Report that terrorists’ plan to destroy by fire and explosion two temporary office buildings and 15 parking enforcement vehicles at the City’s compound on the 500 block of Potrero near Bryant and 10th Streets.
More details at 5, 6, and 11.
Hadn’t had a hit all morning
It is true; I haven’t had a hit all day.
St. Mateo, pray for us.
It is a day to be on time in St. Palo.
You’ve probably heard very little about Saint Palo Alto the patron saint of Stanford University. Seems like ol’ Mrs. Leland Stanford moonlighted with her Presbyterian church in Menlo Park.
It may be best to be back among the brethren to living in the present. Remember, don’t space it out. Got the women waiting. Time to reveal all. Please try to be modest, sexy, hot, discrete, and understandable.
9:29 a.m. and all is a little blurred suddenly at this moment.
Good thing that I took a hit before leaving the train depot. Some sort of Sativa lozenge… honey-lemon they call it. Very tasty, fruitful, with a pleasant grassy taste.
The plan is simple. Heal thyself by the grace of…
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7-7 at 0700 hrs
The trip began at 7 a.m. on Ruby Tuesday, July 07, 2015. One public transit bus driver picked two of us up outside of the massive metal, rusty eyesore, and a bunk house for the chronic homeless and dudes in need of emergency temp shelter. And babes, too. No kids, please. No kidding, lose or unload those kids.
Sunrise skies were so brilliantly colored in reds, golden rays, and breathtaking blues. There was divine sunlight revealing to the naked eye how poorly maintained the building and grounds look.
Let’s take that back. The elderly doofuss’ trip started about ten minutes earlier when Buck swallowed what looked like a honey-eucalyptus cough drop. Time to level this issue. The candied square had a quantity of THC (man, you know what that means?).
It had an affect about ten minutes after the church steeple bells rang at the strike of the eighth hour. Buck had a short dizzy spell immediately before the priest asked the entire congregation to ask God to forgive them of their sins; and in Buck’s case strive hard to forgive them for trespassing upon him – a target of misplaced hate, evil, phobias, and failures and other good times in life.
Suffice to say, the guest priest celebrating the semi-high mass (some prayers were sung with melody), reported great news about Pope Francis’ travels this week in Ecuador, Uruguay, and Paraguay, S. A.
About three songs later all/we were blessed and dismissed from church.
Perhaps inspired by the Holy Spirit, the next spot was Rolling Pin Donuts. This High-caloric fine establishment is conveniently located only a half block east of Saint Bruno’s Roman Catholic Church.
There was a line of hungry rats eight deep standing at attention waiting for the cashier getting around to giving some customer service to them.
By the time Buckrat made it up to the front of the line, he was babbling, shuttering, drooling, or stuttering almost inaudible sounding off something about raised donuts. He never felt stoned but sure spoke as if Buckeroo had really overdone it on the catnip this morning.
For one thing he picked out two raised dough, obscenely sweetened rounds and a jelly filled donut and a round spun roll with raisins and cinnamon between the strands of dough that turns out much larger than a bearclaw.
It is OK, It is OK. Buck found his stash in the backpack.
Off to the Cal train station after belching and passing gas. All of a sudden an urge to turn right toward Artichoke Joe’s Casino overwhelmed one lucky Buck. If there ever was an untoward, greedy, grubbing, cajoling dude, there was this time to move the direction of his life toward a certain secular ratrace.
[ to be continued in “The Last Resort” ]
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