Tag Archives: miracle

TJH 660: Arsenic and Valium

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“Phone in one hand, dick in the other.”

Welcome back to the early April edition of the Jamhole! Lots of great shit happening over here, so be sure to stick with us on the social media outlets we all enjoy frequenting, and you won’t miss a beat. Lately I’ve been digging Instagram, as we’re visual creatures, we can appreciate that sort of medium. I’ve been living in Washington for a few weeks now, and things are going great. If you want to check out all the other stuff I’m writing, be sure to swing by Stuff Stoners Like and search for Mat Lee. There’s also some cool stuff popping up on my YouTube page related to the weed stuff. Also be sure to follow the Jamhole YouTube channel and Google+ page so you can keep up with the live shows. Sometimes the podcast is a bit more visual, and seeing is believing. Enjoy the notes and we’ll catch you next time!

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Ep 262: Holy Hell

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“Everything fucking hurts and I’m sober, nothing is ok.”

The hunter stalks it’s prey, waiting¬†patiently¬†for the chance to strike. Sneaking slowly around corners, hiding in the shadows cast down by the grungy flickering street lights of the alley. You can hear the buzz of the moths as they circle around the warm glowing globe. Attracted to the light, attracted to the heat, don’t get too close though, or else you’ll burst into flames. The smells of rotting garbage caress the nose of the one who stalks. Corn stalks, wheat stalks, but none in comparison to this man. Standing six feet tall when fully erect, clothed in black cargo pants and black velcro shoes, a white shirt barely visible behind a long flowing black overcoat. Plenty of pockets filled with tools of the trade, a large razor sharp knife more for inflicting fear than anything else. A glock nine millimeter with two extra clips just in case. He’s never used it, but you never know when you might need it. Syringes filled with Etorphine Hydrochloride, allowing our hunter to easily subdue the prey with minimal fuss. The pin prick of the needle is all they feel, then darkness, then nothing. These are the tools of a man who has had enough. These are the tools of a man who has switched career paths, from a lowly office executive with nothing, living paycheck to paycheck in hopes of one day getting the praise he feels he deserves. The new job doesn’t pay as good monetarily, but money isn’t everything. It’s all about the feeling. The feeling of being in complete control of another. Watching the fear in their eyes as the last bit of blood drips from the wound, painting a slippery red mural on the dirty ground. Blood sweat and tears make the world go around. Thirty three percent of each, which leaves that last one percent to chance.

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