, will appreciate the travellers around them. The counsel is as sage as the company kept, and darkness may bring closed doors to some, but comfort to others. Never in perpetuity, for to promise so would be squandered asinine dust for the meek.
  • The “Favstar” crowd can self-promote, inflate their own accounts with KNOWN bullshit, and my hard work and effort in keeping it all clean, and involving folks that are interactive, is “outcast”? What the fuck, this high school? Fuck right off, there are folks that dig the gig, and happy to prove it, as I do to them. Have you been a frequent bar stool abider at the gulch table top, then shake my freaking hand man – the people that know me in life do, and I honor that.
  • Social media is a way of interacting, and this is my curtain call. I am getting the book out in weeks. Want to review it for free? Get involved right now. Want to be able to participate in a project, and some VIP/invited creative projects for collaborative writing, screenplay and movie production – financed, and looking for active, intelligent and creative people? Get involved right now. Have an urge to stand the fuck up, or need some help to do that discretely – a call, a note, some paper, a smile – anything is possible if you just ask. Like asking for a beer. It is a declaration of your thirst and desire for a beer, nothing more. If one wishes, I am happy to offer many more, and more, in return. Discretion is such a disconcerting continent for the weary traveller unsure of their path.

It don’t try, but I am kind of thirsty from all of the writing.

Interact, and each post you RT, from now until 4:20 p.m on Tuesday, April 24, 2013 (*Toronto time for all the GMT aficionados) will get you an entry to the giveaway. No bullshit. That simple, the draw will be a live video screenshot just in case some of the fuqranaut’s that read this think it is a scam. (**snap edit @ 9:24 p.m – per my discretion, may be extended for duration based on interest, but no later than the 26th of April, 2013. As at 11:00 a.m Sunday, April 21, 2013 looking like this is the case. I will update for end of day today, based on folks interacting on all steps. Getting the word out is hard in a place that sees millions of words flash in a second.)

No, those are perpetrated in other forms on Twitterwebs, like the path of the bridle that has many others hoping it will lead to a “special” canopy, and the assholes that participate get their due in karma, and in life. This is assured.

You RT this to “start” off your interest in wanting to participate, and for example RT another 5 (*make sure to do this from www.fetaman.com, and from each post separately, as that is how the counter is going to scrap entries. For the record, I am assuming this is not going to be a million hits, and I will be reviewing the list. Making sure you have at least been a follower, or followed, and/or on the list and “relevant”. I reserve the right to tell you to fuck right off if you are one of the “trill followback” tarts that think there be butter in this tart. Sure thing…clean, simple.) then that is going to get you the beer entries + 5 entries, in this example a FB is 5, CB is 7, and EB would be 8 entries.

Support Gus – he is thirsty as well.

Score him a European beer, or a shot of liquid smoke, “orange grass” – and not only receive entry, but provide your email address with the support of the effort to date, and get a copy of the forthcoming book, code named “Orange Grass Abides”.

If you have been following me, or have a “clue” about the last decades of Fetaman, you know that this has been a long road, and we are not quitting.

Your support is appreciated, in whatever capacity that may be – that even includes the lovely haters and folks that want to cast stones from imaginary houses, and under the guise of internet protectors and libertarians.

I wander through the badges, and smile.
The context of it, smirk or invitation?

How about this, let’s keep it real simple.

I can write, and willing to do that for a fee – anytime, any place.
Should be easy enough to contact me for “whatever” you need.
Any problems, will be none.
I am available.
What do you want?
Discretion is always assured.

I write here, and also on Twitter as @fuqtarded.

I am blessed to be in the good position to give away this new 4GB iPod Shuffle, 3rd Generation, and it will be shipped anywhere in the continental America’s.

Consider an old Greek tale that illustrates the same principle as on “Twitter”, as paraphrased; one hand washes the other, and both the face.

Clean, crisp, transparent honesty.

There has been nothing different in this “water”, except the pruned force of it, the reaction is, may be, will be a brine tsunami. It is coming friends, and soon, whether the site goes “code sub” as a whole, or in part, be assured, it will.

Get to high ground.
Not all gulches are by essence deep, perspective may cause logical illusions.
Hit the shit, share some shit.
Spread the word, and get in the gig.
You buy an app and discard it in days.
You buy a beer, and don’t even remember the conversation.
It had no impact.

Have I not made some kind of impact, some kind of appeal with the actions, to warrant a tiny hit from the sun?

Or is my time, under this sun, done?

Fucking hot in here, these pretzel’s have been making Gus thirsty.

*abide*

By

Smoke ’em if you got ’em.

Lottery winner puts $1-million toward effort to legalize marijuana

  • Philanthropy from a true Canadian, a man with a passion and purpose who was gifted with a blessing his blessing is want to share
  • Committed women ensuring that women, men, sick or in good health, are able to find some value, relief and joy in a natural plant

Medbox positioned to capitalize on this exploding market HOLLYWOOD, Calif., April 8, 2013 /PRNewswire/ — Medbox, Inc. (OTC Markets: MDBX) (www.medboxinc.com), a leader in providing consulting services and systems to medical and retail industries worldwide, commented on the new research regarding American…

  • From the harsh reality of lifetime sentences because of green weed and skin tones, to the modern day acceptance of the use of, propogation of said use and the bullshit that surrounds it.
  • The assetized right to do right, for a just cause, a choice, like enlightenment, is universal. Warning is not an asset, it is an act.

It is with a high note that I begin this small post, late at night – the early hours of April 20, 2013. Four, twenty, firing at the pieces of shard that lay before me because there is want for nothing but this. The desire to express the deep timeline that lays in those three stories, and how the events of a tale from the lips of a context brings more than just the smirk.

It brings a relevance to each of us, that no one has yet to be able to discover without first doing so themselves.

I have.

The discovery has not been as pleasant as one may be lead to believe.

There are many shadows and thoughts that come out, and are clear indicators of the way we lived out lives and I will not be one to traverse the same escapes of iron that have been pressed by the heated blow hards and the passionate metal that strikes the anvil firm.

Yes, the regrets have been there. I will not bow to a mentor and discount their mention, to do so would be another pitch on that mound that would take you closer to the end of the game. To the passing of the time that would cause you to write with such angst, and passion that you just never want to stop.

You can’t.

The tale is to important to tell.

I have lived it.

Listening to Gus, I can relate.

The grass is orange.

*abide*

By

1-800-SNAP-PEA

Pus Removal Associates, Discrete Attendance.

The name was kind of hard to come up with.

After all, the acronym could be seen to conflict with a certain brand and all of it’s puffery and festooned pageantry, and it was very much concerned about image – yeah, guess it too even had swollen sacks of pus in some capacity that had to agree with comfort as well as class.

Had to be classy.

Introducing, SNAP-PEA Inc.

Not many men or women are going to want to be telling their secretaries that they were in no position to have someone pop that monster zit on their back, or on their genitals. Well, everyone in a first world problem way has that kind of access, or we would instantly snap to it and demand that not all have that privilege that you would demand. There are a fuck load of folks in the system that don’t have access to a regular GP, or a dermatologist. Hell, some of the folks that even hear the world dermatologist will instantly either think Ghostbusters or get an image of an gynecologist smiling over the stirrups at them.

The name stuck as soon as it was heard. Not only because it was playful, but also because it was “scientific” without any of the snake oil.

Society needed this service, and in fact the demographic demanded it. With all of the pube shaving bullshit going on, and the need to be able to point to the bean tower at the end of that landing strip – *delicious scream the trendsetters* well who am I to fight the force of the aging population that is staying single longer, if and when choosing to marry doing so after being properly satisfied their social network diversions have not only been cultivated properly, but are accepted as such and blessed with the foresight to recognize she better still love you when you have 3,783,452 followers that hang on your every word.

Don’t worry, she claims she will.
So did he.

It will all change in time, and you will look back at those days with the same want and reflection of the start of the love. When she was willing to snap that pea sized zit on your back and still smile at you, knowing it was just natural. Today, you look at the task as a gross responsibility that has nothing to do with making the world a better place.

Like porn, it has nothing to do with no significant “world” war has ever been started since porn became the diversion that helped angry people around the world find peace and serenity in sexual candy bars in the form of 4 minute clips meant to entice the healthier lifestyle you seek in the bedrooms and dens of pleasure everywhere. But I digress, we are here to talk about Snap-Pea.

When you get that nasty zit, and you can’t ask your spouse – what are going to do?

Go waste time in traffic, the waiting and the sitting in the doctor’s office so they can use a small paste, numb it, pop it with some sterile tool, then wipe/ointment/cover and smile as you depart? Not only is your insurance company going to bill the fuck out of that visit, it is going to cost the company a couple hundred bucks in cash, and another few hundred in lost productivity.

Right?

Exactly – so imagine, a discrete associate of the firm, arriving at your office, home, place of worship, park – wherever you find it convenient, and condusive to the affair, we will be there. A small black briefcase carrying the sterile tools and the needed ointments, arrive and for the small fee of $39.99 we will pop the biggest, nastiest and grossest zit you have.

Anywhere on your body, we are there to help.

It don’t matter how gross it is, or where it is.

We can help take care of that nuisance, and each and every other one is classified into Standard ($4.99) or Boil Class ($9.99) and we will gladly provide them in memorial tube’s that can be Vanilla ($1.99) or Truffle *hand decorated ($4.99). We will happily snap photo’s ($0.99/HD image), hell – we can even take a small video of the event using the micro tri-pod and arrangement stored in the briefcase. Each minute of 720p YouTube ready video is recorded at a mere $2.99 – incredible?

We know, that is why we are here.

Look, the loss of mobility, the inability to focus, that burning tingle on the Dockers slacks just around Snickers time is enough to drive us all mad. Whether you are in a cubicle, or have your own office, we are comfortable performing our friendly service anywhere you are.

If you are not concerned, neither are we. We will send over one of our professionally trained, enthusiastic Snap-Pea associate for your appointment. Special requests start at same/opposing sex associates, and range all the way up to the Pelosi Concrete Ponderosa Cinderella Fantasy Package at $199.99. Custom arrangements can be accommodated but we respectfully request a $500 deposit in order to consult with any relevant legal, financial or farming associates.

Security? No need, all of our associates are fully micro-chipped, and enabled with recording device’s to ensure nothing inappropriate goes on. Really, it is just as much for your good, as ours. As a side note, that law suite, the one room bachelor, regarding the ability for us to use, sell, or present your video to appropriate Stress Transitioning Directors, it was settled. All of our adult entertainment affiliations remain in tact and we promise to use your video in an unedited and fully public manner.

This concept does not have to be “sold” – it is a gem, and although we were offered a chance to appear on the Dragoons Pen, we humbly declined and have begun preparations for our Kickstarter page. All submissions have been made, and we hope that Kickstarter will welcome us with the same desperate look of “help me” we see each and every day from our fellow men and women.

  • Pop that zit, make your day happier
  • Hold open that door, and nail that PPT presentation
  • Cheer in the hockey stands, and jump up and down without fear of stains
  • Shop at Costco in comfort

We are there for you, and we love what we do.
Not only because we do, but because we know how it makes you feel.

1-800-SNAP-PEA

The IPO/President List will be announced shortly, and any and all persons that tweet or forward this article will be eligible to receive a Class Certification Application for that list, we would love to have you aboard.

As an extra benefit, you will be considered Best of Fester class, and will be offered a chance to view our online webinar that provides crisp, clear, refreshing answers as to why this is not only profitable, pleasurable and professional – but it will make the world a place, that is a better place to be in.

Make the world a better place.

Make it a zit free place.

Call 1-800-SNAP-PEA today, and let us show you the way.

*abide*