We're Getting Our Magazine Together and Taking it On the Chin
Larry Sloman: Welcome to My World
Marie: Missing a Big Thing?
There's No Place Like Bong
Urinalysis Clarification II
Lyndon LaRouche Demented at 58
Color Him Louis
The Laughing Priest of Vietnam
It's Khat to Be Good
A magazine is the sum of its readers. And our readers have determined a new advertising policy for us. The mail was overwhelming. We received hundreds of complaints, both in the mail and on the phone, about the legal stimulants, those facsimile pills meant to look like pharmaceutical speed, that have been advertised in HIGH TIMES for the last year or two.
A Dallas judge has demanded that medical officials at the county Juvenile Detention Center renounce their practice of measuring the sexual organs of the boys admitted to the center. Though center doctors say they've been gathering dick data for the last four years in an attempt to determine if there is any correlation between a youth's propensity toward crime and his wang size, no effort was ever made to analyze the information.
When the government hasn't made a seizure, when there's no hardcore, honest-to-goodness evidence, no drugs, no planes, no fishing trawlers, when they don't have anything—they think they have a conspiracy. If there's been one thing responsible for putting more guys in the can who don't belong there, it's been conspiracy.
AS A PENNY-PINCHING U.S. CONGRESS BEgan considering the federal budget for fiscal year 1982 (including, of course, an appropriation for the Drug Enforcement Administration), the DEA announced a wave of busts under the code name Operation Grouper.
THE STAGE SEEMED SET: U.S. CUSTOMS (THE DRUG Enforcement Administration’s perennial rivals) and the FBI, who since the days of J. Edgar Hoover had avoided the drug beat like a pool of fresh vomit, were making public noises about moving into established DEA territory.
The record for weight taken in a coke bust within the continental United States more than doubled when Drug Enforcement Administration agents grabbed 826 pounds of "high-purity stuff" from the garage of a Miami home. The investigation leading to the haul was later attributed to Operation Grouper (see stories, page 19, Highwitness News).
Strange stuff, this business about the quality of television programming (probably the most banal, mind-dulling juggernaut of sensory input ever devised by man) being subverted by the ravages of cocaine use. Is it really conceivable for the industry that brought us “Hello, Larry," “Family Feud” and “Charlie's Angels” to be further polluted, even by a blight of angel dust?
IT WAS A LOT OF POT, 23,700 POUNDS, AND THE CITY INCINERator of Hope, Arkansas, couldn't quite consume it all. Police had taken the load from a semi at a truck scale on Interstate 30 after popping two Virginia truck drivers for possession with intent to deliver.
IS THE BOTTOM FALLING OUT OF THE MARIJUANA MARKET? WHAT with prices suddenly plunging and long-standing syndicates wiped out overnight, buyers, sellers, investors and even lawmen are wondering if the pot market is edging toward a collapse.
HIGH TIMES welcomes anonymous reports, but please be specific about the area, type, quantity and quality of dope referred to. If you are aware of other prices or have other relevant information or suggestions, please send them in. The THMQ is intended solely for comparative purposes and in no way is meant as an inducement to illegal activity, or as an endorsement of dope usage or trafficking, or as an endorsement of any particular dope.
In the World of Movies, We are in the Age of Horror. The Age of Homicidal Mania. The age of psychos, ghouls, vampires, werewolves and demons of every description. Theater lobbies across America blazon the murderous antics of these fiends.
DOCTOR PIERSON WAS A DISCREET ADDICT WHO KEPT HIMSELF DOWN TO THREE SHOTS A DAY, HALF A GRAIN IN EACH SHOT—HE COULD ALWAYS COVER FOR THAT. TOWARDS THE END OF AN EIGHT-HOUR SHIFT he tended to be perfunctory, so when he got the call from emergency he hoped it wouldn't take long or keep him overtime.
IT WOULD TAKE ALL NIGHT TO TELL ABOUT OLD BULL LEE; LET'S JUST SAY NOW, HE WAS A TEACHER, AND IT MAY BE SAID THAT HE had every right to teach because he spent all his time learning; and the things he learned were what he considered to be and called "the facts of life," which he learned not only out of necessity but because he wanted to.
CALL ME CHIMPSKY. DR. HEATH DID; named me, in fact: T.H. Chimpsky. So much for neurologist humor What amazes me, though, is that after all these years, after all I've been through, I can still see the old gasbag puttering around in the lab as if it were yesterday.
What a shocker. Never before in the now venerable history of "R."'s annual Connoisseur awards had such a last-minute sweep overwhelmed the awards ceremony in such a spectacular fashion. But those Merlins of the Mountains, those Wizards of West Virginia weed breeding did it.
Sound like the job you've been waiting for? Well, as you might imagine, you're not the only one. As a result, bud trimming is a closed field, as nearly impossible to break into as any Hollywood union. I would never have had the opportunity, probably were it not for my friend Roxy, and her friend Greg's getting the shit scared out of him.
THERE'S A tale they tell at Military Intelligence in London, when the candles gutter low and the fog curls about the windows. It happened in 1914 (they say), when England was losing the first world war and it seemed only a miracle could save her.
You are alone on vacation, about to score a moderate amount of cocaine. In a matter of minutes you’ll be forking over the better part of $300 to a person you’ve never seen before and in all probability will never see again. You have no melt-point tester, chemistry set or clorox.
Snuff is nothing to sneeze at. The Arawak took it and saw God. Course those crafty South American tribesmen mixed a little Piptadenia peregrina or yopo or even yagé into their powdered tobacco for chromatic effect. A half million Britons still take snuff, albeit without the exotic additives.
IN 1978 FILMMAKER LECH KOWALSKI PHONED HIGH TIMES founder Tom Forcade and pitched him the idea of filming the Sex Pistols' tour through the Southern and Western United States. Forcade agreed, but when Kowalski showed up at the HIGH TIMES office with bags packed ready to pick up the tour in Atlanta, Forcade told him that he'd changed his mind and that he should leave his office immediately.
Well, we're sure proud to be asked to write a whole magazine for the "Seeds "N Stems" people. If you want to get a real down-home, just-plain-folks point of view, you couldn't do better than to come to Kozkiusko, I guess. And we sure appreciate this chance to get a free ad in a big national magazine.
A show business story for page two? Well, I'm really impressed with the way Dan Rather fit right into(Sorry Carl) Walter Cronkite's shoes on the Channel Two Evening News. When Walter Cronkite left I thought well, that's it. No more straight, levelheaded, non-biased, lay-it-on-the-1ine TV news.
Listen to that ! Carl hasn't watched the evening news for two years, ever since Channel Eleven started running Rockford Files reruns at six o'clock. We were out to dinner at the Roman Gardens over by Twilly last week, and we heard two guys in business suits at the cocktail bar talking about the TV news while it was on, and what you just read in Carl's story was what the richer-looking gent said.
UNCLE CARL TELLS "EASY SALLY": GIVE UP! Dear Uncle Carl: All through high school, Tony and I had eyes only for each other. We dated from our sophomore year straight through every weekend, and I will never forget all the beautiful memories I have of that enchanting, spellbound, laughter-and-tears time.
Stand easy. Well, when the CIC's wife gives you an order, you carry it out. Though I must say, why I should be giving the lowdown on the double-dealings of State to a bunch of loop-troopers like the readers of this magazine is beyond me. For the last month or so I've be puttin' the gentle boys and soft sisters here at State Battalion HQ through their basic training.
113 NUMBER OF PEOPLE IN U.S. WHO might still be alive in 1967 except for illicit drug abuse: 390,000. Number of people in U.S. who might still be alive in 1967 except for alcohol abuse: 1,819,000. Number of people in U.S. who might still be alive in 1967 except for cigarette smoking: 3,694,000.
AFTER YEARS of hiding out and licking the wounds born out of record-biz blowouts, master guitarist Roy Buchanan, whom guitarists from Garcia to Clapton have called the greatest player around, has returned to activity. Buchanan has been a major stylistic force since the '50s, when his session work on classics like "My Babe" gained him a cult reputation.