The hardcore life of a drug mule.

I got to do some drug-muling this week. Boy was it fun.

Wait, that sounds like an actual adventure, and not a twisted half-mirror image of one. I work for a pharmacy that specializes In supplying long term care facilities. Most facilities are on a 30 day cycle for their medications, meaning that they generally get one large shipment every 30 days. With exceptions being made for emergencies and new prescriptions. But all in all days are spent packing tens of thousands of dollars of medication for one delivery. All your eggs in one basket indeed.

Let me explain something about the facility in question. First, it is a depressing place to visit as they take care of and house car accident victims. I don't mean people who broke an arm in a car crash, I mean the folks who have come away permanently changed. Or just aren't there any more. One of the most depressing set of instructions ever seen on a script is probably "Apply to stumps." Really, when it comes to a place like this, those what die are the lucky ones. The rest are just vegetables and shells. Which is why, that if I get into an accident, I hope to buy the farm immediately.

I think that 16 year old kids, and people on DUI charges should be forced to visit... no, work at a place like the Facility. Videos and brochures and slogans are all nice, but you need to be able to experience in all visceral sensual detail what their decisions could lead to, either for themselves or for others. Let them apply ointments to the stumps of a vegetable for a few weeks. Let them interact with the brain-scrambled denizens that poke and prod and generally go on crazy.

And if they fail to learn the lesson, shoot them, as anyone that thick shouldn't be allowed to breed.

In seven months, this is the third time I've taken cycle to the Facility. The first time was because our driver decided to take a day off right as cycle was due. This was about two weeks after I started. I got to drive across the state and deliver the cycle. Which is for our little company a very big deal. Almost like, oh I don't know, some asshole captain of an oil tanker in say Alaska skiving off to get drunk and handing the job over to the peon who washes dishes. Except that I avoided grounding on any reefs.

This is all just to say, muling isn't my usual job, I just step in when needed.

Our driver promoted himself to the head of the delivery department. This happened when one of our competitors imploded and our business quadrupled in like a week. So they brought in a ton of new people and a half-dozen new drivers. Here's where my confusion begins, they have a load of drivers who are fully capable of taking an object from point a and leaving it at point b and then returning home. They have one woman who is dedicated to this route. Plus the self-styled manager of the delivery department carried cycle to this very Facility at least ten times in the past year, plus near daily visits in between.

When he stepped up, he gave his job to an older woman. One who has yet to win the confidence of some of management in her ability to take an object from point a and point b and then return. She's pissed off the goblin that works at the Facility, who just happens unpleasant creature who doesn't seem to like anyone or anything. So I was asked to go along to make things smoother.

Which brings me back...

It turns out that I wasn't just along as extra muscle, I was the actual driver and delivery monkey. This is a one person job, and I would have preferred to do it alone. Or better have our main driver take over.

If one of his hand picked followers is incapable of doing the job, shouldn't the head of the shipping department be the one who steps in? It's not like the man is busy, his days are spent chatting on the phone and taking two hour lunch breaks at Hooters. Yeah, this is great. I'm doing his job. I hope I get paid extra for it. I would like to be the head driver for a day. Hang out at Hooters. Wreck the company bathroom. Take an hour to fill one car up with gas. Creep out the female members of the staff and get away with it.

The drive over went quietly and smooth. How I like it.

There was yelling when we arrived, or so I heard tell of later. The warthog wasn't too pleased to see my copilot. She came out of the South Building and yelled "Don't you know where South is?" I pointed at the building and responded "Yeah, It's right there!" Had I wanted to see a real explosion, I could have said "Do you need directions?" But I like having my testicles whole and attached to my person, so I kept my mouth shut.

Beyond this, the delivery went rather smoothly. Dropped off meds, saw pretty girls. That's the one reason for a Facility visit for me, they have a lot of pretty girls working there. My company is sadly lacking on that front. Gotta go out and visit other companies to see natural beauties in their wild habitats. With luck, maybe I'll bring one home one day.

During the second to the last stop, one of the more mobile patients approached my copilot and asked a simple question "Did it hurt?" Now there are two possible reasons that I can think of for this question, and sadly he didn't opt for the first and instead finished with one of the classic pick-up lines. Only to immediately dive into a second, followed by a third. My copilot giggled the whole time. We don't think she usually gets that sort of attention.

A second high-point, if it can be considered so, involved an idiot man-child. Now, when you stand in the center of a group of angry women, and then make what can be considered sexist statements to them, you should expect to get a beating. He didn't seem to make that connection as they slapped him. He even asked why I didn't man up and help him. I called him a moron. That got a laugh.

Then the return trip. The trip out was quiet, the one back not so much so. I got to hear about the yelling, and autistic grand children and about a dozen other topics of less interest. I thought about the pretty girls.

My favorite quote from the entire experience was "Animals are alive." This wasn't from a head-paitent or a random crazy hobo, but my copilot just after we narrowly missed turning a living breathing turkey into something that could be squeezed through a feeding tube. I don't know what she meant by it - I think that this was my "If it weren't for my horse" moment. I've tried to dissect the statement, and the best I can come up with was that it was a philosophical observation about the changing of the weather and how animals seem to just re-appear again.

Or maybe she's just dumb.

Hercules Two: Clamation Boogaloo.

Adventures of Hercules
Lou Ferrigino

They made a sequel? Sweet Zombie Jesus, you have to be
kidding? Did they even watch the first movie before they slammed
down their cash to make the second? I thought not. Well
It's been two whole months, and then some, since I finished the Lou
Ferrigno Hercules movie. It took that long for the effects to
wear off and for me to recover from the shock. Unlike the first
movie, I managed to watch the entire thing without using the fast
forward button once. Like the first one, I had to turn the beast
off for a day and come back to it. It made my brain hurt.

Where to start. Well this movie seems to have been made by the
exact same people in the exact same style as the last. Same
cheesy 'special effects', same crap-tastic costuming, hell it even had
the same actors and the same freaking villain! I kid thee not,
the same actor playing the same villain. They resurrected the bad
guy, because he was oh so tough, you know with all the dieing he
managed to do in the end, and they used him again. Yeah, be
afraid Herc, be very afraid.

That's right. They resurrected King Minos, the evil user of
science, to fight against the power of the vaguely benevolent Gods and
the natural order of the universe. Was this movie funded by the
Roman Catholic church? I mean really, evil science? Science
the cause of chaos? In the end Minos didn't get any wicked ass
gizmos in which to battle the other bad guys with, he gets magic eye
beams, and a magic flaming sword. Make up your minds damn
it. is he supposed to be using a kick ass orbital death-ray
launched by the evil United States, or is he using the evil black
magic, invented by the United States? One or the other please.

Well the second movie actually seems to follow a plot that is at times
nearly makes sense. Well the story goes that Zeus' six magic
thunderbolts of something or other were stolen by some rebellious
goddesses led by Hera. These disaffected Hippies, thought to
gain, I'm not quite sure why they did it, but they did it anyway.
Well, yeah that's great, the thunderbolts are missing, the world is in
danger, send the Hercster to the rescue!

Well first of all, before all that started, some evil priests were
sacrificing a scantily clad babe to some god or demon of fire.
Two other scantily clad babes watch the goings on, and decide that they
don't like what they see, so they go for help. They consult a
pair psychedelic butterfly women, who tell them they need the help of
Hercules, and they'll find him in the forbidden valley. Just a
note, there's always a forbidden valley it seems in fantasy movies, and
the valley is forbidden for a very good reason. People in these
movies never seem to remember this fact.

Well The Herc gets to earth. The first thing he runs into is a
creature that I suppose is a werewolf, only it looks more like a
Greying cousin It from the Adams family, who happens to be wearing a
cheap baboon mask, with some dog-like sound effects added on top.
I'm not making this up, nor do I wish I were capable of making
something like this up. Brain Damage! Sadly the rest of the
movie doesn't get any better.

Once again to the so called special effects. The costumes are
cheap, both for the main human characters and for the monsters that
they fight. Some of the monsters use animation techniques.
Not that fancy-schmancy computer stuff, but the old fashioned
way. So old fashioned it seems, that they felt that they were
making it up as they went along. The stop-motion claymation that
they made use of, was out-done by such 1950s and 1960s fare as the
Sinbad films and Jason and the Argonots, not to mention Clash of the
Titians. No, it seemed more like a bad Gumby short at
times. The rest of the animation was just simplistic color,
bright primary hues mostly. Flat and boring.

Oh, I can't forget my favorite part of the movie, the Amazons fight
scene. Chicks with guns kick ass. It is a proven
fact. Much ass is kicked by chicks with guns. I cannot
reiterate this enough. Imagine my surprise and delight when the
Amazons were about to attack. And then disappointment when I
discovered it was just a bunch of men in drag. That's right kids,
rather than getting real amazon like women, they just dressed men up in
drag, gave them fake breasts and everything, and then dubbed it all
over with womens voices. No wonder the Amazons lost, not only
were they poseurs, they were also a group of confused young men.

Then there were the absolutely confusing aspects of the movie.
Zeus, at one point, confronts his arch nemesis chaos. I shall now
recreate the scene for you...

Chaos-chick: We're a lot alike you know, we balance things
between us?

Zeus: Oh yeah? Well poopy head, I gots me the time on my
side baby!

*A giant animated skull comes down and zaps her with a death-ray*

Zeus: Eat it clown!

I don't get it either. It seemed random, like it was added simply
for the chance to let their effects crew draw a giant skull and then
have it attack someone. The entire movie was like that. It
also went along with the first flick in it's blatant attempts to
butcher the original classical mythology. Though at least this time
there weren't any giant robots to fight against. The movie did
make a fair attempt at destroying my sanity and giving me epileptic
seizures. Why did I pay money for this crap?

The worst part is, I have failed to learn my lesson and keep watching crappy movies.

Meeting Crazy Number 2 - Electric Boogaloo!

So, more in the realm of both driving the manual, and meeting the crazies. I'm an office monkey by trade, I was hired to pick up the slack where needed. That is my job, deliver mail, run to the bank, pick up office supplies, clean the office, data entry. Whatever task doesn't have a specific position to cover it, I get to do it. Fine, it keeps my day a bit varied and a little free. And thus a little more interesting.

Thus, when called, I get to step in for our delivery driver, head across the state and drop off some supplies at a facility that the company services. (or even drop off supplies in town)

All the patients in the facility are victims of car accidents and have, among other things, suffered head trauma and brain damage. Some of the residents are a bit on the crazy side. Most have been rather friendly. The sister says that the most depressing instructions she's ever read involved a cream that stated 'apply to stumps'. That's the kind of place I get to visit. I'm much more careful around cars these days, whether it's driving or just crossing the street. After dealing with people who are no longer what they were, I don't want to end up the same way.

And please don't bring up the one-eyed man who doesn't like to wear his glass eye or eye-patch.

I must say that I am spoiled. My aged Lumina has cruise control. Cruise control is nice on long car trips, you set it and the car stays at a constant speed, going up or down hills. I was rather disappointed and surprised when I hit the cruise button in the company car and nothing happened. Even after I pressed it five more times. Hey, it could have just been a short, we don't exactly have a top of the line luxury car. Nope, no luck there. I discovered the next morning that there's a master switch on the steering-wheel I didn't know about that turns the cruise control on and off. Once again my ignorance has defeated me

I was in for an evening of cramped muscles and watching the odometer. Huzzah!

The night was a little longer, and the drive a bit shorter for the lack of Cruise Control. Usually I try and keep within about five miles of the speed limit either way. For that trip? I tried to keep it under 80. It's a funny psychological glitch that drives people to join the herd. Countless times during those four hours on the road I found myself unconsciously accelerating as another car passed me by, or sped up on my tail. These pressures are a bit easier to ignore when the car runs itself. Instead, I have to confront my sheepish tendencies. Bahh ha ha ha!

Somewhere around 2 or 2.5 hours and one cramped leg later, I made it to the facility. Didn't get lost, or turned around this time. Only took three trips to memorize the path.

On the way back to the car I was accosted by a man taking a smoke break. Judging by the sound of his voice, he probably smokes at least five packs a day, and has done so since he was five. On the odd days, he takes a bottle brush to his throat, just for that little extra touch. Anyhow, he called me Hippie. To which I can only respond "That sounds like me!" The long hair and all you know. Well, what followed was a five minute lecture on the evils of the Johnson and Johnson Corporation. It appears that J&J have started putting all sorts of nasty additives into their products - Battery Acid being one of them - all in order to create "Male Pattern Baldness", since it didn't exist before the J&J company was formed.

Tell that to the bald whore-monger Julius Caesar. (He suffered from Pattern Baldness, for those of you my two readers, who don't get the reference) Et Tu Juilui?

Why would they do this? You ask. This big corporation Well J&J make Rogaine, and they have to pimp it somehow. So if the tobacco industry is focusing on making cigarettes safer and more addictive, then why the hell not? Listed on the ingredients for my bottle of shampoo are several chemicals whose names I can't pronounce - except for the word acid - I ain't a chemist, for all I know they stand for dirt and the life blood of a virgin.

So, I was introduced to a new conspiracy theory. Sweet. I love conspiracy theories, the crazier the better, they're fun. He also told me what kind of shampoo to buy. I didn't catch the name, sorry, but it's expensive and comes in liter bottles. So, go forth and buy random expensive shampoos so that your hair doesn't melt. You heard it here first.

After this encounter, I've decided to wear my kilt more often. That way I don't get called Hippie, or if I happen to grow a beard, Jesus. With a Kilt, long hair, and maybe the beard - I'll be a highlander. I might have to carry a sword too. But the fashion-folks always say to accessorize properly. And maybe the crazies will avoid a dude packing a broadsword(my skinny ass would just look comical hauling about a claymore)

Some 12 hours later, I was called on to make a local delivery. It was to an older gentleman who was hooked up to his oxygen tank. Now - I commend him in choosing freedom and comfort. Pants are confining and uncomfortable. But good sir, since you've gotten rid of pants for those very reasons(so I am assuming, since I didn't bring the topic up in conversation) would it not be better to have switched to boxers. Or maybe a kilt. I'm sure there must be some black folk in Scotland by now, you could swing it.

***(Please don't swing it, at least while I'm around)***

So, am I building up Karma for something really good? Or working off something really bad?

On The mean streets of GR.

Today, while walking the streets of Grand Rapids, I met Tony. Tony Indoctrinated me on the Secret Handshake in the midst of informing me that he liked me and that I had nice shoes. Tony Is from GR and I should tell them that. Yes Tony, my folks are doing just fine.

It was, needless to say, a strange experience. And one that I quickly moved away from, before Tony decided he wanted my shoes, or that I would make the prefect sex zombie to keep in his closet. What I'm really hoping though that Tony isn't actually a member of the resistance. A soldier dedicated to fighting the alien invasion. That might prove awkward, especially after the big attack when I decide to join the underground to avenge my slain parents.

Now don't get me wrong. I appreciate Captain Tony's dedication to freeing us from the oppressive yoke of the Glort Collective. But why couldn't it have been the cute blond with the bodonkadonk who introduced herself, groped me and pointed out my finer qualities?

Needless to say, I'm avoiding that street from here on out. Don't want to give Tony any ideas. Like that I'm stalking him. Or that I'm gathering intelligence for the High Inquisitor Gr'lvlclh'gnt to crush the resistance.