Beyond Cunt Based Propaganda

[Vũng Tàu, 8/11/26]

Just before 3AM, I arrived at Indochine, a block from my room, with a điếu cày. A bird boned and soft voiced male barista told me a bunch of young men had just been arrested for smoking weed with a điếu cày, so thuốc lào is no longer allowed at Indochine. Who had tipped the cops about these kids getting high? The penalty for dealing marijuana is over a decade in jail, so at least one of them is in deep shit.

In Manhattan last year, my buddy Jonathan could often smell pot on the street. I didn’t even know weed had been legalized in New York. It has long been available, of course, even in junior high schools. Two of my closest friends at Thomas Jefferson High in Northern Virginia were freaks. One, Brian Robertson, became a “Senior Policy Advisor and Speechwriter at State Department and HHS” in Trump’s first regime. Before this transformation, Brian was in Opus Dei. One of the last things he said to me was, “What is your relationship to God?” While still in highschool, we listened to endless Bob Dylan and Thelonious Monk in his parents’ basement. I introduced Brian to Monk. We caught a concert by his long time tenor saxophonist, Charlie Rouse, in DC. During my college freshman year in Philadelphia, Brian gave me a gift subscription to National Review. William Buckley was his idol. I sure hope he’s gotten over Trump.

As for Phil Brenner, there’s zero trace of him online. Maybe Phil’s doped himself out of existence.

Marijuana is the worst drug, my buddy Jonathan said to me in Vũng Tàu just days ago. It makes you dumber and passive. Everything is funny and you just want to gorge on junk food. Jonathan has a brother in law who does nothing but smoke endless weed then make idiotic drum beat music on his computer that no one listens to. His walking difficulties with a club foot are compounded by his morbid obesity, so travel is out of the question. This also grounds Jonathan’s sister. To be incapacitated together must be one definition of true love.