Bram, Mark, Marco en Nick. Uiteraard zullen er ook andere guest skaters in voorkomen. De locaties van de spots variëren van Amsterdam, Hoofddorp en Haarlem tot Barcalona.

Aanstaande vrijdag bij goed weer zijn de volgende opnames. Hoogstwaarschijnlijk in Amsterdam.

Kali pertama :
ketika aku mencoba lebih unggul dengan tak adil memanfaatkan orang yang lemah

Kali kedua :
ketika aku berpura-pura pincang di depan mereka yang lumpuh

Kali ketiga :
ketika diberi pilihan, aku memilih yang mudah bukan yang sukar

Kali keempat :
ketika aku membuat satu kesalahan kuhibur diriku dengan kesalahan-kesalahan orang lain

Kali kelima :
ketika aku lemah karena takut lalu mengaku diriku tabah dan sabar

Kali keenam :
ketika aku mengenakan pakaian pelindung untuk menghindarkan lumpur Kehidupan

Kali ketujuh :
saat aku tegak bernyanyi memuji Tuhan dan menganggap bernyanyi itu adalah satu kebajikan

It was really cool, dan sangat menohok jiwa..

Yes, Winehouse is at it again. This time - try and look surprised - she said that Blake is going to be set free within two weeks. Yeah, on crack o'clock. Like hell it will happen. This girl is connected to reality no more than Hulk Hogan. When the crowd booed her off for mentioning the low life that is Blake-Civil-War, she responded:

"Don't boo. I'll find your phone and ring your mum and tell them about your bad manners. Manners cost you nothing."

Where has the world gone to if Amy Winehouse is lecturing people about manners? It's like...like...Britney Spears giving you diet tips. It's like Stu from BB telling you to lay off the eyeliner. It's like me trying to come up with a good metaphore.

Anyways, I'm done. Go look at Amy Winehouse.

Classy.

So, since I nothing else to talk about, I'll take the topic from my etiquette ladies and write about a book that changed my life.

Actually, I can't even remember the name of the book, but I remember it was like crack to a junkie. I just couldn't get enough of it. Yes, I'm talking about my very first Mills & Boon.

All I remember about the book is that he was a photographer and had a beard and they met in a museum. Oh yeah and the sex. To an innocent thirteen year old, they seemed to be going like rabbits! And like a good little junkie, I wanted more; I needed more; I craved more!

So I got more...books. I am now the current owner of at least 400 romance novels. That's not counting at least triple that amount that have past through my revolving bookshelf in the twelve years that have past since my first hit.

I know some people think they are trashy, and yes, some of them are, but I don't insult your intelligence by dissing your latest fashion magazine (because you only like the pictures and can't handle any actual reading) or even the fact that you've never finished a book in your life.

I'm going to say it - loud and proud - I LOVE ROMANCE NOVELS. And I don't care who knows it. Since I have absolutely no love life, I live vicariously through these characters. Hell, I even tried writing a few of them (and I have the stack of rejection letters to prove it).

I should warn you though, there is a downside to these novels. Since reading these novels, no man/boy has ever lived up to my romantic idea of my hero. Some have come close and others haven't ever made it passed the starting line. Hell, if Sally the unattractive nurse with a disabled mother can catch herself a doctor, why the hell can't I?

I know these novels have changed my life, but I'm not entirely sure if it was good or bad. Who knows if I would have ended up with one of the other guys, despite the fact that they never sent my heart racing and my body trembling at his touch...thanks to Mills and Boon, I've been holding out for my hero to barge his way into my office and crush me to his muscular chest, declaring his undying love for me and promising never to hurt me or break my heart (because every couple has to break up at least once, for the guy to realise that he can't live without her).

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read more stories about Slade's quivering manhood...

Eight hours had to be spent in work first trying to look busy before the trip south to Inchicore. All morning the rain bucketed down and although optimistic about our chances the previous few days, it felt like it could be one of those days when we’d lose and get drenched in Pats’ roofless stand, and anything else that could go wrong, would. For this trip I was to be accompanied by two of my fellow Navan Bohs comrades, along with Frankie and a possible new addition to the Bohs Meath battalion, 11 year-old Aidan. Out of work at three and onto a bus into town, where strangely enough the first port of call was Penneys to buy socks! I was soaked and must’ve been looking forward to the match so much I’d forgotten to pack a change of socks for after work. Like a big loner and having a couple of hours to spare I headed for a pint and a read of the Daily Mail, which dedicated a whole one third of a page or so to the League of Ireland. They also predicted a Pats win.

The weather changed for the good and so did my feeling about the match. After coming away from the Drogheda and Scum away games with three points, and our magnificent away form in general, I fancied our chances to repeat the feat. As pointed out in the Cork report, the Setanta cameras seem to be a good omen for us too. At quarter to seven Frankie and Aidan arrived followed closely by Jayo and David. As is the norm now, a trip had to be paid to BoyleSports for a flutter, this time for a more sensible bet than the previous week’s six-match accumulator. Frankie went for Crowe to bag the opener, and also a half-time/full-time forecast of the draw/Bohs. I slapped a fiver on Killian Brennan to score first at a tasty 11/1. After about twenty “As Seirbhís” buses passed us on Doyle’s Corner we hopped onto a 19. We arrived in about five minutes late and since the away end was so packed, three of us spent the first half in the company of our good friend, the casuals. The whole ground was pretty full looking, the way it should be.

Looking back at the Cork blog entry, the match report does seem far too detailed, so less of the waffle here! There isn’t really a lot to say in fairness, especially about the first half. Jamie Harris went within inches of netting near the end of the first half with a header for Keith Fahey’s free kick on the left. Half-time arrived and off went the lads to take a whizz and grab some quarter pounders. Six minutes into the second half, and Jason Byrne played a neat through ball into the path of Glen Crowe who, from where we were stood, looked miles offside. The linesman kept his flag down, Crowe was bearing down on Barry Murphy’s goal. Neale Fenn raced through the middle and it seemed Crowe would hold it up and play it to him. Instead he played a simple ball to the back post, where Killian Brennan had the easiest of tap-ins. The stand felt like it was going to collapse such was the eruption and pile-up of bodies. My buddy held me up on the back of a seat and the view of the Bohs crowd jumping around like lunatics was fantastic, what a feeling. As I got down I remembered my bet, nice one Killian! Neale Fenn, playing a stormer, almost added a second when he was one-on-one with the keeper but he failed with two attempts. Funniest moment of the night was when the Bohs fans shouted “You-fat-b*****d” at a Barry Ryan goal-kick, only for our very own Block-G regular Barry to follow up with “You-fat-b*****d…Larry”. The final whistle was greeted once again with chants of “We’re goin’ to win the league”, something we haven’t been able to sing for about five years now. Myself and Frankie both had winning bets. An almost perfect night (I say almost, as when we got back to Navan we couldn’t find a boozer still serving for a celebratory pint!)

As we waited for our bus, which was labeled “Special” funnily enough, to pull out we heard a bit of a racket down below. Some coppers boarded a bus full of Pats fans. A few lads, and even a couple of girls, made a few slit-throat and hand gestures up to us, simply responded to with a grin from ear to ear, a clenched fist and a few kisses of the crest.

Altogether now, WE’RE GOIN’ TO WIN THE LEAGUE!!

Order Jim Cramer's Mad Money: Watch TV, Get Rich from Amazon for $9.99

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Other Kindle Books of Interest
Jim Cramer's Real Money
Confessions of a Street Addict
The Best Investment Advice I Ever Received: Priceless Wisdom from Warren Buffett, Jim Cramer, Suze Orman, Steve Forbes, and Dozens of Other Top Financial Experts
You Got Screwed!

"Evolution of a Cro-Magnon," Page 108

Thank you, your honours, for keeping Vancouver's Safe Injection site and those it helps alive!

Maybe Canada's Health Minister should hang for a while in Vancouver's Downtown East Side. I'll take him for a walk. I know the area. He can have a little gander past some people overdosing in a doorway. He might wonder at first glance: "is that person having a seizure?" or maybe, he'll think to himself: "that dirty guy isn't moving at all, is he dead?"

Maybe dirty-guy is covered in bile, barf would imply he ate food yesterday. And a little further along, say around the corner, alley-girl's bare feet are bleeding and she peed herself. Maybe she stepped in one of those piles of used needles and condoms. Minister Clement might even smell his citizens before he sees them on his walk.

And What's that? ohhh.... running-guy just stole beside-the-heat-vent-guys jacket cause he is unconscious. Too bad he's so poor and has a mental illness.

Good ole Tony can watch a guy crap on the sidewalk and have more blood come out than poo. He can witness five prostitutes sharing a needle and then watch as one of them hops into a car with a 19-year-old hoping to lose his virginity bareback. He can visit the many "hotels" where junkies live and maybe convince himself that if it weren't for the safe injection site, they would still have access to counselors, and information to help them get clean, by reading the graphiti on the walls or rapping on a neighbours door for a hand and some sugar.

We don't need more studies!!! Instead, we need more people and services to help our most vulnerable citizens.

Safe Injection sites provide more than safe injection sites. They provide care, information, help when it is needed, help when it is wanted. We KNOW that doing nothing does not get people off drugs. We know that ignoring junkies and hoping they don't bother the tourists is ineffective treatment. So instead, let's try a little something called HUMANIZATION.

How about we treat our citizens with addictions like real, whole people and then maybe, just maybe, they'll feel like life might be worth trying-out without drugs. Or maybe, just maybe, they'll do drugs right up until their heart beats it's last beat. Either way, I would rather they had a place to be safe. If just one time in their entire life.

Support safe injection sites in your cities. Trust me, the alternatives are much worse.

And in case you aren't convinced. Have a look at 'Intravenous Drug User Infection Textbook Guy'.

Ya.....he didn't need any help or supervision at all....

For those that don't know, I am a smoker. I have been a smoker for the past twenty-three years. Yes, I know the health risks. Yes, I know it makes me smell like an ashtray. Yes, yes, I know there are fifty-leben poisonous chemicals in a single cigarette that I wouldn't dare ingest under "ordinary" circumstances. But it is what it is, and what it is is, I'm an addict of nicotine. *shrug* I would not have termed myself as such before this week though. Naw, before this week I was just a "smoker"; a person who "enjoyed" puffing on a cancer stick as a means to calm her nerves, or at best, pass the time. What made the difference? Well before this week, fundage to support my habit was pretty much plentiful, so I never really had to deal with the withdrawal symptoms head on. I mean, I've been without cigarettes before, but only for relatively short stints. This week, however... I have not been so lucky. This week is when the invisible walls of separation between the common crackhead and me came tumbling down a bit.

I knew the end of the pack was coming, and although I figured I could snack and sleep my way through the rough spots, I counted the moment of discovery with dread. I'd made an effort to quit a couple years ago, so I was well aware of how my body reacts during withdrawal. When that last smoke was smoked it wasn't so bad, since I knew it was coming to that end and had mentally prepared for it. Twenty minutes after that last cigarette, I was a bit edgy and eating everything in sight, but otherwise cool and collected. Thirty minutes came and went with only a mild building of irritation and shortness of breath, but when the thirty-five minute mark hit my system and my head began to throb... all bets were off!

My neuroreceptors were crying out for a "hit", and the affects were more than physically evident. The increased flow of oxygen rendered me light headed, disoriented, and drowsy. The pendulum of my mood swung from depressed to irritable in the manner of milliseconds, then right back again just as quickly. Adah asked me numerous times whether I was all right, because I shut down and my normally animated, jovial persona became a withdrawn and sullen shadow of its former self. Once I began to suffer from an upset stomach and gas I decided enough was enough! I had to re-up, and I had to do it by any means necessary!

After exhausting my "bum" limit with my neighbour, the first time I ran out of my drug of choice I ravaged my change jar of its meager contents, and held up the store line counting out the exact amount. The second time, I turned my house inside out in search of random coins that may have escaped previous collection, and even used a roll of pennies or two to score the goods. The third time, I undertook a gas guzzling drive up to Detroit, and subjected myself to being social with my STBE in order to feed the beast. And this last time... *smdh* Let's just say National City will not like me very much in the next two to three days.

Seeing my habit from the perspective of what I'm willing to do to satisfy it has me reevaluating the whole "addict" label across the board. I joked with Adah yesterday that I felt like a for real junkie now, and realistically, the jest was spoken with more than an ounce of truth. Of course my personal moral code will not allow me to stoop to the same levels as a hardcore junkie in order to cop a pack of coffin nails -- who's street value is equal that of a gallon of gas. But when you find yourself searching for stale, less than a sixteenth of an inch butts in ashtrays and trash cans just to get a fix, it's really time to call a spade a spade.

So yeah, I'm an addict, and I freely admit that now. This is not to say I'm proud of this fact, or that accepting it makes smoking any better for me than when I was "in the closet". All I'm saying is I realize now that my addiction places me, essentially, in the same league with the involuntary stars of Intervention (one of my favourite shows, by the by)... even though my drug of choice and the lengths I'd go to get it, are tons milder.

Now that I've recognized this, will I quit? Honestly, I need to -- not just because of the addiction aspect, but the multitude of health problems smoking can cause. But truthfully, because smoking is largely a psychological aberration (after the third or fourth day of cessation, the body is totally free of nicotine -- so it really is a mind over matter addiction), I can realistically say I am not in the "space" to successfully quit just yet. But, because I can not stomach the idea of an outside source having this much control over me, i can say I'm one step closer to quitting than I was a day or two ago. And like it is with breaking any cycle of addiction, it can only successfully happen one baby step at a time.

Be Blessed & Be Light...

Dr. Victorine

V and I woke up at 5:30 Saturday morning to get on a plane for New Orleans. I use the term "woke up" loosely because we didn't get much sleep to actually have to wake up from. We scrambled to get packed the night before and settled in to sleep knowing we only had about 5 hours before we had to get up again. The combination of knowing we only had a few hours to rest and a flurry of gunshots that woke us up as soon as we drifted to sleep led to an unrestful evening. Gunshots. Awesome. Luckily it didn't appear as though anybody was hurt.

Anyway, we get up at 5:30 feeling like zombies but get ourselves together, call a cab and head to LaGuardia. After a hassle-free couple of flights and some light sleeping on the plane we arrived in 90+ degree Louisiana humidity. It was incredibly hot but completely welcome after the wishy-washy weather we've had in NYC lately. I like hot weather. I also like consistency when it comes to my hot weather so this was fine by me. Anyway, we hopped in a cab and headed to our hotel in the French Quarter which also happens to be the hotel that the wedding was taking place. Coincidence? Hardly. We planned this trip to be easy and maximum fun.

We dropped off our bags, texted friends that we had arrived, and set out to get some lunch. First order of business on the food agenda: Central Grocery for the muffaletta sandwich. This sandwich is a work of art. It's basically an Italian combo sandwich (salami, capicola, mortadella, ementaler, and provolone) on a large, round, flat loaf of dense Sicilian bread. The thing that separates this sandwich from any other Italian combo is the olive salad that accompanies it. Olives, carrots, celery, and spices stewing in olive oil. The juices of the salad seep into the dense bread and a sandwich of staggering beauty results. You can order half sandwiches for $6.95 or whole ones (HUGE!) for $12.95 which is what we got. It comes in quarters like a pizza and I can't lie, it is kind of amazing.

After eating we wandered through the French Quarter a bit and took in the vibes. It was afternoon, it was hot, and the FQ was deceptively quiet. There were random jazz trios and quartets playing on corners and some live music streaming out of bars but the foot traffic was minimal and it was certainly on the sleepy side. The FQ is beautiful and definitely a world unto itself. There are galleries and interesting shops dotted throughout with restaurants and bars and clubs dominating the area around famous Bourbon Street. Not so surprisingly we found ourselves drawn way more to the off-the-beaten-path parts of the area. The architecture is more Latin than "French". In fact the FQ reminds me alot of Old San Juan. New Orleans' colonial history of being part of Spain and France (in a very short period of time) would explain those influences.

We arrived back at the hotel and needed to get some rest. We napped for a few hours then went downstairs to meet a friend for a cocktail before heading off to Uptown for dinner with another couple. Before arriving in N.O. we decided on Brigtsen's for dinner. It was a very, very good call on our part. First of all, it's located in a beautiful, lush, wooded, green area so it was nice to see another side of New Orleans. It's also housed in a Victorian cottage and they kept the rooms pretty much intact when they designed the space. Again, I use the term "design" loosely. It was simple, quaint, tasteful and consisted of 2 small, intimate dining rooms.

Our server was Sandy, a woman in her 60s who knew the menu inside and out and helped us make more excellent decisions. We could not have asked for a better dining experience. They offer a new menu every day depending on what is seasonal and fresh. I may need V to chime in because I have forgotten what some of the appetizers were. I know we had an okra/seafood gumbo and I believe there was rabbit as well as a crawfish dish. I didn't partake in the rabbit but nobody could stop raving about any of them. The gumbo was delicious. Smoky. Spicy. Andouille. Shrimp. Oysters.

For entrees I chose the seafood platter, or the "shell fish diet" as they call it. There was a shrimp cornbread, grilled drum fish (local, white, dense) with a lemon shrimp sauce, baked oyster with shrimp and crab, oyster Rockefeller, seared scallops, baked oyster with lemon and artichoke. I couldn't come close to finishing even though it was absolutely spectacular. Oh, and these oysters are Mississippi oysters, which I don't know how I feel about. Served in the this manner (baked, stuffed, etc) I was OK but they are river oysters, not salt water and they happen to be HUGE. Actually a little too big for my liking. I couldn't even imagine how one would slurp these as they are so big that chewing is necessary. But anyway... absolutely amazing. V and Greg both went for the half ducks. Yes, they each ate half a duck that had been slow-roasted all day along with a dark cherry cornbread dressing and some heavenly creamy mashed potatoes. Tina had the venison which was recommended as being a lighter alternative to the duck. We didn't think we were capable of eating anymore but we had to finish the meal properly with a dessert. After some advice from Sandy and turning Greg's idea of sorbet down we opted for a slice of simple chocolate cake to share. It was perfection. Moist, rich, and chocolatey with a simple dollop of fresh whipped cream and a mint leaf to top it. There's alot to be said for a good slice of chocolate cake that is OK with just being chocolate cake. No unnecessary sauces just plain ole chocolate cake. The purist in me appreciated our lovely dessert. Overall our meal was absolutely amazing on every level and worth the splurge. Service, ambiance, food = extraordinary. Oh! New favorite cocktail: Pimms Cup. Tina and I originally wanted mint juleps but when the bar at the restaurant didn't have mint we asked Sandy for a refreshing alternative. Pimms Cup was suggested and it might be my new favorite summer cocktail.

Following dinner we decided to take the long way home. The "long way" being the St. Charles streetcar that lumbers through Uptown connecting it with the French Quarter. It meanders through the Garden District and Tulane simultaneously passing some truly amazing homes. Grand, southern mansions.

We get on the streetcar at the very first/last stop so we boarded it with about 15-20 other people. Mostly of the frat-boy/drunk variety, but that's another story. Greg and Tina take a seat and V and I take the only other available 2-seater which happened to be behind a junky. This woman was tweaking. Now the streetcar has a sign in it that says not to stick your hands out the window... and there's a very good reason for it. There's little to no clearance in most areas so, well, you get the picture. V and I sat behind this woman watching her head bobbing out of the window... I was not OK with the visions of decapitation and gore that kept running through my head. We go a few stops and the junky is playing with her hair, yapping to herself, flirting with head chopping and a few seats clear out. We take this opportunity to remove ourselves from said junky and move to a seat in front of Greg and Tina. People keep getting on the streetcar and it's getting rather full. it's basically standing room only at this point. All of a sudden we pull up to a stop and an ENTIRE wedding party gets on. About 30 people including the bride (in her gown), groom, bridemaids, family etc. Needless to say we are approaching maximum capacity at this point. We had ALMOST forgotten about the junky at this point when all of a sudden there's a commotion coming from her direction. She's yelling at nobody in particular about how her stop was missed because of all these people and she can't even get off the streetcar because of the crowd. Then we see that she has removed her flip flops and is throwing her bags out of the window. Homeslice is trying to exit the streetcar via the window. A lady in front of her tried to discourage it and everybody on the car looked on in complete confusion. She has now lowered herself halfway out of the window and the streetcar starts back up again. She gets tossed from it and there was a collective shriek of concern on the streetcar as it appeared that this woman might have been run over. A gentleman looks out and says "She's alive!" and we all turn and take note of the fact that she is fine and scurrying for the bags that she tossed out before her exit. I guess she's probably lucky she was high because she probably would have been in alot of pain otherwise. Yikes. Definitely a crazy moment.

We get off the streetcar in the French Quarter and have to walk several blocks to our hotel. Of course we ended up having to walk past Bourbon Street. Remember earlier how I said the French Quarter was sleepy and deceptively quiet during the day? Well, we landed at 11:30pm in opposite world. We were able to stand it for about 30 seconds before we had to get off that street. It was pretty much all college-aged kids and a sort of "Girls Gone Wild" meets "Animal House" vibe. Frat boys who were shirtless, 'roided out, drunk, and looking to either get laid or for a fight. Drunk girls lifting their shirts. Beads. I now know why I've never been tempted to go down there for Mardis Gras. It was actually nauseating. But anyway, one block off Bourbon and everything was fine again. We walk back to our hotel and said goodnight to our friends. Our lack of sleep from the night before had caught up to us and we wanted to retire early so that we'd be well-rested for the big day. More at 11:00.

the crew, energy drinks, all good tunes, deezer, marijuana, lucky extra, acting, theatre, grime, street smarts, chai, lattes, flirting, the color gold, money, cheese, famousity, the 60's, UK emcees, hip hop, graffiti, style, kurt vonnegut, trust, starbucks, photography, redecorating, sleep, bones, cacti, the desert, drunks, old flames, sunshine, mornings, coffee, late nights, Brick + No Country For Old Men.

the bad:

scene kids, junkies, hipsters, cafe beano, the roasterie, over rated everything, war, j. k. rowling, terrible drivers, forgetting deodorant in the mornings, rain, snow, sleet, parties, the smell of fish, acne, the fucking five oh, heavy metal, hallway traffic, traffic, when people try to be 'deep' and 'philosophical', 'i love you', school, 80% of people in my school, ignorant fakes + hate.

the ugly:

you don't want to get to know that side of me.

The Ohana Secret Playground
Next Viral Marketer
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The Ohana Secret Playground
Next Viral Marketer
Gutz media training The Ohana Secret Playground
Next Viral Marketer
Gutz media training The Ohana Secret Playground
Next Viral Marketer
Gutz media training The Ohana Secret Playground
Next Viral Marketer
Gutz media training

Order Jim Cramer's Mad Money: Watch TV, Get Rich from Amazon for $9.99

Other Kindle Books of Interest
Jim Cramer's Real Money

Confessions of a Street Addict

The Best Investment Advice I Ever Received: Priceless Wisdom from Warren Buffett, Jim Cramer, Suze Orman, Steve Forbes, and Dozens of Other Top Financial Experts

You Got Screwed!

It's quite simply a place  which reminds you that progress is only pyrrhic and setting it and forgetting it is the only way we move on as a society.  A darling city, bucking the recessionary trend with low crime, low poverty and low racial tension has to put its effluvia somewhere - and homeless and heroin addict mix up with condo dwellers. And I'm somewhere in the middle.

"Recovery Cafe" is a place three blocks from my apartment, and it sounds as ironically horrifying as it actually is. After a certain hour, I am used to being one of a few "taxpayers" on the street - I've started to block out the not one, but two homeless-newspaper-sellers who I am routinely confronted on the way home from the supermarket (WIC accepted of course).  But you can't ignore Recovery Cafe.

It looks like a generic pretend bistro, maybe the kind that Saved By The Bell: the Gen Y years takes place in.  It has the minimalist decor and the glassy storefront windows, complete with espresso machine and nice table accoutrements.  Except its patrons are the same homeless heroin junkies that I usually see in the alleyway.  The sick, perverted altruism of giving the homeless and dejected the veneer of upper-middle-class sanitation is enough to make your mouth drop.  But then one of the homeless dudes who isn't hanging out at the "cafe" approaches you and you must walk on.  

It's too much to handle. Waiting in line at the supermarket is even too much to handle.  Oddly enough, things feel fine shopping in Capitol Hill or Lower Queen Anne, but Belltown, it is one twisted little hood.  $700,000 condos next to halfway houses, and a monorail that has only one destination - it's enough to drive a man to the edge some days.

Being barely 50 degrees at the end of April doesn't help either.  And people wonder why I am easily irritated? How could I not be?

Methamphetamine was first synthesized from ephedrine in Japan in 1893 by chemist Nagayoshi Nagai.[3] In 1919, crystallized methamphetamine was synthesized by Akira Ogata via reduction of ephedrine using red phosphorus and iodine. The related compound amphetamine was first synthesized in Germany in 1887 by Lazăr Edeleanu.

World War II

One of the earliest uses of methamphetamine was during World War II when the German military dispensed it under the trade name Pervitin.[4] It was widely distributed across rank and division, from elite forces to tank crews and aircraft personnel. Chocolates dosed with methamphetamine were known as Fliegerschokolade ("flyer's chocolate") when given to pilots, or Panzerschokolade ("tanker's chocolate") when given to tank crews. From 1942 until his death in 1945, Adolf Hitler was given frequent intravenous injections of methamphetamine by his personal physician, Theodor Morell as a treatment for depression and fatigue. It is possible that it was used to treat Hitler's speculated Parkinson's disease, or that his Parkinson-like symptoms which developed from 1940 onwards were related to use of methamphetamine.[5]

if you want to see and read more.. .g'head
click this link
http://www.rotten.com/library/crime/drugs/methamphetamine/

not sure what this guy is on but you dont want ot end up like whatever way

  Fußball Blog

artwork

Here is what I bought for my swap partners in a swap called "Fat Quarter Junkies #1." I have two partners, and both mailings have a different theme. Don't you just love the sock monkeys?

*chirp chirp*
hey man know anybody that's
got something for a back ache?

*chirp chirp*
nah man. should've caught me earlier
you know who just got her script but
she ain't coming off any more of 'em

*me grumbling*
fuckin' greedy bitch
*chirp chirp*
no shit? you sure? i'll settle for
four fuckin' tens.. i'm fuckin' dyin' here

*chirp chirp*
what was that?

*chirp chirp*
FOUR FUCK-ING TENSSSS.. ANYTHING!!

*chirp chirp*
i'll see if I can get her.. she was out
of minutes earlier.. i'll let you know..

*chirp chirp*
ten-four, say no more..

and he won't. fellow pill head won't get
you SHIT unless they are BROKE.. OUT..
or HOPING TO SCORE OFF YOU..
stay way from pills and all things
narcotic..
including me.. especially me.