Drugs, Disposal Of

One of the interesting things about cancer sufferers is the quantity and scope of the drugs needed to live their lives painlessly — what’s known in the medical business as “palliative” care (you’re going to die soon, but we’re going to make your life as bearable as possible, with all the drugs you need).

We were already on this train, of course, with Connie’s incurable back troubles. That was morphine, quite a bit, taken three times a day just so she could walk the few steps to the kitchen and back, and ditto to the bathroom and back. Then, with cancer, came a whole battalion of new stuff: hydrocodone for the pain, Ativan / Xanax for the emotional stress, something to make her sleep, something (actually, quite a few things) to make her bowels work (pain meds stop you up like concrete), something to help her bladder, something to alleviate the nausea caused by taking so many drugs in concert, and so on, and so on, and so on.

The end result was that after she died, I was left with a metric tonne of prescription narcotics. Just out of curiosity, I looked up the “street” value of the drugs I had left, and it appeared that I might not be able to pay off the house, but I could certainly pay off the car. (Source: the DEA website: government as a source of useful if questionable data, who knew?)

Anyway, I wasn’t about to sell the narcotics on the street, a.) because it’s the wrong thing to do, b.) because it’s illegal (and if you can’t tell the difference between the two, there’s a job waiting for you at the Clinton Foundation), and c.) because I have absolutely no idea how or even where to start this kind of felony. (My luck, the very first person I approached with: “Hi, wanna buy some morphine or Xanax?” would turn out to be an undercover cop.) And, good grief: none of my friends and relatives were interested, because, well, because they’re all law-abiding, non-drug-abusing people and could get drugs from their doctors if they needed them.

And just being in possession of all these drugs in these quantities was probably some kind of felony. I had to get rid of them; but how and where?

Nobody wanted me to flush them down the toilet or in the sink, because that meant the drugs would eventually get into the water supply. So I tried to do the right thing.

First, I went to the drugstore which had provided so many of the drugs to us: no dice. Obviously, the drugs can’t be re-issued, and they didn’t do disposal of unused / unwanted drugs, either. The pharmacist told me to try the Fire Department; apparently, they could take and destroy the stuff.

Except that wasn’t the case. The Plano FD, apparently, had stopped that program years ago. How about the Plano PD, they suggested. So off I went to our local police, with whom I have had a pleasant and amiable relationship for over a dozen years (except for the Girl Scout Incident which was all a big mistake anyway).

Here’s where it gets funny. “We don’t accept drugs, except in April and October, where we have a partnership with the DEA.” As Connie had had the temerity to die in February, and not in sync with Law Enforcement’s schedule, I would have to wait until April. Which I wasn’t about to do.

The DEA informed me that it wasn’t their jurisdiction; it was a local matter. (One wonders how disinterested they’d have been if I’d tried to sell the narcotics to one of their undercover agents in the street, but let me not denigrate the efforts of our federal law enforcement agencies.)

In desperation, I called the hospice nurse who had taken such good care of Connie over the last few months of her life, and finally(!) got a halfway-decent response. Here’s what she told me to do.

Crush everything up into powder. Soak a large number of paper towels with a solution of dish soap and water. Spread the powder evenly over the paper towels, and wait for them to dry. Throw the dried paper towels away in the trash, or burn them outside and throw the ashes in the trash. All this sounded eminently reasonable and responsible.

So I flushed them all down the toilet.

No Irish Need Apply

I was chatting to a friend about dealing with the loss of one’s wife, when he made a rather startling admission. Now before I go any further, I should point out that he’s been more-or-less happily married to his Mrs. for well over two dozen years, and says he’s never been unfaithful to her (and I believe him, because… well, because I know him).

“If something horrible were to happen to _____,” he said, “and I wanted female companionship after I came out of mourning, there’s no way I would ever have any kind of long-term relationship again.”

“You’d just date women?”

“I’d rent ’em,” came the calm reply. “With the way women behave nowadays, I doubt whether there’s a single one who’s worth the trouble.”

Which leads me to the next point. Apparently, some Australian prostitute [Redundancy Alert] recently came out into the open about her chosen profession, and gave a list of her absolute no-nos when it came to things she’d do for a client. The most amusing one was: “No Irish men… for obvious reasons.”

You have to know how badly she views Irish men, when almost all her clients would be Australian. Of course, she’s Australian too, which means she’s dreadful. Even my friend wouldn’t touch her with a long stick.

Lest I be accused of being a hater or Strine-phobic, here’s a pic of an Australian wedding party:

My friend’s comment: “Good grief. No wonder Australian men drink so much.”

Quote of the Day

The country needs a strong opposition Party that is not on crack.” — comment by Minh-Duc.

Incidentally, this comment was made in August 2005. If the liberals were on crack in 2005, then their modern-day counterparts must have laced the crack with PCP.

Not All Men

In the Comments to Random Partners below, Reader Egregious Charles takes issue with my statement about treating woman as the gentler sex.

Women have never been the gentler sex; notice how tribal people turn over captives to the women when they’re to be tortured, as in the Congo and Native American tribes in the Old West? There’s only one way men are less gentle, and that’s to other men when it’s on behalf of women (or to show off for them).  

Well, yes. Except that I’m sorry, but I refuse to use the rituals of primitive peoples (e.g. the Congo and Native American tribes, also Islam) as an example for anything other than something to be avoided. Western civilization has improved the lot of both men and women immeasurably by improving on the customs and mores of primitive peoples, while holding on to those aspects that actually improve society. This includes institutions like marriage (which formalizes the family structure), and treatment of the weaker members of society (e.g. forbidding that women to be stoned to death for adultery, genital mutilation to “curb” the female sex drive, etc.)

I would suggest that much of today’s societal woes in the West have come about because we’ve taken a step backwards — undermining the social institutions and mores upon which Western civilization was built, to where we arrive at revolting outcomes such as Tinder.

Most men don’t use Tinder.

Of course not, and nor do most women. But countless millions do, according to the app’s download statistics, and my commentary is based on that fact. I don’t ever buy into the “NAWALT” (not all women are like that) or, on this case, “NAMALT”, because the fact of the matter is that when something becomes widespread, especially in a certain segment of society (e.g. Millennials, in this case), it’s worthy of commentary.

Men aren’t generally speaking assholes except to each other, and I’m sorry but this is just an example of posturing to look better than the other men. 

To take your points in order: I would respectfully suggest that the coarsening of society has enabled men to go back to treating women like shit. Here’s what people seem to forget. The laws which make divorce so advantageous for women in terms of child support and property division didn’t appear out of the blue: they were a reaction to the fact that men often deserted their wives and refused to live up to their responsibilities as parents. Of course, not all men behaved that way towards their wives; but enough of them did to make the passage of such laws possible. That women have turned around and used divorce against men is terrible, but that’s just an example of laws often having good intentions but unintended consequences. (This is true of most laws, by the way, but that’s a topic for another time.)

So your comment that “Men aren’t generally speaking assholes except to each other” is factually incorrect: men are assholes quite promiscuously, whether to each other or to women. We can talk all day about why this is or is not the case, or who’s to blame and so on, but you’ve committed an egregious [sicfaux pas on this website, which is to take an obviously-flippant comment seriously.

My position on women behaving like assholes, by the way, is well documented — a reading of my essay, “The Pussification of the Western Male“* might be salutary — and yes, I am (and was then) perfectly aware that Not All Women Are Like That (the latter being tiresomely pointed out to me in the thousands of angry emails I received after the publication of said screed).

As for “posturing to look better than the other men“, you will find, as you read more of my writings, that I don’t ever “posture” or, to use the current en vogue expression, “virtue-signal” in any way. I state my position on matters quite clearly (and often bluntly), and how people take those positions is a matter of utter indifference to me. To restate that (because it’s quite important, in visiting this website): I once stated in an earlier time that you may agree with me, and stay; or disagree with me, and move on: either choice is irrelevant to me, because I really don’t care about other people’s opinion of me, one way or the other. I live my life in splendid isolation [sic] from the opinions of others. If you understand nothing else about me, you need to understand this.

So if you excused me of “posturing” out of ignorance of who I am, that’s okay; if you used it as a debating trick or insult, it didn’t work.

By the way, Readers can expect a lot more posts on topics like Tinder, the male backlash against modern feminism in the PUA (pickup artist) and the  MGTOW (Men Going Their Own Way) movements, and so on. I find the whole thing fascinating, and visiting the various websites dedicated to the above has been at times hilarious and at others, deeply disturbing. I once predicted the MGTOW action, but I did not foresee the PUA activity or the industry is generated. Watch this space.


*At some point, Tech Support v.2 and I will figure out how to import various of my earlier essays (Pussification, Let Africa Sink, The Gun Thing etc.) from the old websites and post links somewhere on the sidebar of this site. It just won’t be today.

Trying Out

When I quit blogging back in 2008, Loyal Readers from the time may recall that the Son&Heir was trying his best to make TeamUSA in the 10-meter Air Pistol and 50-meter Free Pistol events.

For the benefit of New Readers, however, I need to digress for a moment so I can explain what all the above means.

My son is unquestionably one of the finest shots I’ve ever seen — far, far better than I ever was. This is not Dad-bragging; he was heavily recruited by the Army to enlist so that he could join their Marksmanship Unit, and had he not had a small health issue, he could have walked into the Fort Bragg sniper school (once again, not bragging: one of the Army’s sniper instructors wanted to recruit him, until I told him about the health issue). Apart from his pistol shooting, about which I will speak later, he s an astounding rifle shot, capable of shooting minute-of-angle (MOA) at 400 meters (i.e. shooting and hitting a 4″-square target at 400 meters distance) without a scope. He’s done it, in fact, using my old 1906-manufactured bolt-action Swedish Mauser, using 6.5x55mm surplus (not target) cartridges.

Now for his pistol shooting: as a junior, he was many-times Texas state champion. As a senior (over 18) at the National Champs at Fort Bragg in 2009, he was ranked at #13 at Air Pistol, and #17 at Free Pistol, and subsequently improved his rankings to #7 and #13 respectively. This was enough to get him onto Team USA’s “development” squad. (They like people who can shoot in two events; saves on travel costs.)

This meant that the Son&Heir had a shot [sic] at making the team for the 2010 London Olympics. (Only the top 5 make the actual team, and he was competing against the kids from the Army Marksmanship Unit, so it really was only an outside chance.) So off he went to Trials at the USOC range in Colorado Springs, but sadly, he was unable to improve his ranking, so the Olympic dream ended.

Life then intervened in the form of his college commitment, and he stopped practicing three times a week. Brazil came up, but it would have screwed him up scholastically so he didn’t bother. He entered a few [Texas] collegiate Air Pistol events, and won all of them, against (admittedly) poor competition. Now he just shoots for recreation, “…when I need to hang out with old friends.”

By the way, he graduated cum laude so that, at least, wasn’t a waste of his time. Now he’s taken up indoor rock climbing, both for recreation and to help with that little health issue I referred to earlier (something to do with his lungs; nothing critical).

He also has a pretty girlfriend, whom we all love. She’s from Canada, but we’re a very inclusive family. (Comment from Daughter: “She’s far too nice; what’s she doing with him?” Ahhh… siblings.)

The Son&Heir will be 28 on his next birthday.

An Old Chestnut, Revisited

Many years ago, this little piece made the rounds on the Internet, and as often happens, I got it again in my Inbox a couple weeks or so ago.

To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II:

In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. (You should look up ‘revocation’ in the Oxford English Dictionary.)

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except North Dakota, which she does not fancy).

Your new Prime Minister, Theresa May, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections.

Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.

To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘colour,’ ‘favour,’ ‘labour’ and ‘neighbour.’ Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters, and the suffix ‘-ize’ will be replaced by the suffix ‘-ise.’ Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up ‘vocabulary’).

2. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as ”like’ and ‘you know’ is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter ‘u” and the elimination of ‘-ize.’

3. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

4. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can’t sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist, then you’re not ready to shoot grouse.

5. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

6. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

7. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.

8. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup or ketchup, but with vinegar.

9. The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable, as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of the British Commonwealth – see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat’s Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.

10. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialect in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one’s ears removed with a cheese grater.

11. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).

12. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.

13.. You must tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us mad.

14. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).

15. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 p.m. with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season.

God Save the Queen!

Well, the hell with that, I thought, and penned a “reply” (below the fold):

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