Posts tagged - Military

The Drug Addiction Crisis is Your Fault

Uncle Sam PixabayBy now, everyone is convinced we are in a drug-addiction crisis, and there’s plenty of blame to go around. Such as pharmaceutical companies that invented street drugs to begin with. Bayer once touted heroin for headaches,  Abbott Labs promoted methamphetamine as a remedy for alcoholism, Sandoz invented LSD, Merc invented morphine, distributed cocaine, and invented MDMA, and Purdue convinced doctors to prescribe OxyCodone for pain by assuring them that chances of addiction were very slim. And we can blame the doctors who ignored evidence to the contrary.

We can point the finger at pharmacies that order thousands more opioids than will be needed and fill prescriptions far above what makes sense. Pharmaceutical distributors that ignore huge orders for opioids from small pharmacies, and pressure legislators to pass bills that make the DEA impotent to enforce existing rules. DEA and FDA executives who jump ship to work for big pharma at huge increases in salary so they can help build strategies to circumvent legal restrictions on their activities. Psychiatrists and physicians who take money from big pharma and go on to promote medication assisted treatment not for detoxification, but as a permanent opioid-fueled future which will benefit pharmaceutical firms and their stockholders, who put addicts on naloxone and methadone which is much harder to detox than heroin, but has the advantage of diverting money from the street drug dealer to the pharmaceutical drug dealers and their investors. The pharmaceutical companies who invent drugs to block addiction to all but their own drugs, that block death on the street and then – aping the strategies of the most venial drug pushers – raise the prices multiple times, crying that “shortages exist, you’d better hurry!” Correctional institutions who embrace medication assisted treatment to medicate inmates instead of using incarceration as a period of drying out for later life, and did anyone mention investors in big pharma stocks because wow, riches await from more and more addicts using more and more pharmaceuticals?

And there’s plenty of blame for all those judges, doctors, lawyers, psychiatrists who help close the gap between prescription drugs and street drugs. For the military exhuming the abominations of MKULTRA by experimenting on those with PTSD, trying a little of this LSD, a little of that marijuana, some wires in the brain – who knows? We might find a way to create a new and better Manchurian Candidate, make robots out of soldiers, make mass murderers out of troubled spirits. And we can blame “non-profit organizations” like the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies, who are spurring interest in using drugs to swap neuroses for outright insanity, organizations who secretly channel millions to legalize marijuana, to companies like Coca-Cola which once contained cocaine for a little boost, which is now going back to its roots, putting marijuana in its product. We can blame the legislators who get swept along in this tsunami of cash and influence, passing bills and listening to drug pushers in suits who convince them that it’s all good, and “here’s a little donation for your next campaign.” Psychiatrists who contend that everyone is basically nuts, so a little drug, a little electroshock, a little wire in the brain certainly couldn’t make you any worse…

But for all the blame to hand around, what about you? Do you know people who have their kids on speed (called ADHD medication by the shrinks)? Do you have a family member who is using marijuana or drinking too much? Are you on an anti-depressant because you feel bad sometimes? Do you get drunk on the weekends to unwind, or smoke a little weed, because after all, it’s legal now? Is your aged mother on “happy pills” so she won’t complain so much about the food, the loss of independence, the minimum-wage helpers telling her what to do in her assisted living facility? Do you nod sympathetically at people who start every conversation with “I’m ADHD” or “Since I was diagnosed with PTSD,” or “I’ve been depressed for some time now.”?

So what are you doing to help make things better? Is it all too big for you? Are you just one person? Are you in agreement with those who try to make addicts poor victims of the system? Who say that addiction, mental illness, criminality is all just a brain disease, not a choice, that we are all just victims of circumstance? We should all just go down the drain together and let the greatest country the world has ever seen evaporate like bong smoke.

Well, grow a pair why don’t you? Do something useful. Someone says. “I’ve got ADHD,” you can retort, “Who gave you that idea?” Someone says “I’m on an anti-depressant,” you can reply “What can you do to handle the situation that’s depressing you?” Someone says “marijuana is legal now, so it’s fine,” you say “So now the government has your best interests – and the taxes on weed – at heart?” Be blunt, invalidate those stupid ideas and self-victimization. Stigma is a good thing – it might help deter a kid thinking about drinking, or using meth or shooting up. Might keep him or her from ending up as a shit-stained twist of laundry in an alley somewhere, or a numbed-out methadone or pharmaceutical junkie for the rest of his or her life.

Do you vote a straight Democratic or Republican ticket, because you’re too lazy to read the voter guide? Or just not vote because there’s nothing you can do about it? Find out who’s taking money from big pharma, from the American Psychiatric Association, from the American Medical Association, the PACs and special interests and vote against them. Vote for those you think might not be in step with a stupider society.

Support religion and spiritual awareness and don’t fall for the efforts to pit one group against another. Support groups that help families, that repair marriages, that support kids and adoption and good education and a prosperous future – and beware of the “everybody-will-agree-with-this” PR and feel-good empty words of the campaign trail. Evaluate the politically correct movements to see if they lead to a better life and a better society, if they do, join, and if they don’t, oppose them even if you get hammered for it on social media.

There’s an old statement to the effect that “You get the government you deserve.” Look at what we’re getting and take some responsibility for it. It’s up to you not to your neighbors or your representatives. The left, the right, the middle, all political stripes have their own agendas, their own railroad tracks leading to their own little utopias. Do you want to travel with them? They make it easy, and they will appeal to your stupider self that thinks life consists of food, sleep and sex, and getting high can handle the rest, all funded by insurance, by taxes on “the fat-cat one percent” or the tiny fines on multi-billion-dollar drug firms.

So what can you do? Join up with effective organizations fighting stupidity and drug-induced dreaming not doing. Check out Foundation for a Drug-Free World, the Citizens Commission on Human Rights and other effective anti-drug and anti-stupidity groups. Sure, the organizations I mentioned above are related to the Church of Scientology, and all the crap you’ve heard about Scientology? It’s a measure of just how effective these organizations are in enlightening people on the drug and psychiatric agenda. Those lies and smears in the media? A badge of honor. If they were ineffective, they would be ignored by the psych-drug-media cartel, or perhaps even supported by it.

OK, so this mess is not all your fault, but if everyone woke up and went into action, this drugged-up country could reboot and get back to some basic principles. There are 21 of those principles, and here’s a link to them. Good luck.

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Deep Brain Stimulation, LSD and Other Fake Cure-Alls

greed pixabayMaybe you’ve noticed lately that “scientific research shows” that electricity and LSD cures almost everything. There are many factors pushing this stupidity, among which are:

  1. Pharmaceutical company miracle cures such as antidepressants and antipsychotic drugs don’t cure anything and don’t work any better than placebos.
  2. Those miracle cures have side effects such as mass shootings and suicide.
  3. Those miracle cures are being replaced by generics thus threatening the $1 trillion (with a T) BigPharma revenues.
  4. Scientific research” isn’t very scientific, as it is influenced by vested interests which either show that BigPharma works or are quietly disposed of, and can’t be replicated when done objectively.
  5. So BigPharma, loaded with jewels and treasure, is hopping off the sinking USS Antidepressant, and onto the luxury yacht “PsychoWire” powered by deep brain stimulation and psychedelics.

First, Deep Brain Stimulation

Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) puts electrodes into the brain at various places. When the current is turned on, fingers tap, legs jerk, faces twitch, a charging bull screeches to a stop. Supposedly, depression departs, autism and anxiety evaporate, Parkinson’s stops and such diseases as diabetes, asthma, COPD, arthritis, heart conditions, and gastrointestinal diseases are cured. One variety called “electroceuticals” is pioneered by GlaxoSmithKline, the same company that in 2012 paid $3 billion to the Department of Justice for fraud, phony research studies and pushing drugs off label for kids even though those drugs increased suicides in kids. Nice ethical company has your best interests at heart, let them put some wires in your head, right? Oh and the $3 billion was small change. Right after their $3 billion payout, their stock went up, didn’t even make a dent in the stock price. So they can cheat, steal etc. and even if they’re caught, so what?

  1. Deep brain stimulation was already used in the CIA’s MKULTRA mind-control project in the 1950s. That was secret, but even though CIA Director Richard Helms tried to burn all records of the project, he missed some and the project was exposed. The military was worried about North Korean brainwashing and secretly funded research to keep up with the communists. Today the military is funding electroceutical research this time out in front of God and everybody, because it is camouflaged as help for PTSD, crazy people, etc. But hey, it’s the military, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.
  2. There’s another kind of electrical stimulation of the brain called Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) kind of a little sister to implanting wires in the head. It has the advantage of being non-invasive, meaning it’s stealthy and doesn’t require the operator to drill through the skull which can sometimes be detected by the person. So it could be hooked up to a doorframe and magnetically stimulate the brains of anybody coming through the door. Make you buy BigPharma stock, or vote to raise taxes for psychiatric research.
  3. And then of course there’s the nuclear option when it comes to electricity and brains, just give the person electroshock, roll the dice and maybe the person will be so stunned he’ll forget to be nuts, or he might – as Ernest Hemingway did after 15 electroshocks – go home and put a shotgun in his mouth and blow his head off. These days they give muscle relaxants so not so many teeth or spines are broken. It’s a kindler-gentler type of electroshock but it causes brain damage and that – like suicide – brings on many changes.

And Then There’s Psychedelics

Have you noticed the promotion of psychedelics recently? Since most Baby Boomer druggies can’t remember the 1960s, many have forgotten – except in vivid flashbacks – the downside of dropping acid and lots of other psychedelic concoctions. Little things like hallucinations and going nuts for a while or forever, and “scorched brain syndrome.”

Timothy Leary told us to “turn on, tune in and drop out,” but later said that LSD got into the public arena and was abused. Poor guy, he had it all figured out that it would only be used by PhDs and above, and then the unwashed masses got hold of it and used it to hallucinate. The CIA used it to drive soldiers crazy and to suicide, and stupid people who grew up watching Superman thought they could fly off tall buildings wearing meat bodies.

OK, so that was then. Today we also have stupid people – who exist in every generation – telling us that LSD, Ahuasca, DMT and other psychedelic substances can cure addictionPTSDdepression,   anxietyeating disorders,smoking, OCDcrime, toe fungus, warts,  and every other mental illness formerly treated by pharmaceuticals which have proven ineffective or for which the patents have expired.

But using LSD, for example on those with mental illness can make things worse, according to some sources Stupid people in academia — there are such people, after all Leary was a Harvard professor –  in the military, medicine, psychiatry and government seem to have decided that psychedelics, electroshock and mental health pharmaceuticals are useful, at least to the extent that “we don’t know why they are troubled, and we don’t know what these treatments do, so we’ll just roll the dice, blast their brains  with electricity or pickle them with drugs and see what happens. After all, this isn’t rocket science.”

So a bunch of states have legalized marijuana for medical use, and eight states have legalized it for recreational use. And as evidence it is truly a “gateway drug” small amounts of hard drugs have now been decriminalized in Oregon – stuff like  LSD, heroin, methamphetamine, etc, and initiatives are under way in California  and Oregon to legalize psychedelic mushrooms.

Now the The Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies  (MAPS) is also trying to legalize psychedelics and marijuana, and other stupid people are already hard at work on legislation to legalize bad trips and drug-induced psychosis. With all these extravagant claims for psychedelics, these magical mystery cures, one might be advised to consider where these wild claims are coming from and who stands to profit from a nation on drugs.

After all, most of the studies, that all these reports of wonderfulness depend on, can’t be reproduced, meaning they are either sloppy or influenced by their funding to get a specific result. So look for yourself and don’t go dropping acid to cheer up, because you may end up stuck in Nightmare Town with a lot of burnouts from the 1960s.

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Military Mind Control Chips — What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Soldier PixabayThe U.S. military is testing mind control chips on humans. The chips can supposedly sense a mood disorder and “shock the brain” back into normalcy. Might be somewhat useful, since the Army is now accepting mental cases as soldiers. Take unstable people, give them weapons, teach them to kill, expose them to the stress of combat, shock their brains a few times — what could possibly go wrong?

The last time the U.S. did something as psychotic as this, was in a project called MKULTRA. You may have heard of it. Killed an elephant with LSD, drove a guy named Olsen to suicide, implanted electrodes in veterans’ brains to control their bodies, all kinds of crazy experimentation. The purpose, according to the U.S. Supreme Court, was mind control, and here we go again, down the rabbit hole.

This just in: The FDA has opened the door to screwing around with LSD and other psychedelics, the Army is filling soldiers with speed, and is experimenting with genetics to engineer supersoldiers.

So picture unstable drugged-up soldiers with electronics in their heads wielding superweapons. It’s like some really bad sci-fi story, only this is real.

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Army Will Now Accept Mental Cases, Train Them to Kill

sniperThe Army is expanding the system of waivers whereby people with mental disorders can join the military. Waivers were cancelled in 2009 when too many soldiers committed suicide, but hey, now they are a bit short of recruits and thus relaxing the standards. According to USA Today, people with a history of drug use, poor aptitude test scores, self mutilation and bipolar disorders aren’t necessarily barred from military service.

Now though, the military has better medical records, and we all know that psychiatrists and psych meds have everything under control. Just ask military psychiatrist Nidal Hasan who shot up Fort Hood and murdered 13 people and injured 30 others. And there’s pretty good evidence of a connection between psych meds and mass shootings.

Half a million vets already have PTSD according to one source and PTSD is exacerbated by stress, trauma and sexual assault. So if you wanted to create a huge spike in military PTSD, murders, sexual assaults and general chaos, you might induct a bunch of men, women, gays, and transexuals with mental disorders and drug abuse histories into the military, give them weapons, train them to kill, then send them off to some combat zone. If this sounds nuts to you, go take a happy pill and in the upside down world of mental health, you will soon be right as rain.

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A Story For Veterans Day

In recognition of my father Kermit Hanson who welded liberty ships at Swan Island in Portland, Ore., my stepfather Frank Zielinski who was a corpsman on the U.S.S. Nevada at Pearl Harbor, my brother Dale Hanson who manned a howitzer in Viet Nam, and all the men and women who served in the Armed Forces of the United States. The story that follows is fiction.

After the rain stopped and the weather warmed up in Portland, the moss and rust removal business slowed down some and I had a few days vacation. I dozed off during a ballgame and woke up to the news that some guy named William Robert Griggs won $3 million in the state lottery. Got his picture in the newspaper and went on TV.

His name was pretty close to mine, so I got some phone calls from people askin to borrow money. Four different lawyers called me up sayin they represented kids of mine — three daughters and a son. I figured they was lyin, but couldn’t be sure as some of their momma’s names sounded familiar.

My ex-wife’s lawyer sent a letter to my ex-lawyer, sayin we had a verbal agreement to split all future windfalls and she was aiming to collect. Some neighbor of mine sent the newspaper clipping to my mother in Paris, Fla., and Ma called to remind me that when I was 10, I promised I’d buy her a house when I got rich.

“Ma,” I said, “the picture don’t even look like me. The guy’s got buck teeth and …”

“That was from sucking your thumb all the time,” she said. “We tried everything — that blue stuff you paint on the nail, even Tabasco sauce. Your father — may he rest in peace — even tried cat doo.” She chuckled. “Even put black electrical tape on your fingers and thumbs, read about that in a magazine article — Ladies Home Journal I think it was. You just sucked all the sticky stuff off, looked like you been eatin mud.”

I was beginnin to feel sorry for the guy that really won the $3 million. Next thing I knew, Ma is cryin talking about the good old days and how she’d probably not even recognize me it’s been so long since she’s seen me. She’s tellin me I ought to come to Paris, Fla., to visit my Pa’s grave for Memorial Day. I told her I couldn’t afford it, but things was about to change.

I was opening the mail the next day and there’s a Visa Card, MasterCard, Discover Card and American Express made out to “William Robert Griggs.” Then I look out the window and see a Sheriff’s car pull up outside. A deputy’s coming up the walk with an envelope, the dog’s barking his head off, and I’ve been served with a few subpoenas in my time, so I ducked out the back door and hid in the bushes. It’s got to be my ex-wife trying to latch onto some of that $3 million I don’t have.

After the deputy left, I call up my boss and tell him my father died — I left out the part about it being 14 years ago — and I was going to Anchorage for the funeral. I figure the sheriff will go to my work next and Anchorage is about as far from Paris, Fla., as you can get.

When you got all them credit cards, travel is fun. I got me a first class flight. After we took off, they shut the curtain so the people in back — having peanuts and Fresca — couldn’t see what we was eatin, which was chicken and wine. I opened the curtain when the stewardess wasn’t lookin and complained that the steak wasn’t medium rare like I ordered, and the champagne wasn’t cold enough. I always wanted to do that.

I even used one of them credit cards to pry the phone out of the seat back and make a call to my wife.

I’m drivin this rental car across the Everglades and the air is hot. It don’t exactly stink, it’s just strong like sulfur and mud. The road is straight as a string, no cars even. Up ahead I see a cop, skid marks all over the road and there’s a car off in the swamp upside down. Pretty hard to explain that one, but a guy that’s got to be the driver is waving his arms around pointing this way and that, and the cop is writing it down.

Looks like he’s sayin: “Well, officer, I was just driving along, minding my own business, I’m alert as can be, haven’t touched a drop in days, driving defensively, well within the speed limit. Suddenly, something big and gray and awful comes dripping out of the swamp. Well, chances are it’s endangered and I sure as heck respect that. I hit the brakes, went into the swamp and before you know it, whatever it was slipped back into the water and disappeared smooth as can be.”

If it was me, I’d blame it on swamp gas. “I was overcome by the fumes, probably the fault of the Florida Highway Department, should have posted signs warning about the gas.” I made up several other excuses too, since the road was so straight and there was nothing else to do, since the car had cruise control. Never know when you might need a good explanation.

Reminded me of a time in high school when my friends and I used to crack up saying “ossifer.” Then I got pulled over for speeding going to a game and I rolled down the window, calm as you please, and said “What seems to be the problem ossifer?” It was an accident, my mouth just said it by mistake, but my buddies all cracked up, so the sheriff thought I was smarting off and took me to the lockup to teach me a lesson.

Anyway, I finally got to Ma’s turnoff. She’s about five miles down a dirt road with nothing but swamp and tall grass, a satellite dish and one lone electrical wire coming across the swamp, ending up at an Airstream trailer.

Some guy comes out of the trailer wearing an old World War II uniform. Must be Bill, Ma’s husband getting ready for Memorial Day. Turns out he wears it all the time. Ma didn’t tell me that part.

A tiny yapping bug-eyed dog named “Sweetie” makes a beeline and nails me on the ankle. After we’ve said our hellos, Ma drags out the letter from my neighbor about the Griggs guy that won the lottery. She makes me stand under the light and still thinks its me. “He has your father’s mouth,” she says about the guy in the picture.

Since we’re talking photos, she brings Bill and me big glasses of lemonade and drags out the photo albums. Bill still hasn’t said much except “Who’s he?”

Ma’s going through the album. “This is Marge and Sam in front of their 40 footer up in St. Petersburg,” she says. “Now, those are the nice men who installed our satellite dish last winter. This is the hotel we stayed in last fall when we drove over to Naples for the Johnsons’ 50th.” She gets out another stack of photos, and I start looking around for a beer or something.

“This is Marge and Sam in front of their 40 footer up in St. Petersburg,” said Ma. “and these are the nice fellows who installed our satellite dish last winter.” about then I realize Ma got “two prints for the price of one,” so I have to listen to everything twice. The air smells of sulfur, the water tastes like iron, there’s no liquor in the trailer because Bill was an alcoholic until he got saved. The air is damp and sticky, with swarms of mosquitoes outside the screens. Sweetie snarls at me from under the couch whenever I move. Then it’s time for Lawrence Welk on satellite. OK, now I’m in hell.

The next day we drive into town to get Bill a haircut. We get out of the car and a crowd collects. Seems that Ma told everyone I’d won $3 million and the town made me the Grand Marshall of tomorrow’s Memorial Day parade.

When we get back, I go out to the car to get my suitcase, since there’s no room for it in the trailer. A big cloud of mosquitoes gets wind of me, so I’m speeding up, trying to stay out ahead of them. I hot foot it around the corner of the trailer, and there, standing in the middle of the trail is this here alligator looking at me.

Well, I froze and tried to remember what to do. All I could remember was a TV show that said if you get attacked by a polar bear, don’t try to run, just play dead and let them chew away until they lose interest. OK, so an alligator ain’t a polar bear, and no way was I letting anything chew on me. The gator took a step toward me.

Before I know it, I’m around the corner trying to open the door on Ma’s trailer. It was locked. “Ma, open the door,” I yelled, glancing around behind me to see if the alligator was back there. My backside is twitchin as I’m imagining the gator taking a bite.

I’m banging on the trailer, holding my suitcase behind me, about ready to make a run for the car, and I hear Ma’s voice from inside the trailer: “Who is it?”

I finally convince her it’s me and she opens the door. “You never told me gators run around here loose,” I said. She just goes into the kitchen and gets her broom.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says. She steps out of the trailer and I follow. She just walks up to the gator and whacks him in the snout. He turns around and stumps off down the trail.

“That’s just Albert” she says. We go back in the house and she puts the broom away. “I call him Albert after the alligator in that comic strip Pogo. They used to carry Pogo in the local paper,” she said. “But then it stopped and I never heard what happened.”

“What happened was that Truman stopped MacArthur from going into China like he wanted,” said Bill from behind the newspaper. “Been nothing but trouble ever since.”

“Albert ate one of my chickens once,” Ma said, ignoring Bill. “But that’s just the nature of alligators, can’t change that. They were here first.”

Next day we went to the parade. There weren’t any military vehicles in Paris, Fla., but some guy had one of those boxy Volkswagen Things with a camouflage paint job. He was real proud of it, said it had been in the Paris Memorial Day parade for five years in a row. One smart alec from out of town said it looked like the Germans won the war. So I rode in the VW at the head of the parade, followed by a Chevy low-rider convertible playing a marching song and bouncing up and down to the music.

The parade ended at the cemetery, and Ma was waving to me from where Pa was buried. I stood between her and Pa, and watched the rest of the parade come in through the gate.

First in line were some young reservists, then came Gulf War vets, a few Vietnam vets, a couple of Korea vets and three WWII vets, including Bill, who kept wandering over to the side to shake hands with people. Turns out he marched into Paris, France with the Fourth Infantry in the summer of 1944, and he thought he was still there. In a way he was, I guess.

“Bonjour” he said to the puzzled parade watchers, “bonjour.” Old timers who knew him said “merci” and patted him on the back. The biggest cheer was for old Edgar Ellerby waving a flag from his wheelchair, pushed by his grandson just back from the Gulf.

I’m watching the old guys totter in, and realize that in the parades I watched as a kid there were lots more WWII vets, some WWI vets and one or two Spanish-American vets. I looked behind Edgar Ellerby and thought I saw a glimpse of ghostly figures in dusty uniforms formed up in ranks, marching silently into the cemetery. Must have been the swamp gas.

Excerpted from Billy Bob’s Book by Wayne Edward Hanson
Copyright (C) 2011, Wayne Edward Hanson All Rights Reserved

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