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I came across this comment that a Vietnam Vet submitted to the comment section of the Uriah Heep tune, The Spell, excellent tune by the way...I've done a lot of crazy things in my life while in a different frame of mind, I even know a guy who's been flying helicopter since 1976, he owns 2 today, who would drop "purple microdot" before flying and even a few times in fight. He's pushing 70years today and lives in Penticton BC and owns 2 choppers, I know for a fact that one is jet propelled, he flew 1,800 miles to here in Ontario with it, I think he said that his average speed was 75 or 85 knots and he does his own maintenance and repairs and he's still dropping acid...AND HE DOESN'T AGE.

Anyways I came across this and it's a comment from, what I presume is a paratrooper...there's no fucking way that I'd jump out of an airplane stoned on anything or even "one bourbon, one scotch and one beer"

///Did this album on acid in 1972 as a member of the 82nd Airborne. Uriah Heep was magical to me and my fellow draftees, but on LSD together...? Top floor of the mind. Aptly titled album and powerful song on it.///

There's solid speculation throughout the grapevine that possible meetings may eventually be in the works in the unknown future involving David Duke.

According to rumors reported in Nebraska's leading media tabloid "MANURE TODAY", Mr. Duke apparently placed unconfirmed orders for an unspecified shipment of White King-size bed sheets pre-cleaned and scotch guarded by Chinese coolies enslaved in a "mom & pop" sweat shop.

In other news experts are baffled as to the sudden spike in suicides, attempted suicides, murmurs of suicide as well as rewards being offered to encourage suicide.

Anyone having any information leading to the reasons for the spike is asked to inform the experts immediately withing 45days

...and they had no idea of how it happened...just me, Bubba and eventually the brothers. Secrets are sacred, not everybody understands that. Keepers of secrets are a unique few, their character is defined by that disciplined trait alone, the only ones that could be trusted when not in sight.

Continued...
Bubba stabilizes himself after the clutch bump and slams the door closed, just as I was about to say "don't slam the door", fucking doors were different back then, heavy, hollow and loud.
We're in our blue cleaning coveralls and on schedule, same time as always for the cleaning crew. Traffic is lite, nobody around and we're going in to clean..."CLEAN THE PLACE OUT".

I pull in to the facility and Bubba slides the fence gate closed and as per protocol locks it. The entire complex is dark, not a lamp or service light anywhere, only the single street light outside the gate so as to illuminate the large "NO PARKING TOW AWAY SIGN". I'm looking into the rear view mirror and thinking "fuck that's a bright light" and I'm watching the stout, barreled silhouette of Bubba walk towards the truck and my eyes are going everywhere taking note of outside activities.
Bubba jumps in and slams the fucking door, I forgot to warn him, anyways he's getting into the mode now and deviously murmurs, "piece of cake".

First off the cleaning. I park the truck right along the north side of the dispenser compound just east of the cage door entrance, the office building is about 100ft north of the compound. Given that the box of my truck is plugged with a large tank there was no room for the rotary polisher to which I joked to Bubba that it's a relief not have to handle that "heavy bitch of a polisher".

We get inside the office and go at it, I go to the "sundries" office adjoining the main office but with a storage area in between where cases of petroleum and glycol products were placed upon order and waiting for pickup. I hit the utility light switch that lights up the walkway to the office that I had to clean. FUCKING WOW...the entire room, I think 5,000sqft, was loaded with pallets of SAE30, 10W30 and 10W40. I'm fucking looking and thinking "how can I make this work", then I snap out of it and go with the "one thing at a time" frame of mind.

We wiz through the cleaning in no time and the place looks good. Bubba looks at me, and I remember saying to him, "whatever the fuck you do don't light up a smoke", he fires back "no smokes are permitted in dispenser area, it's against the law"...my jaw is hanging at his words and I'm blank, he's gawking at me with a serious look, I quip "FUCKING AGAINST THE LAW, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WE'RE DOING HERE, AND WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU START GIVING A FUCK FOR THE LAW?" I had him...but I was just fucking around with him.

We get inside the dispenser. I tell Bubba to use my flashlight with near dead "RAYOVAC D CELL" batteries, he's baffled, I tell him that we don't need a bright light in our hands while inside a restricted area. We
need the pump unit number that coincides with the power breaker inside the office, it was either 1,2 3. It was number 1. Bubba heads in and hits the breaker, the pump is on, but the squeeze handle is locked.

Bubba gets back from hitting the breaker and can't wait to start filling the tank. He has no idea though as to how it's going to be done. I had a 15ft 1"1/2 PVC hose coiled in back of the truck between the tank and cab and it was fitted with a rubber extension that I would close onto the end of the dispenser nozzle tightened with a pipe clamp. We cannot spill a drop. But the nozzle is still locked. Not a problem.

I look at the "dial indicator", the big round clock-like counter that meters the amount of fuel pumped. Then there's a smaller "odometer type" of counter that is zeroed after use.
The counter is not zeroed, I scribe the reading into the gravel/sand ground and tell Bubba that this is the number we return it to. He still hasn't figured out how this is going to work.

I tell him that there's a good 3" of play in the lever lock cable. I instruct him to hold the hose into the tank.
Bubba's in back of the truck holding the hose and I squeeze the fucking 3 inches right out of the slack and fuel roars out, Bubba's all teeth and I'm thinking holy fuck that fuel is moving fast, 800gallons in a couple minutes and my fucking truck is squatting but I did have extra leafs in the suspension, I used it all.

We quickly dismantle the PVC line, I return the counter back to the original number and sift back the sand and gravel to wipe out the scribble scratch.

It's important to note that back then everything was on a mechanical hard wire system and no surveillance cameras anywhere, unlike today's computerized and digital retention system. Manual readjustments were easy and undetectable. We're in the truck and I'm in 1st gear, I ask Bubba if he's got the flashlight, he does and we're moving.

I round the corner to the access road and the gate...I say to Bubba, "this is where we find out how smoothly this will go" he says nothing, we're at the gate ,he jumps out and slams the fucking door, I forgot to tell him...anyways I exit, Bubba slides the gate closed, locks it and we're getting out. I'm scanning the area and it's like nothing happened.

Now to offload the tank with the HIAB and get the truck back to the tire shop.

Next day it's business as usual and nobody knows anything, it's just another day...EXCEPT...Bubba and I are committed to helping his parents with their cleaning contract and have to faithfully be on site at the EXON ESSO BULK PLANT later that evening. Just like the night before.

Fuck me guys I need one more post to wrap this up, I didn't think it was going to go this long but as I go on I'm realizing now how much detail we put into this heist.
I will state this, the next two runs in this heist are where the situation gets tense. I need another day.
Thnx FAGGOTS.

Without revealing specifics the time frame of our calculated acquisition is the early 80s.

Being a non-affiliated associate with an organized subculture there was always a fraternal seam that wasn't tied together, a technical bit of a gap that restricted access to full MC integration. Before being considered
for brotherhood one had to prove his solid worthiness verifiable by a sponsor. If someone fucks up the sponsor also has to answer for it.

Although I was engaged in well synchronized activities I was independent but close friends with "clubbers", "81". I had eyes on me and was wanted. (as a clubber)

I came up with a plan to hiest a major bulk portion of gasoline right out of the EXON/ESSO distribution plant and it would be done in plain view.

If there's interest in this story I'll waste my time finishing it.

But my plan worked

Star date 2525
...location, Khyber Belt Andromeda galaxy, on board of the
Starship failed Enterprise under order of the dear leader to explore "SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER".

It was sci-fi ✡️ propanda meant to guide the mind of the retard into a suspended mental state where the conventional consensus is that there's nothing more to discover in this life, on this earth and in this frame of mind.

The "FINAL FRONTIER" is the "OLB", the "OERA LINDA BOOK".

The ✡️ destroyed all remnants of this manuscript, except for one copy, and now there's two copies. The preface words are, "do not let the eyes of a monk feast upon this book"...NO FUCKING KIDDING because it makes more sense than words written by monks, soothsayers, imposter and bad actors.

Oh we've been lied to big time. The OLB makes a lot of sense.

That's it for another year, my last sit-down with the clan was Wednesday 3 days ago and I could see it in them, fattened up real good, low motivation, lounging mid day and, as usual, cling close to where I'm tripping over them.

Just a point of interest, last week I went down flat on my back after slipping off the second stair of my deck and I had an arm load of wood, fucking piss me right off. I'm flat out on my back but on the angle of the steps and firewood all around me, I am pissed, I turn to my right side and there's one of my bears checking out the situation and sniffing the side of my head where bark and saw chips end up after one airborne piece knicked me, I'm pissed and I feel the hurt but I'm rolling to my right and getting up, bear won't move, I start giving him shit in conversation form like it's totally normal to talk to a bear, "every fucking thing I do for you guys and you can't help me up, you guys better remember that when I go your free ride is over" etc blah blah blah. Of course it's a solo vent, I've got no one else to talk to, aside from my woman, but anyways I'm upright and somewhat assessing my hurt...bear picks up a piece of wood just because, I give him shit for the snot and saliva that he just coated all over the wood that I have to carry. 20minutes later I'm sitting on my sauna deck with bear at my feet and he's occupied with an empty Planters Peanut bag. As I'm watching him I'm thinking to myself about how I wished life was that simple, but then reality steps in, that peanut bag gave bear a respite from the brutal "survival of the fittest" world that only humans deny being a part of. At least I have a warm bed to sleep in.

Anyhow...another season with my bears is over and I hope they get a good sleep.

Glad I got you faggots here

I've got 2 mother bears with cubs, 3 cubs are a good size while the other 2 cubs are late born and very undersized for this time of the year and the coyotes have picked up on this.

A couple nights ago a pack moved in and set up on the escarpment in crescent form covering about a quarter mile of hill top. They howl back and forth in various pitch and are moving closer to my area where the bears are...and the bears are very edgy right now, especially the mother with the small cubs.

A couple days ago one coyote barreled through the yard right through the bears to see how they react. I know that those sneaky fuckers are planning an attack.

They're early tonight and they are close and I've got 2 weapons loaded for the kill, the .17WSM has the light attachment tonight, the MOSSBERG 500 is loaded with SSG and I've got the fire going with 8 bears around me.

The only downside is that the coyote hide is not prime yet ($150.00 per quality hide) but I don't give a fuck, I'm just in the mood to kill tonight.

Updates to follow

From the Jamaica Star.

MONTEGO BAY HONOURS NIGY BOY

///Rising dancehall star NIGY BOY is set to be honoured by the St James Municipal Corporation for his global contribution to the music industry.///

Well then, so it shall be.

I've got the sauna fired up and I'm going to sit with my bears and watch the light show...I'm curious as to what effect this solar burst has on them.

They're overly playful that's for sure...I had one tugging on the water hose as I was filling up my sauna pails.