Just What the Doctor Didn't Order

It's often been said that Pennsylvania is actually two states, not one. These two states are:

1) Philadelphia, and

2) All the rest of Pennsylvania that ain't Philadelphia.

For the most part, Philadelphia views all the rest of Pennsylvania that ain't Philadelphia as composed of hayseeds in romantic love with the Second Amendment, and all the rest of Pennsylvania that ain't Philadelphia views Philadelphia as the world's foremost hotbed of sin, wickedness, and depravity.

Notwithstanding the failure of Philadelphia to live anywhere near up to its reputation when it comes to me, however, it seems that the world’s foremost hotbed of sin, wickedness, and depravity is poised to score a major victory over the rest of Pennsylvania. That is, over the rest of Pennsylvania that ain't it.

The legalization of Medical Marijuana is today being seriously considered in the state. Both of them!

Now my dope smoking days are rather solidly in the rear view mirror, but this bit of news coupled with the various aches, pains, and coronaries of modern Boomer life got me to thinking that it might not be half bad if certain objects in the rear view mirror turned out to be closer than they seem.

So I called my family doctor.

"Dr. Kropotkin!  I can't believe I got you on the phone."

"Well, you know I'm very busy. Who is this?"

"This is your longstanding patient, Perry Block."

"OMG, I’m really, really busy, gotta go!"

"You know, Dr. Kropotkin, sometimes I wonder if you actually are that busy or if it's me."

"Mostly it's you.  You have 30 seconds."

"Doctor, I understand medical marijuana may be coming to Pennsylvania soon."

"So they say.  Twenty-five seconds left."

"Well, I want to get on your radar for some dope --- I mean medical marijuana --- when the time comes."

"Perry, I can't prescribe medical marijuana for no reason at all."

"No reason at all?!! I'm a virtual walking ER of symptoms!"

"Such as?"

"My scoliosis.  You know my spine is shaped like the piping under your kitchen sink."

"Perry, medical marijuana is not going to straighten your spine."

"I know, but the more I sit around contemplating the universe the less likely I am to care about it." 

"Twenty seconds."  

"Don't forget I have vitiligo.  I have white patches all over my skin!"  

"Perry, your dermatologist Dr. Joy Davis has advised me your case of vitiligo is not that bad."

"Not that bad?  Cruella de Vil has been stalking me for my coat!"

"Fifteen seconds."

"Eye floaters."

"Everybody has eye floaters."

"Mine are the size of a Buick."

"Buicks are fashionable now.  Look, over there, that guy getting out of one outside the nightclub: that's not your grandpa!  Ten seconds."

"Very painful corns, Dr. Kropotkin."

"Go to the foot doctor and get them cut off."

"I'll never make it. You have to walk across a former Civil War battlefield to get to her office."

"Five seconds, and I'm free."

"Aren't you forgetting something very important, doctor?"

"For the sake of the medical profession, I hope not."

"My psychological problems:  Rampant insecurity, aging angst, and my desire to return to the womb provided they put in a wet bar."

"Oh, crap!  Okay, how many ounces do you need and what flavor do you prefer?"

"I'll leave that up to your professional judgment.  And oh, Dr. Kropotkin? 

"Yes?"

"Could you also write me a script for a very nice bong and a psychedelic poster of Jimi Hendrix?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, you may also like Rocky Mountain High, Why Do You Think They Call It Dope?, and It’s Always Smokey in Philadelphia.

If you hated this post, I hope your doctor writes you a script for Medical Marijuana and it turns out to be oregano!

Popeye, the Sailor Man BOOP! BOOP! (FF)

"Popeye, look! That ship capsized in the harbor with everyone aboard!"

"Well, blow me down, Olive!"

"Popeye, can you yank the anchor chain and pull the ship to shore?"

"Of course I can, Olive.  Because ...

 I'm Popeye, the Sailor Man BOOP! BOOP!

 I'm Popeye, the Sailor Man BOOP! BOOP!

"But, Popeye, you didn't eat your spinach!"

"Oh, that was just product placement, Olive. I gots paid plenty by the Spinach Growers of America for that."

"Then, Popeye, where does the strength come from?"

"I thought you wouldda guessed by now, Olive."

"Popeye! You're a stoner?"

"I Yam What I Yam and That's All What I Yam!  And don't Bogart that pipe, Olive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With this annoying little entry in the weekly Friday Fictioneers' Sweepstakes based on the picture prompt above, I'm counting on most people remembering Popeye the Sailor Man (BOOP! BOOP!). He hasn't been on TV in any of his three incarnations (One black & white, two in color, & one in which the character of "Bluto" is oddly named "Brutus") in many a year.

If you don't remember Popeye, Olive, and the rest, never fear. The other Friday Fictioneers are ready to blow you down with their takes on the picture prompt, most of which in no way include product placement by the Spinach Growers of America. 

But I hope you like the Popeye piece. And I will gladly pay you Friday for a nice comment today.  

Where There's Smoke (FF)

 © Roger Bultot

"It was an unintended consequence of the legalization of marijuana,"said Governor Hickenlooper of Colorado, “but house fires are up over 50% in the state, and most of them go unreported because when a fire breaks out, no one seems to care."

"What can be done, Governor?" asked Reporter Doyle of the Chronicle.

"I’m proud to announce we've developed a new fire alarm system to fully address the problem.  As soon as the system detects smoke, it issues a special chemical into the environment."

"What does the chemical do?"

"In induces the feeling that philosophical questions about life are boring, you've a European Civilization final tomorrow, and who the hell wants to eat Oreos anyway!"

~~~~~~~~~

Ironically I read that Governor Hickenlooper has come out against legalization of marijuana stating that he wished it had never passed. I'm not sure about that, but I do wish to come out against the name Governor Hickenlooper, because it makes me giggle.

To see what the other Friday Fictioneers feel about Governor Hickenlooper, the picture prompt above, Oreo Cookies, and more, please click here.

Damn, I forgot about that final!

There's One In Every Dorm

Yeah, there's always a guy like this. Remember?

I went to college years ago when dorms and dorm rooms were little better than army barracks but without the tough ass An Officer and a Gentleman type drill sergeant and the requirement that you learn to use a rifle without shooting yourself in the foot.

Nowadays the dorms in which my son and his fellows reside at colleges and universities throughout the country are more like four star hotels, only without concierge service and night time chocolates placed neatly by their beds. Plus today's dorms are co-educational, a development of which I never would have dreamed but for which I would have gladly swapped dozens and dozens of pieces of chocolate and my rifle, were I to have one.

But no matter how dorms may change, some things remain the same.  There are almost always certain types of dorm residents that all of us would recognize, whether we're matriculating millennials today or like me, antiques from the Age of Aquarius.   

What follows is a sampling. 

There's always one guy in every dorm who: 

.... can drink an entire beer in one gulp.  

Yes, this seemed impressive back in the day but it's somehow less so today when the same guy does it for you just before performing your open heart surgery.

 .... claims he never masturbates. 
One can only hope he was lying.  Because if not, you and I have no willpower whatsoever!


....  claims he routinely stays up all night before a 30 page term paper is due,  types it all out in one draft (in the typewriter era),  and always gets an "A." 
Predictably, most of these people are murdered before they reach age 21.


....  claims he never studies, parties the night before tests, and always gets an "A."
Double homicide anyone?


.... never fails to wax poetic on any occasion, littering his everyday conversation with references to Shakespeare, Keats, James Joyce, Film Noir, Classical vs. Modern Art, and any other conceivable subject or reference which displays his depth, sensitivity, and profound love and appreciation for art in whatever form it may be found or prove to exist.
He's only doing it to try to pot naive freshman girls.  It rarely works.


  .... claims no matter how drunk or how stoned he is he can drive perfectly well, so c'mon, don't be a baby, climb in the car with him. 
And true to form, this is the guy who got you home from innumerable parties and on occasion even drove you from Philadelphia to Boston and back.  And now years later as you pause to reflect on it, what comes to mind is 

"OMG, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!!!"

.... is  goofy and weird-looking but who because he is kind of character quickly becomes a favorite of everyone in the dorm who uniformly call him something like "Lapdog," "Joe Bluster," or "the Funkman."  

Yes, Lapdog has an incredible God-given ability to be as popular as a cool guy without actually being one.  Sometimes you almost wish you could be  goofier and weirder-looking and maybe you'd be as popular as Joe Bluster or the Funkman.

....  has dates each and every weekend while you are sitting home watching "I Dream of Jeannie."  
You'd like to imagine that in the parallel universe you're living the same life as this guy. But you know you're not.  In the parallel universe you're sitting home watching "I Dream of Jeannie" while this guy has dates every weekend.


.... has a girlfriend with whom he's been going steady since the seventh grade whose pictures grace every square inch of  his dorm room and to whom he glowingly and lovingly tells one and all he will be wed just as soon as the two of them are both out of college.   

Ten or fifteen years later this guy generally comes out as gay.

.... is a screaming, shouting, wildly gesticulating ultra-leftwing, socialist, anarchist, Che Guevara-spouting, Mao Tse Tung-admiring, Saul Alinsky-loving "power-to-the-people, right on!" crazed revolutionary radical.
Most of these guys wind up working at Fox News.


.... has fantastic hair. 
And know what?  Still has it too.


.... is extremely talented on the guitar and never hesitates to whip it out to serenade the dorm with any one or more of his dozens of original songs. 
And after a semester or two, you finally master the art of planting a smile on your face, rhythmically tapping your feet, and swaying to and fro to the worst goddamn music you've ever heard in your life.


.... at the end of a social evening always combs through the ashtrays  to scoop up any remaining roaches.
Yeah, you're right.  That was me. 

So, did I forget any other guys that there's always one of in every dorm?  

Hey, let me know ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You Can't Go Home Again or It's Always Smokey in Philadelphia

"By the way," I was telling my son Brandon over the phone yesterday, "Philadelphia is about to decriminalize marijuana. Gonna just be a fine." 

Brandon goes to college in nearby Baltimore.

"Wow, Dad, that's terrific!"  he said.

"Well,  yes, it's a good thing," I replied in measured tones.  "Years ago, I might have been very pleased, but in this day and age ..."

"You know, Dad," said Brandon,  "I've been thinking of coming home for a visit soon."

"Oh, no, no, there's no need for that!  You ... uh ...  have your classes and homework to attend to."

"Sure, but I've got all that pretty much under control.  I'd like to come see you."

"I look exactly the same.  A month or two older."

"Yes, but I miss everybody in Philadelphia.  I have a lot of friends in college there I'd like to visit."

"They're all busy!  Many of them have moved.  I'm afraid, Brandon,  some don't even like you anymore."

"Hey, Dad, what's this all about?  You think I want to come home to do drugs?"

"Of course not!   It's just that your life is in Baltimore now.  Baltimore Maryland.  Where nothing's decriminalized."

"You've told me you did more than your share of weed back in the day." 

"You don't want to turn out like me!"

"Come on, Dad, you have your flaws, but you didn't turn out all that bad."

"Are you kidding?  I have demons!  DEMONS!"  

"Well, I'll certainly come home for the Jewish holidays."

"Umm,  I forgot to tell you.  I'm converting.  Love that Jesus!"

"What about Thanksgiving?"

"I'd hold off 'til Christmas. Maybe President's Day."  

"May I ever come home, Dad?"

"Sure."

"When's that?"

"Whenever they decriminalize marijuana in Baltimore!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Letting Your Freak Flag Fly

  

It happened just the other day.

For no particular reason, on a whim, I took out my old freak flag.

I hadn’t seen it in many years and actually had no idea where it was.  I came across it in the attic packed away among some old college notebooks, term papers I didn't remember that I'd rather forget, and my autographed picture of actor Christopher Jones. Quite frankly, I was surprised I still had it and shocked to see how torn and tattered it had become.

There were many different freak flags back in the day --- some festooned with peace signs and political slogans, others with drug paraphernalia, and still others with Morrison, Guevara, or a nude John and Yoko. The flag fit the person and changed from time to time. Mine was most often a bit heavy on the cannabis sativa interwoven with Beatles, long hair, and a just a dash of "Impeach Nixon." 

It was a grand old flag, if not always a high flying one, but it had seen better days. No white collar conservatives flashing down the street would have even given a thought to pointing their plastic finger at it.

I wondered how you legally go about disposing of a freak flag. Since there are guidelines for the U.S. flag, I went to Google and sure enough there it was: the United States Department of Flags, Freak Flag Division. I dialed.

“Hello, United States Office of Freak Flags,  Mr. Kelly speaking,” said the gentleman answering the phone. “Peace, brother.”

“Hi, Mr. Kelly,” I said. “I’m kind of surprised to see there is a government office on freak flags.”

“Established in 1987,” Mr.  Kelly responded, "to maintain and preserve an important part of US history."

"I didn't know they were." 

"Even if a bit self-indulgent, weren't they meaningful to you? Didn't they express something that was real, if only a freedom to look and feel in a different way?"

"I guess you're right," I said. "But mine is all tattered.  How does one respectfully and appropriately go about disposing of a worn freak flag?”

"Well, no mystery to that, sir. Fold it into the shape of a peace sign and burn, baby. burn!”

I should have known.

"But I have another idea for you. Just keep it; tattered and worn is par for the course for a true freak flag anyway." 

"I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, Mr. Kelly."

"You're welcome. And one other thing, sir."

"What’s that?"

"Every now and then, when you feel like it...."

"Yes?" 

"Just let your freak flag fly!"

Know what?  

Right On!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rocky Mountain High

"State of Colorado, Department of Revenue, Marijuana Enforcement Division, how may I help you?"

''Cool!  I like the sound of that."

"Hello, sir?  May I help you?"

''Yes, you may!  My name is Perry Block, and I've long been an admirer of your fair state.''

''That's very nice, sir.  I'm agent Carter.  What can I do for you?"

"Ever since I first spotted Colorado on the map as a small child, I said to myself: Now that's a wonderful southern state!''

"But, Mr. Block, we're  in the Southwest."

"Southwest, you say?  Can't believe my dear Aunt Ethel gave me such an inaccurate map! I'd be angry, but she's passed now."

"Sorry, Mr. Block.  What can I do for you?"

"No, it's more like what the great state of Colorado has done for all of us! The Rocky Mountains, the beautiful lakes, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, India.Arie, the Nuggets, the Rockies, Ken Kesey ... why, John Elway, he's my main man!"

"Is that so?"   

"Oh yeah!  I only wish he were still out there at center ice scoring goals today!"

"I see, sir.  You really do love Colorado!"

"Best place there is."  

"Thank you, Mr. Block.  Thank you very much." 

"Y'know, Agent Carter, I just happened to have heard by chance that the sale of marijuana is now legal in Colorado.'' 

"Yes, that's true." 

''I was wondering ... you guys have any kind of Honorary Citizen Program?"

"Honorary Citizen Program?  No, we don't."

"Friend of the State Status?"

"I don't think so."

"How about a Reciprocity Policy?"

'"What's a Reciprocity Policy?"'

"I send you something from Philadelphia, you send me something back from Colorado.''

"What would you send me from Philadelphia?"

"Would you like some of our famous cheese steaks or replicas of the Liberty Bell?  I can send you a whole lot of Michael Vick jerseys!  I think I could get you Patti LaBelle's autograph too; I happen to know where she gets her hair done."

''And what would you like us to send you in return, Mr. Block?"

"Oh, I dunno. Well, maybe an ounce or two of your very best Mile High Mile High, Aspen Gold, or BadAss Boulder!  Whatever it is you got! And please, before the weekend!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Block, there's no Reciprocity Policy."  

"How about a Pollyanna Gift Exchange? Like in grade school.  I'll be your Pollyanna!"

"Sorry,  I can't help you."

"Well, can you send me some medical marijuana then?" 

"You're sick, Mr. Block?  What illness do you have?"

"End Stage Bupkis. It's been a terrible ordeal!"

"Oh.  Only thing is my wife's Jewish, Mr. Block."'

"So?"

"You just said you have End Stage Nothing."

"Damn it, Agent Carter, why can't you help me?  I was smoking dope before you were born!  How old are you?"

"I'm 32."

"Actually, I had already given up smoking dope before you were born."

"Mr. Block, we are simply not allowed to send marijuana out of the state."

"Well, isn't there anything I could do?"

"Yes. You could move here."

"But I don't wanna live in the south!"

"Mr. Block, I told you, we're in the Southwest."

''Oh, who gives a crap where your crummy state is!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Bobby Fishman Rule, or Why Do You Think They Call It Dope?

Not actually us, but you get the idea. 

"Now that you're headed to college in the fall, Brandon," I said, "it's time we had a certain little chat."

"Dad, it may be a little late for that," Brandon replied.  "Don't forget, we've been subscribed to HBO ever since I was being potty trained!"

"Not that conversation, Bran, " I said. "The one about,  you  know ... cannabis sativa."

"Oh, that one!  Okay, sure, what did you want to discuss?"

"Well, Bran, I'm not going to be hypocritical and tell you not to experiment with marijuana. You may not believe it, but I experimented a bit myself!"

"R-e-e-e-a-a-a-l-l-l-y, Dad?  I had no idea!"

"Sure.  Back in the day.  A tad bit."

"How much is a tad bit?"

"Fourteen years.  But I didn't inhale!"

"Oh, yes, makes all the difference."

"Now, there are some important things you should keep in mind to be safe should you ever decide to sample marijuana."

"Such as?"

"Don't get involved with drug dealers, only buy small amounts from people you know & trust,  and don't smoke it or even walk around with it outside!" 

"Right, Dad. And  whenever you start to think 'gee, this party or this weekend won't be any fun if I'm not high,' that's when you've got a problem!"

"That's right, Bran.  Not that I ever came to feel that way!"

"Of course not.  Anything else, Dad?" 

"Yes, there's one more thing:  The Bobby  Fishman Rule.''

"The Bobby Fishman Rule?  What's the Bobby Fishman Rule?"

"In any group, there's always some guy who will tell you that no matter how wasted he is, no matter how much dope he's smoked, he's okay to drive and it's safe to take a ride with him anywhere."

"OH, NO, DAD! You can never trust people like that! Never get in that car!"

"That's exactly what I mean.   Y'see, I used to know this guy named Bobby Fishman who was always saying he could drive just fine when high."

"I get it! This Bobby Fishman character was always after you to ride with him when he was stoned, and you always said "NO!"

"Well ... um ... always is kind of a strong word and  ... Yes, that's right! I always said no!" 

"Good for you, Dad!  

"Although there was the one time we were going to Boston ... I mean, he was going to Boston and I thought maybe I might ..."

"Proud of you, Dad! You said "NO" to a trip to Boston with a stoner!"

"I did?  Oh ... yes, I did!"

"And that's the Bobby  Fishman Rule, right, Dad?"

"That's the Bobby Fishman Rule!"

"Thanks for this little chat, Dad.  I'm glad to know we can discuss important things like this together."

"I'm glad too, Bran.  Umm ... Bran?

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Every now and then, can we go over that Bobby Fishman Rule again?" 

"Sure, Dad.  Anytime you want."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, you might also like Sixties' Speak - Then and Now,  Sixties vs. Seventies, and Why Can't He Be Eight or Alley Oop!

If you hated this post, I hope the next taxi you hail is driven by the real Bobby Fishman!

*******************

 And remember, kids, never get in the car with anyone driving who's high, no matter what they say!