CRAP and the terror of an Unda overdose

UNDACUVVA—Journal of the North Coasts longest serving covert. .

Obama is livid. You won’t see it on the news and he is rarely upset, but he was furious at the Dillard for stubbing the hempsters and their big joint out of the Aussie election. He needs allies in his war against the war on drugs.

At first he told everyone to cancel the trip Down Unda, later relenting as he realised she didn’t know, and perhaps it was his duty to fix that. Well, who else now?

Her legendary status with the MPU (Mullers and Packers Union) led him to presume the woman had inhaled, but alas, many of us were fooled. She just organised the daring stoners with their surges of chaotic creativity, feeding off the ideas and visions. So she never died and has no God, of course.

And the MBK (Military Big Knobs) who protect her modest House in Altona amongst other things, are terrified of the “Druggie Greens” getting the balance of power. No discussion is allowed about ending the Drug War.

They talk about Obama like he’s Osama. They hate drugs of any kind unless they carry the GP (Giant Pharmaceutical) stamp of approval. And they watch Nimbin like a hunting hawk, fully aware of how the magic weed they can’t put into a pill leads people away from the consumer path. If only they knew how many pills are out there on the street now, because of their war.

Sick of being busted the new generations laugh at the old hippies endlessly in and out of court with their impossible to hide weedbags. “Pills is ok, normal people use pills now.” I hear it all the time. Weed is outdated and smelly and dirty.

You hear everything Unda on the street. Which is so littered with disrespect now they even issued a new Unda Language Manual which instructs us to maintain levels of streetspeak with “minimum 25% swearing in all conversation“. Such is the crowd us Undas have to hang with to infiltrate these days.

Never will I whinge again about unwashed hippies and their dirty roaches. It was paradise compared to stashing pills in my cheeks which half the time dissolve anyway before I get to spit them out. Way too close to the biggest nightmare of all, the Unda Overdose.

Feeling sick so much of the time and craving our decent weed and not the crap I had to smoke on the street, fortunately the Boss saw my newly developed twitch and put me back on the cameras and computers where even the despised statistics are a relief.

You’ve been hanging out with the hippies far too long“, is the usual chiding, but these days I notice they’re not so confident.”We may have cleaned most of the hippies off the street in Nimbin but look what we have now,“is the reply they can’t handle. “My favourite joint the Hemp Bar now looks like an extension of the pub.

To blend in there I have to get pissed every day, and #$% remember the $#@ new **% language %#** training, and avoid getting punched for my trouble.

The return of the twitch, my own personal CRAP meter, has often saved me and there’s no comparison between the warm office with cones of confiscated primo, trawling hair length and beard stats on visitors to Rainbow Lane, and the stress of remembering who you really are in the footpath mire. Mind you we have to take half pay to get off the streets.

The best thing about my high CRAP (Compulsive Risk Assessment Psychosis) reading means I miss the Taser Draw for a month.

Some bright spark in police public relations announced, “we have tested the Taser on our own people and will continue to do so. It is completely safe“.

So every week one birthday is pulled out of one of the Commissioners old hats hanging in head office and all members born on that date, Unda’s included, have to allow the rest of their station to Taser them in front of the others.

Nimbin has never had a birthday drawn out but it’s only a matter of time. The practise has caused many resignations already but the MBK and their FEMA Camps running the show insist on maintaining an element of fear in the culture.

You may dress like a hippy and behave like a hippy Brenda, while it’s part of your job. But if I ever hear you start thinking like a hippy you’ll be fishfood girl. Got that?” I’ll never forget the Big Boss spraying me after I accidentally called him brother at a bbq.

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