Curtis  “Cocky”  Warren

I remember one of my other friends from my firm telling me “I don’t know why I do this shit.” This was a time for another analogy – consultants vs. drug dealers.

First, you need to understand how the whole drug-dealer thing works. My primary source of reference are these two brilliant books: The famous Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner and the incredible Gang leader for a Day by Sudhir Venkatesh. If you are really interested in black culture or the workings of a ghetto, you HAVE to read this book. Incidently, a large part of the section of Freakonomics pertaining to “Why drug dealers stay with their mom?” come from Sudhir’s research (Sudhir did his thesis with assistance from Levitt).

Let me describe the organizational structure:

At the bottom of the pyramid (original, no?) are the foot soldiers. These are the guys standing on the streets selling crack, fighting rival gangs and ending up in prison or dead.

Above them are the area bosses. These guys collect money from the foot soldiers, provide ammo, protect the prostitutes and generally ensure get the goodies and a slightly higher pay.

So on and on, the hierarchy goes until we reach the board of directors. Yes, all crooks seem to have the same kind of boards of directors (Just kidding – the ones in the drug trade actually know what illegal shit is happening. These guys have reached the land of milk and honey after leaving a trail of blood, crack, beaten whores and what not. These guys get most of the money from the sales of crack, women and protection.

So why are the foot soldiers so keen to get shot, imprisoned and expose themselves to countless dangers while the board of directors who take very little exposure are licking the cream from the top. Simple. Because they ee the money, the bling, the cars, the women  that come with being boss. They want to be a board member. The chances are very low. But each of them thinks they have the kills and the sales to go up the ladder. Most of them are going to fall off the wayside. But it’s the dream that drives them on.

Uh, sounds familiar?

We hate the blog The Google Wave Blog and we hate the post Your Thoughts On Waving So Far.

1. WE HATE not being on the bleeding edge of all the newest, latest and hippest monumental breakthroughs in communication technology. This is why when we found out that a friend had an invite for Google Wave we didn’t just hit him up with an email and ask that he give it to us. No, we did it the old fashioned way. Roughneck style. We grabbed our special crowbar (the rusty one), drove over to his condo, busted the windshield of his Camry, broke in his door, ripped him away from his game of Assassin’s Creed, pinned him to the ground and demanded that he invite us! And he did! So, here we are. On the bleeding edge.

Gotta hand it to you, Google. Whether you wanted to or not, the process of unrolling Wave created a lot of anxious anticipation that resulted, for some, in house arrest.

Apparently, no one else voted for "Not Enough Tits"

2. WE HATE that you’re already looking for feedback on Wave. Why? Because we had to drag our friends kicking and screaming into it even though they didn’t know what the hell was going on. “Wave with us!” we said and they did because they like shiny techie shit as much as anyone that grew up watching computers slowly take over their lives. Frankly, though, we feel like chimpanzees with abacuses. My feedback is this: if we pass a racist, sexist or homophobic joke around the office and everyone gets in on it without Javier, Tammi or Carmen/Carl finding out about it, that’s a home run.

3. WE HATE trying to improve an already good thing. Wasn’t Gmail cutting it for you with it’s ugly-ass interface and cluttered, unflattering design? Three months into having our Gmail account–THREE MONTHS–we finally found the friggin’ “reply all” button. It was a Gutenberg moment. And now, you’re gonna take that hard-earned know how away from us? That’s just … evil!

4. WE HATE that there’s another goddamn thing we have to teach our mom how to do on the Internet. We finally taught her how to change her Facebook status and now we’re going have to teach her how to use Wave? Oh, we’ll resist. But then she’ll say “well, if you’re putting photos of my granddaughter on there, I better be able to see them.” And we’ll resist again, but then she’ll say that she’ll tell Dad not to help us install the new water heater and, of course, we’re scared of plumbing, so then it’s an afternoon of “click there, no there … there, there! Right there, Mom! Move your mouse over the … see? No, don’t hit ‘back!’”

She better let us do our laundry. And make us some mashed potatoes and gravy. And pecan pie.

5. WE HATE you, Google, and we will never forgive you for making our neighborhood drug dealer’s house look so beautiful and pristine in the Street View. If your little privacy-snatching camera car would have timed it right, you would have caught some deals going down for real.

I don’t know if you recall, but awhile ago my mother and I watched a documentary about tulips, apples, potatoes and marijuana. It was about how plants had evolved to suite mans needs. After about half an hour, the part concerning he partconcring marijuana comes on and my mom comments about how pretty the plants look and that I should grow one. Yes, my mom actually WANTS me to grow some pot (though neither of us would smoke it). I said I probably wouldn’t and then days later I had to write an article about why marijuana should be legalized in the US. Go figure. Anyway my great uncle had mentioned that I should grow weed to pay for our new house which I found really funny. So I’ve two people, whom I respect a great deal, telling me to grow/deal pot and I’m seriously considering it. Yea pot is bad but I’d feel better about my friends getting it from me, where it would be a pure source, instead of some dealer who wants to through in everything under the kitchen sink to get them hooked on meth or ecstasy. So you see I’m actually trying to do a good thing, hahahaha. But anyway I told one of my friends about it (well several actually but she was the only one to show so much interest) and she said she’d deal for me hahaha. (see here for info about her) Most of my friends wanted me to grow (but they all smoke anyway so that wasn’t a surprise) so I know I’d make some money off of it for sure. Plus if I could sell it to hospitals for “medical weed” then I’d technically have a license to grow it. My uncle even said he could get me some seeds without any trouble from a guy who’s been growing the stuff for over 25 years. But back to the point.

Should I do it? I know I could get in some serious trouble, especially since I’ve put the idea on here and half the world can read this (and find me to search my house or something if they really wanted) but I’d feel better about my friends doing the drug if I KNEW that it wasn’t laced with anything else. So what are your opinions? Is marijuana THAT bad? I don’t think so. Yea it can be addictive, but so are cigarettes and those are legal. Cigarettes even do more damage to your body then marijuana does because of all the chemicals that are in them. I personally wouldn’t smoke any of it because it goes against my personal beliefs. I mean, the body’s not really supposed to breathe in smoke like that. But then that kind of makes me a hypocrite doesn’t it? I dunno, maybe I’d try it just to give it a whirl. Sorry got off topic again, back to the subject. I wouldn’t be one of those low-down dealers who buy a bunch of guns and are gang bangers and such. The money I earned would be put back into the economy; we could spiff up our house, eat out more, buy solar panels etc. I was really hyped up about the idea of this during third so I NEEDED to blog it out. If I don’t post in a few days though, you’ll know I’ve been taken into custody lol.

Signed – your friendly neighborhood pot dealer.

Disclaimer: I have never taken any form of marijuana and do not plan on doing so. I do not posses any marijuana in any form. This post was just a thought process, it was only half serious.

Il direttore del Sunday World dichiara che non si lascerà intimidire dagli spacciatori di droga, dopo l’aggressione subita a Belfast

Jim McDowell, 60 anni, è stato aggredito ieri pomeriggio alle 16.30 a pochi metri dalla City Hall, dove si era recato a visitare il mercatino natalizio di Belfast.
McDowell è stato vittima di un pestaggio furioso da parte di 4 uomini, tra le urla di donne e bambini.
Il direttore del Sunday World ha dichiarato: “Non mi intimidiranno, non intimidiranno il mio giornale. Continueremo a smascherare questi ragazzi. Sono para-mafiosi, sono paramilitari. Credo di sapere chi siano gli spacciatori di droga”.
L’aggressione è avvenuta solo una quindicina di giorni dopo atti vandalici ai danni della sua auto al di fuori del tribunale di Craigavon (contea di Armagh) dove McDowell aveva presenziato ad un’udienza in connessione con l’omicidio dei uno dei suoi giornalisti, Martin O’Hagan. Fu ucciso a Lurgan nel 2001 per mano lealista.
McDowell era già stato minacciato in passato sia da fazioni repubblicane, che lealiste ed ha accusato gli spacciatori di droga di questa ultima aggressione.
Prima di essere assalito ha sentito una voce che gli avrebbe detto: “Tu hai ucciso mio fratello” oppure “Stai cercando di uccidere mio fratello”, la vittima non è certa della parole esatte ed ha aggiunto: “Il mio problema più grande è la loro arroganza”; gli aggressori infatti non si sono nemmeno allontanati ma hanno continuato a deriderlo a distanza.
“Sarò al lavoro domattina. Non ci fermeranno. Non posso attaccare la libertà di parola, la libertà di espressione o la libertà di stampa. Non ce le toglieranno. Non mi fermeranno”.
La polizia ha fornito frammentarie descrizioni di 2 degli aggressori. Uno sarebbe alto 1,75 m circa, sbarbato e di carnagione pallida. Indossava una maglia nera con cappuccio e un cappello di lana a strisce nere. L’altro individuo è stato descritto di corporatura tarchiata, capelli cortissimi sulle tempie e calvo nella parte superiore. Indossava una giacca rossa e pantaloni scuri.

Traduci l’articolo…

November 17, 2009 – A Developing Story

The U.S. Attorney, FBI, and Westchester County Police have arrested 43 suspects for being part of a drug ring selling cocaine power and crack with a street value of more than $1 million on the streets of Westchester County.  FBI made arrests with the help of Westchester County, Peekskill, Yonkers and Ossining Police.  The U.S. Attorney will be holding a news conference at 1 p.m in White Plains, NY.   More details:

FBI NEW YORK DRUG RING http://loudnews.wordpress.com/2009/11/19/fbi-new-york-drug-ring/

The Westchester News.Com

http://thewestchesternews.com

This movie was described to me by my sister in this way:  ”a high school detective story with a pulp fiction, underground feel to it”.  That’s precisely what it was.

IMDB says:

“A teenage loner pushes his way into the underworld of a high school crime ring to investigate the disappearance of his ex-girlfriend.”

Seems about accurate to me.  It’s a movie filled with twisted story lines, quirky characters, code words, and obscurity.  I love it.  It was just confusing enough that I hoped, with every minute, that the previous minute would be explained.  So many ends were left untied, it leaves a lot to the imagination.  And isn’t that what we want out of a movie?  Really?  Don’t we want to be left guessing?

Every new clue has you putting two and two together, and in its unpredictable way the movie is constantly calling you wrong, and at times it can be almost frustrating.  I remember I spent the first twenty minutes in a state of: “he’s who, and she’s a what?  Why’s he doing that?  Who wrote that note, if she didn’t?”

I remember me ‘n my sister turning to each other and saying: “I wish high school was like that”.  So, maybe I don’t, because I’d hate for that many people to die in my high school every, like, week.  The movie made you feel like you were drowning, and every time you breathed for the surface, you longed again for that inability to swim.

By the way, the trailer’s bad ass.  I dug it up for you.

The main character looks like my brother.  Ah, ha.

Nearly three dozen agencies in our state helped bring in 50 wanted drug dealers part of a violent Mexican drug cartel that operates nationwide.    

It all started here in the east. In December of last year, DEA in Raleigh and the Pitt County District Attorney’s office began an investigation into elements of the drug cartel “La Familia.“

OK, here’s the thing drug dealers of Yukon, Oklahoma, when you cram your cell phone into your coat pocket, make sure it’s on lock or you might find yourself in a little bit of strife. When a  drug dealer’s phone accidentally rang 911 the dispatchers could faintly hear what they thought was a deal going down. They traced the call and sent police a knocking and low and behold they found  $20,000 worth of Xanax, Hydrocondone, Oxycontin, Ecstasy and marijuana. Hmm, Mark Alan Clair and Shannon Blake McAlister take a bow! Dumbass 911 callers of the week and you didn’t even know it!

I left Tenosique on Monday, November 2nd – the day of the dead.  (It’s a Mexican holiday.)  Bad omen, huh?  To make matters worse, just outside the town, I saw a dog stagger to its feet in the middle of the road, take two steps toward the shoulder and collapse.  Pretty sure it had just been hit by a car.

Aside from the collapse of a dead dog, I made it to the border at El Ceibo without incident … to find that the customs office that I had to visit to terminate the permit for my motorcycle was closed… because it was a Monday.   One guy asked if I could hang around for a bit, and he’d call the only employee of that particular office to see if he could come down to take care of me.  And I waited for about 40 minutes.  A crowd gathered around the bike, and I went over to talk to them for a bit.  Then I went back to the customs office, and sat some more.  A nice Guatemalan man (a Chapin … the nickname for Guatemalans) came over and started talking about how much he loves bikes.  It turns out that it’s true … Guatemalans are MUCH friendlier than Mexicans … if you can imagine such a thing.

Eventually the customs guys came back and said that because it was a holiday, and the guy lived all the way in Tenosique, that he wasn’t going to make it down to the border.  So I talked to the immigration guys, and they said I could head into Guatemala, stay at El Naranjo, and come back the next day.   So I crossed the border without pulling out my passport  (the border is a chain link fence by the way,) and stopped at the little hut on the other side to talk to Guatemalan immigration.  I explained to the officer that I was just going to El Naranjo and that I had to come back the next day to talk to customs.  He said that there was no problem, but I needed to get my passport out to be processed into Guatemala.  Sure, no sweat.  I dug my passport out, and got stamped, and then headed back outside.  The officer followed me, and started chatting away about motorcycles with me and the 5 or so guys that had surrounded my bike.  (Seriously, the thing draws a crowd everywhere I go.)   He had one piece of advice for me … he said that if I was stopped by police, that I should tell them he let me in, even though there isn’t a Guatemalan customs office to get a permit for the bike.  Somehow, that’s not entirely comforting.

There.  That’s part one of crossing the border.  If you made it through that long hard slog, then here’s where the story gets interesting.  In El Naranjo, I found 1 bank, 2 cyber cafes, and about 5 hotels … none of which were appealing.  The bank didn’t have an ATM and wouldn’t change pesos, so I went across the street to the Western Union/cyber cafe and they did change money for me.  (Convenient for me since I kept forgetting to check the exchange rate in Tenosique … but they did actually offer me a decent exchange rate.)   I stopped at the hotel that was closest to the entrance to town (which turned out to be the nicest anyway) and got a room.  Then I walked into town looking for something to eat … that wouldn’t upset my stomach which was still somewhat delicate after a little bout of Montezuma’s revenge the day before.  (The reason I was crossing the border on Monday instead of Sunday when the office WAS actually open.)

I made it almost all the way through town when this guy stopped me.  He said, ‘You were the guy who drove the motorcycle up and down the street a little while ago, aren’t you?’  I told him I was, and he said that he had tried to flag me down to stay in his hotel.   I told him that I didn’t see him, but that I was actually looking for a bank at the time instead of a hotel.  He said that there were money changers right there, and I told him that I had already changed some money.  He asked what exchange rate I got, and I told him, and he said that I got a good price.  At that point a couple of girls walked by, and he commented about how pretty they were.  Then he told me he was from El Salvador, and that he was a rebel for a couple of years before leaving the country.  He wandered through the USA and Canada for a while, decided it was too cold, and came back south.  Then he said, ‘If you need anything, weed, girls, ANYTHING, I can get it for you.’  I said thanks, and he repeated ‘ANYTHING.’  So I told him I was looking for potato chips.  All of the stores I passed had little bags, but I couldn’t find a big bag of potato chips.  He took me across the street, to the store I would have checked next anyway, and we struck out.  (Again.)  And he gave up and went back to his hotel.  I’m not sure that I’d trust my drug purchase to a guy that gets stymied by potato chips.

Anyway.  After lights out at 8 PM, (not joking, the electricity went off at 8,) and sleeping through the night, I got up and headed back to the border.  I took care of Mexican customs, and immigration, and came back to Guatemala.  Funny thing.  The Guatemalans didn’t check my passport either direction.  So I crossed from Mexico into Guatemala without a passport check on EITHER side of the border, and went BACK into Mexico without a passport check.  That has to be the most relaxed border ANYWHERE!

It’s been another interesting day here in the parish, so I thought I’d share a few snippets of what I got up to:

• School harvest festival service in church. I was down for refreshments for the parents afterwards (tea, coffee and some home baking). My duties expanded to child care (the Engineer’s been a bit poorly and was off school but well enough to tag along) and the sound desk. The sound desk was a first for me but thankfully wasn’t too technical, just putting the right cd tracks on for the songs.
• Discussions with parishioners about the drug dealers who’ve been continuing to drop off their wares in our church yard for collection.
• Viewing of options for an update to our rather rickety church website.
• A chat with the reporter from our local rag who wants to run a story based on my rant about CRB forms. He’s sending the photographer round tomorrow and I’ve only had my hair cut once since we moved to the parish – it wasn’t a happy experience and I’m considering my options for the morning (paper bag? up at 5am with curlers? hmm…). I’m also developing a stye in one eye. I’m rather concerned that I will unfairly represent vicar’s wives as unglamourous, unkempt and shattered looking.
• Child care logistics planning because of the Engineer’s need for an early night, the Vicar’s school governors’ meeting at 6pm, the Joker’s swimming lesson at 6.30pm and the Queen and Happy’s commitment to our Kids Club at 7pm.
• A delivery of beef casserole to a recently bereaved widower.

I’m off to bed now. Then hopefully the stye won’t show up in the photo.

12 people have been killed and a helicopter has been shot down in fierce clashes between drug gangs and police in Rio de Janeiro, weeks after the city won its bid to host the 2016 Olympics.

Two policemen were killed and two others were wounded early on Saturday when their helicopter was shot down by drug traffickers in a day of running battles in the slums of northern Rio.

Nine buses were also set on fire in surrounding neighbourhoods in retaliation for a police operation aimed at controlling heavy gun battles between rival drug gangs in the area.

Some 6,000 people were murdered in Rio in 2008 alone.

Fucking peoples shit up will replace ping pong for the Rio Olympics.

Not sporting sir.

Vaya con dios.

Yours, while giving away free fairy tales that predict next weeks winning Lotto numbers

Righteous

p.s. what you can’t smell WILL kill you.

Gardaí in Dublin have seized 60 kilos of cannabis, estimated to be worth around €750,000.

Officers from the Garda National Drugs Unit discovered the drugs after they stopped a truck and a car at Business Park in Swords this afternoon.

Two men aged 41 and 44 were arrested at the scene and are being questioned in Swords and Malahide Garda Stations.

This latest seizure is the result of an ongoing investigation by the Garda National drugs into the activities of a man known to them as a significant drug dealer.

And if you follow the jawline down over the heart, the curves of your bone and muscle that make up your head to toe, it’s just skin and thread, stitches and ligaments, words that we spoke only to regret.

And I know they’re going to laugh at us, when they see us out together “holding hands” like this. They wouldn’t understand it if we told them all the reasons, not that I think this deserves any kind of explanation.

And we’ll, we’ll make it up so we’ve got a smile painted on all the time, no matter what it’s like on the inside. We’ll keep this, keep us like a secret, because if my family and friends ever found out about the things we could never be, haunts we’ll always keep… so fucking bittersweet.

I fuck absolutely everything up, without fail. The one time he actually wanted to be around me, I was being boring and depressed. I hate being an obligation…

Maybe he wanted to tell me something. Like, “Let’s not talk anymore,” or something like that. I’m getting ready to separate myself from him completely. He always reminds me of how inherently bad I am.

Anyway, I’m glad it’s fall. I love the cold weather, and smoking and not being able to tell if it’s the smoke or my breath I’m seeing, and I like the colors and wearing warm clothing. It’s my favorite season, and I always feel most serene at this time, even though it’s a busy time…

I haven’t eaten hardly anything so far. I did have a few bites of cottage cheese and some coffee mixed with coco (which made me feel fat).

I talked to a few other friends, making sure I have another support system in place in case I can’t talk to West Coast anymore.

I just want to be with him all the time… and I can’t do that.

I’m still waiting on the hospital bill in terrible fear. I can’t afford to pay for that and cigarettes. A whole pack now only lasts me 2-ish days, depending on the weather outside and how stressed and hungry I am. Speaking of hunger, my tummy is grumbling and protesting. Weak.

My plan is to have something small for dinner, maybe an apple, so I don’t get sick when I go drinking with one of my class’s TAs (?!) in the nicest dorm with the largest rooms on campus… I’m really excited for that. Is it sad that the only things I get excited for are drinking, good grades, and my sister asking for help from me before her drug-dealer, drop-out friends…?

Every once in a while I come across a piece of thinspiration that really just works for me. When my weight is on a downswing, they’re harder and harder to come by, because I start to look like the girls. I’m an honest person and I won’t pretend they’re skinny when they look the same as me.

My waist is the greatest source of my grief. It’s… large. I look like an apple sitting up on little leggy stilts.

I feel faint too, but I’m not that small, so I’ll press on.

Some seized semi-submersibles that were used to transport drugs internationally.

Thousands of marijuana joints are prepared by the gang who will sell them for as little as 50 cents each.

MEDELLIN, Colombia (CNN) — A young man with tattoos covering one arm rolls hundreds of marijuana joints in the half-light of a shack, perched on a hillside in a Medellin slum.

Over the past couple of months I have conducted a thorough review of the major cities all cross America to come up with the most Ghetto ass cities in our nation. I sat on my couch and watched the news. A lot went in to this study. Just to give you a few examples of the science use to come up with these conclusions, here are just a few of the criteria questions we use: How many times did the reporters seek out and interview the most ignorant person they could fine; How many reports talked about the so called, “No snitching” when a major crime had just been committed against the community. How many of the kids did not expect to live past 30. Communities that protected and let drug dealers hide amongst them. The number of unsolved murders over the past year when there was a street full of people when the murder occurred. The number of times the show cops was filmed there over the past decades. So as you can see with all of information/research reviewed for this study its pretty accurate. So here is the scientific results of my top 10 ghetto cities.
10. New York, Barely made the list, the infusion of Government money after 911 has really help the place 9. Oakland Ca, Could and would be a lot higher but a lot of SF spilled over during real estate boom 8. East St Louis, No don’t get it confused, this is not St Louis, its east St Louis 7. Miami, The diversity in Miami is great, but it also makes for some very diverts crimes 6. Minneapolis, If you think this place is not straight up hood, take a trip out there and see for yourself. Don’t be fooled these cats are battling
5. Chicago, OMG, checked out the local News reports, the crime rate and the number of gang murders is off the charts.
4. Newark NJ, Its been call the most corrupt town in America, from the mayor to the drug dealers this city is dirty.
3. Washington DC, I love DC, but Marion Barry says it all.
2. Baltimore, this city is off the hook. The entire city is ghetto. They have this strange way of hitching a ride that you just have to see. And the hair the ladies be sporting!
1. Philadelphia, The city of brotherly love, it may be, but you better not get out your car. The rudest people in America also live in Philly.

Other studies may vary due to different science, however as of today this is the most comprehensive list in America.

Written by
TBN

A police forensics expert examines the scene in Tottenham after Oktay Erbasli was shot dead while waiting at traffic lights in his Range Rover

Police investigate the fatal shooting of a motorcyclist as he waited at traffic lights in Tottenham

Scotland Yard has set up a dedicated team of detectives under the command of senior officer to investigate the killings and a related series of shootings, stabbings and armed robberies in North London.   

The global economy has flirted with The End, but one narrow window of the economy has continued to give life meaning and cash inflows.

Drugs.

Ker-ching

And drug dealers have no need to embrace post recession sobriety.

The greased-back hair, always astride their outlaw motorbike, decked out in Marlon Brando T-shirt, Fonzie inspired fear and envy, and the swooning coke whores……

We take all this for granted.

But these illiterate but formal, socially awkward, tactless, boorish and awkward individuals  – who find themselves developing flourishing  piles of ready cashflow – and  have a constant need to spruce themselves up – have now turned their dishonest bastardry of taste and gaucherie to a new field of endeavor – and have given birth to a new word, and a new style of architecture………….

Narco-tecture: houses built by drug lords with excessive cash that needs to find a home

And these folks are not crazed heritage listers.

The style of Narco-tecture is incoherent and dizzingly busy – homes that are decorative additions to their owners appendage-o-meter, capable of housing machine gun toting posse power, clumsy, costly, having all the style of a Junkyard Vegas.

Finally, below average architectects – who don’t find having a client who constantly says ‘Not enough’ an artistic burden, and who get deliberately ambiguous instructions which are unclear in order to mislead authorities, and have clients who avoid committing themselves to anything definite in case the shit goes down – are finally being fully utilised.

And who said no-one profited from this recession.

Yours, while making it my consolation to upset everyone I meet, but The Jonas brothers still want their underwear back

Righteous

p.s. The day after my birthday is not my birthday Dad

When I was little I remember with all twenty of my cousins playing football. I remember me and a few girl cousins would just sit and look at ladybugs and just get outraged if a football hit our heads. I don’t know why, but we felt compelled to join in playing football because we all had the same life goal-We wanted to play and catch fireflys at night(Except not me, I was afraid they’d sting me.) You get what I mean though. Then we all turned 12 and thought we were too cool for each other.

It’s weird to look at us now. Most of us are 17-22. Where did we all just verge off and create these really different lives? Most of my cousins are in college and doing quite well. I have one cousin who worked on his farm with his dad, my uncle,who recently died. My cousin found him dead in their barn. I really haven’t had much to ever do with this family because they are extremely racist and extremely closed minded.

The cousin of mine who found my uncle is a drug dealer, a little skeavy, and he’s stolen a lot of stuff from his parents(as well as mine.) He has a typical racist girlfriend that says idiotic things like, “I hate N%@$^.” However he’s honest, he truely loves his girlfriend(he’s had forever), and he’s family and I think that’s worth something. He straight up told my dad, “I’m sorry, I stole your [lists off stolen shit.] He’s always been this way, but his family kicked him out…I think after what happened, it would really be devestating, no matter how shitty he was to them.

I saw him today however, another of my cousins just had a baby, and he wanted to be there for it. I felt bad, because his presence was shrugged off. Nothing cleared a room faster than him. I just looked at him, and he looks paler, thinner, and sicker than he’s ever looked. I feel so bad. The eerie thing is, with all his lost weight…he looks so much like my uncle. We spoke briefly as my approaching him was controversy, but it’s like talking to a ghost.

I remember a little 9 year old boy playing city with me(an elaborate game, where everyone has a job!<—not so fun in real life) I remember thinking we were all the same, but with time some of us are racist, some of us are genuises, some of us are married, some of us are potheads, some of us are conservatives, some of us are indian(uh…well I am) In fact sometimes it’s hard to think we are related, but we are all family, and I have empathy for my cousin. He has few allies within the family, limited to my father, my brother, and myself.

We have shared few similar life experiences. He is barn raised, manual farming labour, and I'm a rich, privileged, indian kid from Florida. I think he's a country hick, and he thinks I'm an overly pampered priss. What binds us, however is marijuana the journey that is growing up, I suppose. I pray he does well, even though we will never, ever, EVER have any of the same views on life. I wish we could all have a clean slate again. If I had one wish, it would be to have a second chance to fix things.