NAPOLEON BATTLES TONY MONTANA: THE COKE HEAD BONANZA

I have heard it said that Napoleon was a coke head. While I don't think  shall ever get any real confirmation on that, it would not surprise me. Napoleon was like Tony Montana, crazy for power and full hubris. Something tells me that Napoleon was the kind of guy that would grease himself up after coking himself up, and attack some house girl. I know this sounds far fetched but if the vatican has been know to have the hidden orgy here and there, why not? Napoleon looked like a little sex freak anyway.

I can imagine a talk between Napoleon and Tony Montana, it would be something like this:

TM: Hey man, you listen to me you little fucking cucaracha

NB: La merde

TM: I got the yayo you mother fucker

NB: Je suis le grande fromage

TM: We do it my way now you little maricon de mierda shit

NB: Je ne parle pas la merde

TM: I fuck you up Im Tony Montana fucking chata

NB: Je aime les vagin et les pénis

TM: I kill you, you want war mother fucker

NB: Je suis un grand cocaïnomane bisexuels

I am sure the end result would be a fabulous scene that would mix Waterloo with the final battle of Tony Montana up in Coconut Grove. I don't find Napoleon so fascinating simply because he was stupid enough to fight beyond his prime. If Napoleon were alive today he would probably be a member of the tea party. It's great to mix fiction along with historical inaccuracy because it provides a lot of material, perhaps I'll write a story about Napoleon in present time.

CAFFEINE, A DRUG FOR NORMALCY

Caffeine is keeping me up at night and making me think about things that make no sense. I think about cartoons, wine, planes, trains, and automobiles. It's late and nothing makes a lot of sense I love caffeine almost as much as I love being able to breathe. Caffeine is to me what pot is to stoners trying to learn about life. Caffeine is absolutely fabulous and I enjoy it, I can't quit it. I have heard horrors about caffeine and yet I still love it , I think because it's getting late I am running on fumes.

I think caffeine is a drug of choice for normalcy. Everyone that doesn't do pot does caffeine and it's fine. I enjoy the rush in the night that helps me stay up just a little longer and feeling like I can produce an abnormal number of ideas on paper. Yes, caffeine is my love, my secret love, the one friend I go to in order to enjoy myself. I go to my drug of choice in order to stay up and live the life of a writer with odd hours, incredibly long thoughts and yes, an entry as a result.

WHY I DON'T EVEN GO TO BARS ANYMORE

I love having the occasional beer and maybe even the little peanut bowl that comes with it. Bars were always a good place for people to meet up in groups, have a nice conversation, watch a game and then take off. Today a bar is exactly the same as a meat market. When you park your car you think of what you want, find your place, look around and then move in for some sort of half assed attempt at a kill. Every time people go to bars they go for the same reason, a hookup.

I don't personally like bars because honestly I can't drink in peace. Next to me I always see the annoying drunk girl looking for some form of attention and on the other side there's always that group of jackass, executive wannabe, morons trying to be the cool standout while dancing on tables. The point is that to me bars are no longer a fun place to be and maybe they never really were.

To me nightlife is relative to the person living it. I think bars are in the same vein as clubs because people got away from clubs to try and find peace, now people are doing the same thing in bars that they wanted to do in clubs. I think the situation has always been the same only now it's more obvious. I guess there really is no place where everybody knows your name.

THE LOVE JOURNEY

I used to think that the whole "LOVE" thing was more of a stoner mantra than anything else. I respect people as a rule of thumb and I respect whatever their choices are even if said choices differ from my own. I am sure you are probably wondering why there is a picture of a cannabis leaf in this entry. I will explain that in a minute so please hold on to your commentary.

I was at the metro in Amsterdam one night after a night of discovering the treasures of the city. I was fresh off a delicious meal in an Argentine steakhouse and on my way to a pleasant slumber. I remember that night so clearly. The sky was clear and the air was cold, a December night lit up by trees, light, street music and the feeling of Christmas. I remember I felt uncomfortable with my outfit because I hate wearing layers and restrictive style clothing.

As I sat and looked out the window of the metro I was asked if I was a tourist. The person that asked me the question was a brit with a backpack and a look of immense joy. The fella started asking me what I thought about marijuana and I answered as best I could. I remembered saying that I never felt it really did harm to anyone. The man handed me a card with some drawing and the word LOVE on it. I remember the card looked like a mixture of rorschach's work and ramblings of stoner artist.

Curious I asked my British stoner friend what it was and he responded with " It's life and the answer." I recall that I smiled and proceeded to leave without giving it a second thought. The brit offered me the opportunity to smoke some weed with him but I was not interested so i shook his hand and told him to enjoy himself. When I arrived at my destination I looked at the card and every part drawn in black had a line that resembled  a long and winding road. I thought about what the stoner said for a few days.

I realized that what my burnout friend meant was that love can really solve anything and guide you through some of the hardest roads to travel. I know that love is something we like to associate with hippies, stoners, and weaklings. The fact of the mater is that there is nothing wrong with allowing a little love to penetrate our jaded souls because in the end all the material possessions, bitterness, and differences we have do not accompany us to the grave. Love is the universal force that we are born with, live with, and can chose to go on our never ending journey with. Let's love one another people because it isn't a stoner mantra so much as it is the only absolute reality in life.

THE WHORE IS TIRED

So Dr. Drew has decided to stop doing celebrity rehab because he is tired of taking heat for the deaths. This is another way for that piece of shit to get attention and make himself a martyr. I don't think anyone with a brain cell would accuse him of being guilty. Anyone that knows anything will accuse him of being what he is and that is a whore. I am sure there is a big question as to why I call him that. I cal him a whore because as a therapist he should know that addiction is a private issue that should be solved as such and not in front of millions of people.

Rehabilitation is a process that can take months ad sometimes years and while there are people that never pull through there are those that do. For a celebrity to appear on television after years of being ignored is like a ray of light. When a celebrity sees that glimmer they assume that their past appeal and faded charms may become bright enough to get them back in the "game." This is the problem with a rehab show, the celebrity is exposing why he or she became a serious liability in the first place. No one that views those shows looks at those celebrities as anything more than poor, and very pathetic souls.

Dr. Drew says that he helped a lot of people and that may be but the fact remains he is smart enough to have known that this type of show would do more harm than good. Just because an addict decides to clean up for the cameras doesn't mean that he or she is ready to go back to whatever position they squandered. This type of show is what's wrong with society today. Dr. Drew knew people were not watching in hopes that Jeff Conaway would go back to being the guy he was in Taxi, Grease, or even Babylon 5. This guy is talking about his motives being questioned and he should understand that the questions come from his being a total sellout for some TV time to prove his "qualifications."

FRENCH ME SOME OXYCODONE MOMMY

So I was reading for some interesting material and I came across the most disturbing tidbit of the day. The headline read "Mom Son Drug Kiss." This is the kind of thing that makes you wonder: What the fuck? Apparently the mother of some jailbird was passing her son oxycodone by kissing him in the mouth. The article that I read did not specify if the kiss was French or even slightly Parisian in nature. 

I am not quite sure if the inmate, who was identified as William Partridge, was trying to distribute the pills or if he was just using them for his own purposes. There are so many angles here. The guy's last name is Partridge so you could go with the semi obscure I think I love you reference or perhaps do a write up on him being Shirley Partridge's long lost son. 

In all seriousness this is a disgusting piece of news not just because of the kiss angle but also because of the unforgivable enabling nature of the mother. I understand the whole idea of giving your kids the best but this is a bit much. Go on mommy dearest feed more drugs to your idiot kid, oh wait I think she's going to prison too. 

THE PROFESSIONAL AND THE TOURIST

Upon his trip to Amsterdam a young tourist decided he would walk through the cobblestone streets of the historic city. The young man marveled at the canals, passing ships and historical feel of Amsterdam. There was somehting simply amazing about the city that could not be explained .The young man found himself a tad disoriented as night fell fast.

As this young man had never before gone to Amsterdam he found himslef in the historic red light district. The youngster was innocent and naive and was not aware of the fact that you could smoke great mind enhancers legally as well as meet ladies of professional extent in this place. Granted in the whole of Amsterdam it is legal to smoke happy cigarettes.

The young man entered a "pool hall" and requested a brownie, a cigarette, and a glass of 2% milk. After a good thirty minutes the young man was high and so very happy. Walking through the narrow streets of the red light district the young man caught the eye of a hooker with a heart of gold. The name of this gorgeous hooker was Barbie G, yes it was Barbie G. The young man knocked on her glass door and said " Hello, I am lost, cold and confused." The gorgeous hooker said " For sure you are a tourist."

The young man requested milk and some chips. Barbie did not know this was an actual request for milk and chips so she attempted to position herself for a Sanchez type maneuver. The shocked youngster said "Please I am hungry and thirsty." The young hooker served him a glass of milk and spread Nutela on some bread. The two seemed to start a great friendship that eventually turned into a great hooker Cindirella and Prince Naive story.

The young hooker and tourist would marry and have well over 12 children with lovely Nordic names. The tourist would become a lauded politician and professor while his wife would become a fierce women's rights advocate.

The moral of the story is simple: We can all be pimps and hookers but we're not all honest about it though.

TOODALOO BABIES!!!!

WHY DEALERS ARE SO FUCKING PATHETIC

There is nothing in this world more pathetic to me than a drug dealer. To me a drug dealer is the lowest form of life second only to pedophiles. I write this because I can and I feel like it. It's your choice to stop reading now or continue on. Frankly I hate the "player" wannabe idiots in the drug trade because truthfully their ignorance is beyond reproach.

Let me start with an experience I had in the bathroom of a very nice rooftop club. I was in the bathroom and as I got to the sink to wash my hands I saw this kid who seemed well to do trying to deal a little something to another patron because his tab was more than he could afford. I am glad I was not drunk because I would have likely laughed out loud at the pitiful situation. I left the bathroom quickly and decided to turn a blind eye because frankly I am no one's savior.

To me these little street shit punks that think they are special and tough are a joke. I myself do not come from the street nor do I pretend to have gangster credibility but frankly I don't need it. The truth of the matter is it does not matter who you are or the level you are in you will get caught. Pablo Escobar the glorified errand boy of the Ochoa Family went like a ton of bricks on an incline and he actually declared war on the government of Colombia and built his own prison. The fact is that the gaudy watches and chains mean very little when you are headed nowhere rapidly.

I hate to hear the bullshit about "I had no other choice" when you see how many people come from the worst environments and go on to successful and productive lives.  There is a choice between being practical and a good person and being a total idiot. Unfortunately the glorification of gangster figures in film has not helped the problem as there are millions of Tony Montana wannabes in this country alone.

The fact is that people create and glorify ideals that don't have room in society but nevertheless are jammed in anyway. Yes there are issues like environment, personality, behavior, and psychological profiles but none of that changes the fact that drug dealers and the people around them are simply pathetic.

STARS IN DARK SKIES

One night after a righteous cocaine nose job a man stepped out into the dark. As the man looked around  he saw nothing but darkness. The only light that shined on his conscious mind and physical presence  was that light provided by the stars in the night sky. There was emptiness and silence, the man's mind was a kaleidoscope without color. The little bits and pieces in the man's mind that created the different forms and figures were in black and white with no areas forming any sort of illusions.

As the man walked he found himself getting closer to the stars. The man was not fully aware of reality so he could not tell if this was a hallucination. There was no noise in the background and the black sport coat and white shirt he wore could not shield him from the cold. As the man walked it seemed as if he were moving slowly up an escalator.

The stars shined brighter and became bigger and bigger as he went further and further up the celestial pathway. The famous lights were shinning and the man thought he was dead or close to it. The man was looking around and wondering if this was the end. As he looked around he became more and more confused. The man's skin wrinkled while keeping it's well tanned complexion. The man saw a drink materialize in his hand and started seeing mirrors form in the stars.

The man's hair turned grey right before him and he could see it. Each mirror seemed to illustrate something he could not see or feel. The images were still photographs of his own life as it slipped into the stars slowly. Suddenly without warning the man saw an explosion of light that appeared ready to engulf him. With great fear the man covered himself ready for the worst.

The man awoke in a field and saw himself surrounded by people looking in worst condition than him. The man saw fear, he saw panic and he saw a bright light. The man saw that explosion that had engulfed him and arose ready to walk on. The night had taken him into dark skies but the stars had given him a new life.

Hit the Floor

There is one thing I love about going to nightclubs and that is people watching. I think that going to a club is a wonderful exercise in seeing that small portion of courage that people will muster up in order to impress others. I like the fact that there is always a group of stud wannabes that finished their shift at the local Foot Action and now see themselves as club gods.

When you transition from the Foot Action guys you head straight into the dudes that have a decent job but are unsatisfied and they will tell the world that they are promoters, producers, or maybe even business owners. Those particular guys are the biggest jokes because they think they are main attractions of the evening usually those guys will try to hit on anything that moves. From the total fakes you move on to the "players."

I love when I see these guys at work because normally they are so insecure that they chose to get out of their Bentley and Rolls Royce automobiles and pay outrageous tabs that include drinks for everyone. For some reason I do not clearly understand, these guys are always either going home alone or with a girl that will only tease them all night. On the ladies side it's usually one of two things.

The ladies are usually in groups of three or four and the groups are easy to understand. Some ladies want to have a good time and chill without being bothered, some ladies want to have a sucker pay for the drinks and others are hunting for some adventure. At any right they all seem to congregate in one place and that is the floor.

I like to go to places and look at the floor because quite frankly when they all go out they all look stiff as boards and dance so horribly. I like looking at people dance because it's like watching them do a dry heave and continue. I think that the beautiful thing about people on the floor is that they all look like extras from the "Towering Inferno." There will always be the dude or girl that can really dance but again it's all a matter attention in a place where no one knows or really cares who you are because chances are that they will never see you again.