443 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
443 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
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___________________________________________________________________________
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* April 21 Phucked Phreak Productions Vol 18 *
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* Proudly Presents.... *
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* *
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* \ / \ *
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* / / \ \/ *
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* \ \ / \\ . *
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* \ \ / \ ____________________________ *
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* \ / \ ||||||| Rasta Man | *
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* \ \ |||||||____________________________| *
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* ' / *
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* *
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* WARNING: The Attorney General has determined that these files may *
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* be as dangerous to your dogma as that cigarette is to your *
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* Health! *
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*__________________________________________________________________________*
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Rasta Man
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And The
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Striped Snake
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(If Chaucer were a Rasta...)
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Feb. 14/91
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by
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J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E
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While on a solitary hiking excursion through the
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forests of Jamaica I met a rastafarian recluse with an
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amazing tale. A couple days ago I had arrived in Jamaica
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ready to continue the ethnobotanical studies I had begun at
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school in the U.S.A. I had left the small village, where I
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was staying, at dawn. It was now approximately 3:00 P.M.,
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judging by the suns position. The air was hot, steamy, and
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drawing breath was like sucking on a steampipe. The hike
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had been mostly over flat land but now I was approaching a
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steep hill covered with dense vegetation.
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The nearer I got to the hill, the tougher the going
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got. After reaching the hills foot I decided to break camp
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for the day, planning to resume my travels in the morning.
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After about one half hours rest I noticed an irregular
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stream of smoke rising from a rocky outcropping atop the
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hill. It rose in a strange sort of puffing pattern, like
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indian smoke signals. The bush was far too thick for me to
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make out the source at this distance but I assumed it was
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some kind of small cooking fire, probably outside a crazy
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old hermit's hut.
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The brief rest and my aroused curiosity were enough to
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give me a second wind. So I started trudging slowly uphill.
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As I neared the outcropping a familiar smell reached my
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nostrils, lighting a fire beneath my feet. Soon I could
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make out the smokes source. On a rocky platform painted
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with neon rastafarian symbols sat a cross legged native,
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face obscured by dreadlocks the color and texture of steel
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wool. He was smoking a hookah about three or four times the
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size of my head. An evolutionary step above the caterpillar
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in 'Alice In Wonderland' he blew smoke letters, not just
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plain O's, but a whole alphabet plus a library of
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rastafarian symbols unrecognizable to me. In fact, as I was
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to learn later, he could blow whole motion pictures, not
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just black and white but in color, with subtitles!
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"Jah love, brotha", he blew, raising his right hand in
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silent greeting.
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Being an ethnobotanist, with a keen interest in
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psychoactive plants, I had to know exactly what he was
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smoking. "Howdy. What's in the bowl, friend?"
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"Nuthin but da best, mon. It's da last o I stash. I
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would be honored if ya will smoke wit I, mon.", the letters
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drifted slowly downwind.
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"Be glad to please you.", I said lowering my mouth
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towards the hookah.
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The rastafarian symbols, particularly the towers of
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Babylon, took on a special significance as I happily
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exhaled, passing the hookah back to it's owner.
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"So what ya come up here for, mon? Looking for da holy
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man at the mountaintop? Not I, mon. I just a burnt ole
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man."
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"Actually, I'm interested in plants... psychedelic
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plants. I'm searching for the perfect drug."
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"If Jah made better than this, mon, I know he be smokin
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it hisself right now."
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"... Well, mon, there may be better."
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After saying this to me, or rather puffing it, he took
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a long pull on the hookah after which he began projecting a
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moving smoke movie... in color! Against the still blue sky,
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the performance was amazingly clear.
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***
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This rasta had obviously left his rock not too long ago
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because, in the style of 1990's movies, his came complete
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with previews and even a Coca-Cola commercial before the
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main event.
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A young boy is sleeping, dreaming of Coca-Cola. He is
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driving down an unmarked highway paved with rusting Coke
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cans, when suddenly the road begins peeling from the ground,
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angling up into a black void. After a long drive during
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which he begins to panic a red blotch far down the road
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comes into sight. Soon it is recognizable, a Coke machine.
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The boy gets out and touches it. The machine collapses into
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a paper coupon for a free case which the boy folds up, puts
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in his back pocket, and later redeems.
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The two previews were incomprehensible. The old man
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was probably projecting his hallucinations, so I'll get
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right to the movie which was a rastafied version of
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Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale.
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***
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Dark thunderclouds gathered over a small town on an
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unnamed island. The first droplets of cold rain were
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beginning to fall, wetting the occupants of the leaky tavern
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below. The smoky air swirled as the rasta zoomed in on the
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back corner table. Three beings sat there drinking
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recklessly and smoking like chimneys, a younger version of
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the rasta, whose name I later found out was Aerol, a yellow
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and red striped snake, and a ganja farmer named Maelcum.
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Following the snakes advice both men had renounced
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meditation and religion. They now sought enlightenment in
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ganja and other psychedelics for the snake had told them,
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"Zion is a state of mind."
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Long into the night the snake filled their minds with
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heinous lies and misinterpretations of the truth. At 2:45
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A.M. a messenger burst in bearing sad news for Aerol. His
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brother had just been brutally murdered by the islands
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scourge, Death.
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"Death, my friends...", the snake hissed, "can take one
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south to Babylon or up to Zion. I say we find this Death
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and Zion."
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The two friends, enraged at the fate of Aerol's
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brother, quickly agreed. Despite the protests of their
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friends the two could not be dissuaded from this plan.
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After stopping briefly at Aerol's home for weapons they set
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out into the now pouring rain. The snake slithered swiftly
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behind, giving directions.
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Here the old rasta paused a moment to catch his breath
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and to comment on what a fool he had been. Then, in a puff
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of smoke, he continued.
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The trio had come to a three pronged fork in the road.
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From down the middle road an old man, withered horribly by
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age, approached.
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"Greetings friend! What news have you of a specter
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named Death? He is said to be roaming this island. Indeed
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he has just slain my brother."
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"You are lucky", the old man slowly muttered, "to be
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speaking with me at this time for I have just seen Death.
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Simply take the wrong fork in this road and you cannot miss
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him."
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At this Aerol replied, "And which road, old sir, is the
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wrong road?"
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"With that wretched guide you cannot follow any road
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but the wrong." With that he spat hatefully at the coiled
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serpent. In response the snake struck out, sinking it's
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long fangs into the old mans groin.
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"Come, we have lingered to long.", the snake commanded.
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With the snake now in the lead the two young men
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marched down the wrong road. (The old rasta had it labeled
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with big puffy red cloud-like lettering.) Soon they came to
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a greenhouse containing a small forest of hydroponic ganja,
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the most powerful variety ever known to mankind, a highly
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addictive hybrid.
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"Zion!", the two men exclaimed and the snake nodded in
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silent agreement.
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"This was not here before Maelcum. We must harvest,
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sell, and smoke before it is discovered."
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"Certainly.", replied the snake, "Aerol and I must
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stand guard while you bring supplies. Hurry! We must
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harvest before..."
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An strange glance passed between the friends and
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without exchange of words they decided to kill the snake as
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it was no longer needed. Before it could finish speaking
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the deed was done.
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"Maelcum, get supplies now. Hurry!"
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"Be back real soon Aerol."
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As Maelcum's figure faded away into the nights
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blackness Aerol began planning his death.
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***
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After sneaking back into town Maelcum went straight to
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a weapons shop. For a small amount he purchased a rusting
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dagger with a comfortable grip. It would be perfect for the
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job. After a stop at the only market in town open at this
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hour he prepared a final meal for his former friend then
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gathered enough gardening gear for one man.
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***
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Back at the greenhouse Aerol stood quietly behind the
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door, a straight razor open in his hand.
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"Aerol, mon, lets eat...". With a sickly wet sound the
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razor ripped Maelcum's throat wide open.
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Grinning widely, knowing he need never work another day
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in his life, Aerol plucked a sticky bud and swallowed it.
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One hour later, as it took effect, he muttered sadly,
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"I am in Babylon... Jah save me!"
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***
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As the massive hookahs contents slowly burned out the
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old rasta puffed out dying words, "You are following the
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wrong road, mon, turn back and meet I in Zion... Jah be with
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you."
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****************************************************************
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This story, by me, was originally written for the
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P.C.W.W. Creative Writing Workshop at Morton college, where it
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won an honarable mention which I don't think it deserved.
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Please do not use this file for anything other than enjoyment.
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Distribute it freely but don't enter it into any contests or
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anything.
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*****************************************************************
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Call these bbs....
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The Cage --- 708-945-3665 (PPP headquarters)
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Ripco --- 708-528-5020
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*****************************************************************
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Sex is Peace.
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Ignorance is Slavery.
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Consciousness is Freedom.
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Peace \/
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******************************************************************
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????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? |