Because why? in Normal entries

I’ve been pretty fuzzy of late, you know, crunchy, opaque, bifurcated, shit like that there. Now that I’m smoking weed again, um, medicinally(?) I kind of have some old neural pathways reminding me why I thought I smoked so much before; to put me on an even playing field. Sound arrogant? Yeah, it does. Not my fault that the world is full of stupid people. I still have a problem with the idea of white privilege, but I do realize now that using myself as an example is a piss-poor analogy. I’m privileged, though I don’t think it’s the color of my skin.

Every other month or so on OD I told a hitch-hiking story, maybe just the same story. I spent several years hitch-hiking for months at a time with small breaks, but, like anything else, a majority of it isn’t worth typing about; you stick your thumb out, some fairly average person gives you a ride to some place of no consequence, you get out, walk a bit and stick your thumb out again. I’ve approached the stories from all kinds of angles. The most mundane one, and the truest streak of color in the rock, is that things were far too easy for me.

Theres this meme floating around facebook, I’m sure it has to do with black guys getting shot by cops, but on the face of it; Like if you’ve never had a gun pulled on you, share if you have. I hate memes, if I had to narrow it down to one reason it would be that they are unoriginal. Imagine a journaling site where all anyone did was post someone else’s shit. The dullest and least engaging entry on this site is, at least, original. I had to word things carefully as I don’t want to get into any more stupid arguments (anyone have a smart argument for me and I’m your huckleberry) just wanted to share. So far so good. I’ve had guns pulled on me often, the real question is how many were fired at me. Two. Oddly enough only one hitch-hiking. In the Yukon with the epithet “Damn Yankee”. To be fair I had a gas can and a hose in my hand. I also had ten bucks and it was a gas station.

I did a lot of drugs too, again, things were too easy for me. I had guns pulled on me before I was eighteen in this very town. The problem with illegal drugs is all the criminals that are involved with them. Legal drugs might be the monkey on Americas back but the least likely thing big pharma will do is pull a gun on you, but, you can be damn sure if they did they’d shoot.

My not getting shot is not cause I’m so fucking smart, in fact, I should probably type this first; being as smart as I am (147 IQ) embarrasses me, the same way white privilege should embarrass the kid I was arguing with; I haven’t managed to do anything of vital importance with my intelligence and he managed to get a part time job at a bike store with his privilege. That’s pretty fucking lame. No, being smart has not done shit for me except for entertain me when absolutely nothing else was going on. Neither has white privilege, though, yes, when I get pulled over the cop usually doesn’t reach for his gun and bandaids are closer to my skin color (you know, little pictures of the flintstones). Luck, I’m a lucky son-of-a-bitch, or, blessed if you will, I’m an agnostic, those words are almost synonyms to me. It’s not a great thing, but it beats not having it.

I mean I starting testing my luck when I started hitch-hiking and have since put myself in recklessly dangerous situations for marginally adequate reasons. Huh. I did dangerous shit that was completely unnecessary for me to do. To keep it simple and turn real life into a simple analogy; what does a motherfucker have to do to get shot up in here? Hell I couldn’t even manage to get an STD, and no, I wasn’t trying to, but part of reckless is poor discretion. The biggest personal trauma in my life was an accident. How much does that suck? I’ve jumped speeding trains without so much as a rock in my shoe, gotten death threats from convicted murderers, took rides in stolen cars from escaped convicts (ok, the best of those stories was a romance, but still …), hung from railroad trestles on 750 mics of pure lsd25, broke up knife fights with my hands, ate shit prepared by hare krisnas (ok, that’s silly, but, you know, true) only to fall at a simple twist of fate.

So, this morning was taken up ironing out credit fraud. Some asshole had managed to talk my bank into sending him one of my cards. Fedex sent me an alert that it was being delivered today to a John Curran, 13 egypt rd, gray, ME. On labor day weekend two of my bikes were stolen. The good luck part of both those is that insurance more than covered the bikes and John Curran, or whoever was actually planning on using my card, was stopped. It still begs the question; if my luck has turned how bad can shit get? After all that braggadocio about being smart, I’m a fucking idiot. Like being the worlds tallest dwarf, I might be the worlds smartest idiot. Maybe I should do a bong hit, medicinally of course.