Tour de Force of Amsterdam Coffeeshops

The first time I came to Amsterdam, I was on an interrail. I was not there just for the weed, but to be educated.

This time I went for both pleasure and research. This is my own mini-version of “Super High” me…..

Day 1 – Arrival
1. Dampkring.

Tourists passing out.
No hat policy inside. In a backstreet. Hidden. No view. Small. Always full.
OK weed. C5 13 Euros, and super silver haze joint. (Medical Uses: Pain relief, glaucoma, migraines, depression, muscle spasms.) silver haze prerolled. Trippy. Bonghit with C5 (Medical Uses: Depression, glaucoma, migraines, arthritis) hit my throat with bullets of sand paper.

Was tired from little sleep, and the travel. Don’t call it “journey” unless you want to include the journey you take in your mind from one place to another. A flight is just flight. The journey you do in your mind goes way deeper. And further.
Still managed to keep things up. Tried to hit the bong with my C5 (Medical Uses: Depression, glaucoma, migraines, arthritis). Blew me over as I have a sore throat.
Was soon getting euforic. The world outside became distant, yet I was fully aware of all. Longed for a couch, a better company, and better music.

Got the munchies big time. Didn’t eat all day save from a bag of chips on the plane. Went to an Argentinian steak house after some confusion about directions (as normal when high and deliriously hungry).
Had a combo of sirloin and tenderloin.

2. Smokey.

Larger area. More sitting places on the inside and out. View of the sqare. Serves beer as well.
Two prerolled joints. White Widow (hybrid – Medical Uses: Pain relief, arthritis, migraines, nausea, anorexia, diabetes, muscle spasms, anxiety) & 1 Black Bombay (Indica dominant) for sleep later. Was still good and fucked on the other weed. And stuffed from the steaks.
Had two pints and coke. Mind getting weird. Reading Jean Genet. Mind getting weirder. Miss a fucking pen. A girl sitting on the outside reminds me of someone. Someone I once knew closely. Or at least thought I did. Strange lad sitting next to me looking strange on me. “Fuck off” I thought. Trying to read the deeply disturbing pages of Jean Genet.
Got something in common with the old sodomite.
We’re both homeless. Perhaps in more than one way. While he was the “moncule” in any sexual setting, my only sexual pleasure, is the ones I have given myself since 2012. And I’m TRYING to be a writer. Or perhaps already am and I’m trying to escape from it. Even when your’e not putting words down on paper constantly, your mind does. While the brain meat works constantly, even when I’m stoned, there’s a disconnect between the hard drive and the software.
Only booze have at least oiled the machine for a little while. Don’t like the fucking hangovers, and the bloody anxiety that comes with hangovers. Drinking more, only gives me gas, and worse stomach.
Gotta find my mojo. Gotta find it with weed. That’s why I was going to Amsterdam in the first place. Went to Amsterdam, blew my brain meat out, and became a fucking genius.

Went back to the hotel, tired and stuffed. It was rainy and cold…and dark…nothing more…
Toothache came back after going to bed. Went to the reception and got two paracetamols. Smoked a black bombay for maximum effect and sleep.

Day 2.

Rockband coffeeeshop
Bubble Gum (Medical Uses: Pain relief, muscle spasms, asthma, inflammation) – for later tonight.

Amnesia. coffeeshop

1 pre-rolled joint of a house mix of several different strains:
Red Cherry Berry Strain
Pineapple chunk
laughing buddha
amnesia lemon
vanilla kush

1 bag of Liberty Haze – a cross breed of Amnesia Haze & Amnesia Lemon.

Already had my morning splif – a pre-rolled Amnesia House Mix of red cherry berry, pineapple skunk, “N.Y.C.D”, Laughing Buddha, Amnesia Lemon and Vanilla Kush. Most likely randomly mixed together as leftovers…Got in a bit of a writers push. Not yet there, where I need to be.
Now, I had my first tokes of this, and it hit me like a hammer….
I also bought a space cake. I have at least one or two more coffeeshops to visit, with at lest 2 strains to try from each today. This is going to be interesting.
A Journemans Tour de Force through Amsterdams coffeeshops while trying to get his fucking writers mojo back….
It it me like a truck. Two tokes, and my head was going straight into space.
Not for first timers….
Like said, this is foing to be interesting. It’s only my 2nd day here, since I already managed to squeese two coffeeshops in last night and a steak dinner.
This is going to be a long week in clouds of smoke.
Wonder if I have time for a visit to any “useful” places…
I sat at the bar stool all afternoon. Chatted with the nice looking Polish bar girl. We were talking about smoking off course, and finding the perfect spot to get wasted.
Somehow in a context, she said
I’ll smoke a joint with you”. And I cannot even remember bringing it up in the first place.
So I waited to her shift was over. Even though I was getting the munchies. I allready had two cokes, a couple hot chocolates, and a mango juice.
The lst hour before her shift was over, we seemed to connect only for a moment when she turned over and smiled at my direction. Was I back into the flirting game, and just fell into this?
I was ready with another joint of the Amnesia/Lemon mix.
She gave me some pointers to smart shops where I could get some troufles.
After little while, a shared joint, she was tired and went home. I needed meal, and find some other places she could recommend.
As we parted we introduced outrselves to each other by name. She told me she would work on Thursday.
She gave me her name once. In my haze I cannot remember it anymore. At least I could get to know it again in two days.

I found another Argentinian restaurant with expencive steaks a few blocks and a canal way. Not far from a small pearl string of coffeeshops my new friend told me about.
Ordered another tenderloin like yesterday. A beer and a coke.
Chocolate mousse with ice cream and cream with chocolate sauce. Just like when I was a kid, and felt like king on board M/S Sunward 2 in Caribean 20 years earlier.
Irish coffee as an upper.

Bulldog Lounge
Not much. Had Wifi andplug socket.
Didn’t buy anything. Not recommended by my expertese.

The Doors.
Did not have Wifi, or plug socket. Purchased:
Ws recommended, but felt bit stranded, and a bit tired.

Power Plant pre-rolled.
Morisson Haze bag. 80% Sativa, 20% Indica


Mentioned in Best Coffeeshops as well.

Purchased Thai joint.

Set up my laptop. Browsed for a while. Got quickly bored as I puffed away. Strange vibed.
Wanted to go somewhere else. Wanted to feel fresh air. Find another setting. It wq
as getting dark.
Soon I was walking down the canal back towards Amnesia. I realized that I had forgotten my spce cake there. If I was lucky, the nice lady behind the counter would have taken care of it.

She did.
“Excellent. I needed that for a snack before bed” I said to her.
“I thought of the same thing if you didn’t show up”, she smiled back at me.

Releived, I could start searching for the Grey Area. Found it quickly. But it was closed.

Found a tram to either go back to the hotel, or to do one last stop. Me head was swimming in THC. A cocktail of sativa, indica, CBD. A dozen different brands. Some of them not even mentioned here.
Went off after Rembrandtplein. Wanted to find Old Amsterdam as a last stop.
Instead, I saw another blinking sign luring me in it’s direction.
Green House Coffeeshop it said. Soon _I found myself inside in a conversation with the dealer about what strain is good as pain killer, and for sleeping.


Diamond girls. He recommended this for my tooth aches. It has helped him before he could inform me.

Jack Herer. Tons of indica. After a full day stuffing my head meat with psychedelic sativa, it was time for a downer.

Smoked the Jack after coming back to the hotel. Felt the body start feeling heavy. So did my eyelids.

Though, it was a bit hard falling asleep immediately. Started also feeling a bit pain in my tooth.
Went up, went out, and started smoking a few tokes of Diamond girls pain relief. It had almost an immedetiate effect. A bit head high.
Went over to the saved Bubble Gum. This seemed better than Jack, or worked on top of the Jack. Half a joint later, I was ready to crash.

Day 3.

History lesson at the defense museum.
At least one thing I haven’t done before. Though ww2 history seems repetitive after the long run 15 years ago.

Found Old Amsterdam. It was a disappointment vibe wise. Small. A typical drop in place. Not a typical hang out place for either tourists or locals.

Purchased Candy Cush for sleep.

Went back to the Green House and purchased Arjan’s Ultra haze#2.

Ate yet another steak dinner on my way there.


Purchased: Hawaiian Super Pollen and a hash pollum ready rolled for sleep later. They did label each bag with the name of the strain. Which is good, so you don’t have to write it down with a marker that will smear.
Dealer seemed to have this typical hard rock/hippie arrogance towards some young tourists when asking for ID. This guy seems to only respond in due kind – show the bastard you’re not a first timer, and on a mission to gain an ounce of respect. When intros was done, and I have made my choice, I said I would be expecting Stones or Pink Floyd on my return from the steak dinner.
Chatted with some comedians upstairs…

Was chatting with an elderly couple from Arizona. I suggested how funny it is that RWers whine about “big government” and “nanny state” to get out of their lives, but cheer when young black men are going to prison for weed. As they are now FOR big governments, dictating, controlling and imposing what you as an individual can and cannot put in your own body.

420 Cafe. On my way to Baba and the Red Light District, I stumbled upon 420 Cafe.

Neville’s Haze. Rolled up some Candy Cush. and smoked some of the other strains brought with me.

Had internet and power socket.

Day 4:

Tired when woke up. 3 straight days of heavy smoking of the real deal. However much I smoke at home, the quality is never the same.
Found Reefer on my way to Bluebird.

No matter how much I wish, a coffeeshop will never be the same as an Irish pub – in Ireland that is. A mix of the atmosphere and clientelle of an Irish pub, and a trippy Amsterdam coffeeshop would be Nirvana. With Greek prices, and all would be perfect.

What I have learned these days, is that coffeeshops for locals are not much like the local pub, as it is a nearby a convenient store. Or a super market as the dealer at Green House frazed it.

I have also learned the major difference between hashish and weed is indeed the body and mind effect regardless of the THC balance of indica and sativa.
We also react differently to different strains on an individual basis. While some first timers would not feel any effect of the cannabis and never try again, while others “get it” the first time.
Scientifically it’s hard to explain. It seems that the endocannabinoids are not activated for some people, and one would need at least one time to activate these components to feel an effect, while others have this activated allready.

Today, I have consumed a half a medicine for my tooth ache, and one space cake with 1-2 gram of cannabis oil (hashish) before stopping by Reefer Cafè.
I am now smoking Bio Blue Cheese and having a mango juice. They have Wifi and power sockets here. Friendly staff. Only a few minutes walk from Niewmarkt and one minute away from Bluebird. Which will be the next stop before I eventually will try to venture on back to Amnesia for hopefully a little rendevoux before the clock hits 4.

At least I’m wearing sandals today.

Stopped by Newbird for some Sog Kush (which will be smoked now) at Amnesia.

I’m still buzzed from the Hawaiian Haze I finished 15 minutes ago.

I stop by a small coffeeshop with a smoking area. Came by surprise. Considering Bob Marley Smoke. Head on further.
Freeworld is another stop on the way. The coffeeshops seem not to be far between now. I look in, but do have a schedule, and need to get a new 3 day travel pass before heading back to Amnesia to get another impression.

I sit there for a few hours before heading off to the Red Light District…For the first time in 15 years.
Has it changed much? I’m in a constant buzz now. And getting hungry. The one hotdog earlier didn’t fill up much, and wasn’t any good either.
Wanted a Chinese this time. Stopped by Baba. The reviews seemed to be conflicting. With a sort of Hindu theme it’s an amusement park for kids. Or as I frazed it to some Americans earlier that day, the whole city is Disneyland for hippies, freaks and pot heads from around the world – but Americans in particular.
I spent some time there before stopping at another small place
Walked to the end of the street, and turned right at the end of Warmoestraat to the canal and walked towards Oude Kerk.
Place: Feelgood
Purchase: F9 Patent Haze.
Moved quickly on.

Finally I was there. The Mekka of coffeeshops. Bulldog #90. the first. I was very well received when stating my (in some eyes bizarre) errand.
“Welcome home” the doorman greeted me at the door.
The hype. The franchises around town, and another one coming in Colorado, the original bulldog is still a must go to place.
The end of the 4th day was going to be spent in the Vatican for pot heads. The Mecca of hippies. The canal the Ganges for sacred herb worshippers. I did plan to take an early night. I was getting worn out.4 days of blowing my brains out on the best weed, walking around high, getting something to eat, finding the next place to get stoned.
Listening to stories, ending up with self absorbed digressions and reminiscense.
I shared tables with a couple (guy living in London from Jordan, and a girl from Dubai living in Amsterdam), a Belgian lad, and a German).
Throwing out bad jokes here and there.
Doug Benson can blow me.
The company seems excellent. And diverse. I find a place next to the window, between two tables, and other travellers more than happy to strike up a conversation. Some weed are made for this. Spezially the stronger haze types for the intelligent, mature pot head.
The view of the canal was excellent, the conversations from the most clichè (enjoy Amsterdam, where are you from,

Day 5

Smoke Palace

Purchased: All Mighty Ganja

Woke earlier than expected as I was late last night. The THC was still hanging in there. Went out, smoked some medicinal, and it was better. Went up to my room to plan the day.

A sort of long route on the outskirts of the city centre. From Osterpark to Leidsplein.

Are now smoking something I rolled last night for today, and will roll the OMG haze before lunch and moving on.

Plus: have Wifi, and power sockets underneath every single table on the inside.
They say it has pool tables on the inside. Must have changed that now, and have gotten cafè/pub tables instead with wall to wall leather couch, and screens on the wall, where music vids are being played or a selection of 60’s music.

In that perspective, the interior does not match the music flavor. It’s midday, so the place is still quiet.

The haze I rolled last night is starting to kick in. 4 hard days of research. Head is swimming in THC. Some people in Norway would call this an irresponsible drugs binge that will eat up my brain meat. Au contraire. Despite the fact that at times, I feel a bit fried in the mornings, it’s as far as bad as a real hangover from a whisky binge.

And as far as the extended effects on the environment of the two, I have never done or said anything I regret, or should have a reason to regret as I have on booze – or even beer (when the drinking have become heavy).
Just ask some of my ex. girlfriends. If they could only see me now. A bit thinner, new teeth, looks like I’ve gone a few of Dante’s 9 circles of hell, but not a shell of a man with booze running through my vains. Instead, my head is swimming in Sativa and Indica.
I think I have found some excellent strains for writing – to replace the whisky I purchased on my way home from Las Palmas last week.

I’ve started practicing what I preached to my fellow tenants, the insane couple (among others) I shared house with in Dublin not to give a shit.

Smoke Palace:
Very little, and old customer reviews of the place.
Good: Wifi, and wall sockets at each table.
Possible to purchse samples (0.5 grams)

It’s easy to melt in with the weed rolled last nigth to the screens where 60s Motown and Beatles is being played.
So the Amsterdam Tourist Info was right. They have made an effort to acommodate travelers and people with their offices with them.

Bulldog Palace

Took tram #4 5 stops to search for Mellow Yellow. It was closed. Was only open from 6pm to 1am on weekdays and from 7am to 1 am in the weekends.

So I took the next tram to Leidsplein and the mythological Bulldog Palace, situated in what was once a police station. Opened 10 years after the original.

The whole place seem more like a super market, long lines a crowded square and the munchie restaurants with pubs right next.

I didn’t stay there long.

No socket for PC chargers. Smoked a pre-rolled with sativa.

Went to Dolphin down the street. The staff seemed stressed there. It was small, and they seemed equally focused on getting customers seated as to serve the ones waiting at the bar for drinks and smoke.

Internet was down, and no wall socket. The self proclaimed “we’re the best” by one of the staff is not quite correct.

Smoked a small pre-rolled, a White Dolphin strain. Perhaps one of their own.
I was getting restless. Wanted to end my 5th night down by the Oude Kerk as last night. And get a better meal than the crummy whopper meal at Burger King.

I was getting tired. Head meat swimming in THC. Have tried more strains that I can name on top of the shell of my head meat.

Tonight will be an early night.
Found a side street with a small coffeshop and plenty restaurants.
Isn’t that amazing?
Right next to a coffeeshop, you find two steak houses (bragging about having Argentinian steaks), an Italian, a small diner, and a Chinese place.

Or the ingenius cake shop right across from one coffeeshop.

Wanted something different than “Argentinian” steak. My tongue lusted for slithering, while eels going down to the throat. Pasta it was.
Pasta Primo, or Pizza Primo lies right next to one of the roads going from Leidsplein to Rokin that again leads to Dam Square.

But as they say, no pasta is the one mama used to make…

On my way to Bulldog (wanted to relax by the river before heading early back to Rembrandt.

Right in front of me, Kadinsky lay waiting.

Not the most impressive or cosy coffeeshop, but I had to take this oportunity. Purchased Maui Haze in which I rolled immediately for later.

Kadinsky: Maui Haze

Green House Centrum was right at where Bulldog is. It also looked familiar from the last time I was here, and wasn’t alone. It just brushed off of me the last time. I was here on a completely different mission, and from time perspective a hell of a lot important – than to reminiscense from old romantic flings not proving to be worth much more than just that.
Didn’t purchase anything but a hot chocolate and a coke. It was after 8, and I was getting deadly tired. I must have smoked at least some Indica during the day, because my head felt heavy at times.

Found a Smart shop as well. Got some troufles for use tomorrow.

I walked back to the hotel this time.
As someone asking me how much weed I have been smoking, I answered “Who the hell counts anymore! I stopped counting the last coffeeshop I went to.”

For some strange reason, I managed to walk back to the hotel even with a few detours this time as well. Amsterdam takes some time to get used to when you’re high, walking the streets this time, and not melting into a couch at home.

Fell asleep round midnight….

Day 6

Was planning to take the last day off, doing some maritime shit instead. Like going to the maritime museum and visit the old merchant ship.

Woke up early. Started the day with a joint. Went back to my room, while the Sativa was working.
Relaxed a few hours, did some research, and found a string of coffeeshops right across the canal towards Rembrandt plein.
Suddenly there was a change of plans.

It was right back to the dark, smokey shops and cafès in the nearby area to try shit not tried before, and more shops to test their user friendliness.

Hortos De Overkant.
New York Diesel
Pre-rolled hashish.
Right across the brigde towards city center, there’s a small coffeeshop at the corner Muiderstraat and Herengracht.
Follow the canal from there towards Rembrandt Plein, and you’ll get a nice walk after toking up at the shop first.
Got a half a gram of NY Diesel and pre-rolled hashish I cannot remember the name of.

I went this way until I found Sevilla.
White Rhino (pre-rolled indica) weed
Chocoloco half gram weighted.

Cosy little place. Dark interior. Like sitting in a movie theater.
Do have Wifi. Wall socket for charger.
Poor music choice,

Old Church
Jack Herrer. Rolled it there for later.

The Saint (around the corner facing the canal)

Hash specialist.

Purchased: Pre-rolled Maroc
Pre-rolle Amnesia Haze

Have just eaten the magic troufles. It’s 10 to 5 PM. This may seem to become quite an intereseting afternoon. Wandering from coffeeshop to coffeeshop nearby high as a fucking kite on troufles and haze….

Bushdocter: 2gr. minimum, no internet, only one seating table as I saw.

Andalucia. Almost hidden. No internet. Two floors if seats. Dark/grey. Not very inviting.

Maroc pre-rolled.
A medium haze.

Want to find a place to chill, and watch the canal with quiet ambient music in the background.
Balou, Barney’s Lounge and Stix to go, and then I’m done. All within walking distance from Plantage Middenlaan where there’s an option ofmid range priced hotels.

Balou: AK47

From there, you have another Bushdocter. Purchased Blueberry joint. Excellent taste. Hits you good, and make your head meat work again.
Sat for a few minutes enjoying the joint. There is possible to do two things at the same time while smoking weed: walk, find directions, and THINK what’s important in your life and what is not. You are in fact able to do this awful thing government claims they want you to do in school: To Think.

From there, I went to the legendary Barney’s Farm. This is where I have settled down with a hot chocolate and a coke, while smoking the rest of my Blueberry.

On the minus side, they don’t have internet. But have wall sockets. Which is not necessarily bady bad, since you can then focus more on your own shit instead of sniffing on everybody elses shit.
They sell half grams, and it’s not as crowded as the original too close to Central station. And they play Stones, and old punk…

Got some measured Utopian Haze…
Will roll it now. The troufles are supposed to have kicked in. Not easy to say. I’m in a haze already….

I like the environment. Clean. Old. Fresh. Miss some tables on the outside. Outside is a canal It’s like sitting inside a wall, watching a movie be played outside.

Have one more stop.

This seem to have been the most effective day of them all. Managed to lay out a plan this morning instead of just following the guide book, to go directly to the directory with ALL coffeeshops in Amsterdam.

And now, I’m sitting, tripping inside Barney’s on medium strength magic troufles, listening to Stones, smoking something I rolled last night, and about to begin with the Utopian Haze. It’s 7.15 pm. Ziggy Stardust is on.

Have rolled a New York Diesel as I leave….

I’m getting the munchies. And cannot seem to find the last place on the list.
The trip is getting more intense as I sit and wait for my last meal in Amsterdam. Like said, this will be interesting when having my head drowning in Sativa and Indica.

Heard about one girl collapsing outside Barney’s after mixing weed with magic troufles…
I guess she was not prepared. Or haven’t crawled out of Willy Nelson’s beard yet.

How obvious is it?
How will I react? When will the gila monsters crawl out of the woodworks?
The salesman said I should choose a midle strengt, for my experience and a good haze would go excellent together with the 10 grams. And now I hear that some yong chick passes out after a troufle and joint trip?
And the bud tender said “it looks like you’re well into the trip already” with a smirky smile and Scottish accent.
And as on a que, two hours after I ate the damn thing, I got struck. A wave of….something….like a trip to India, and people who’s never been there ask what exactly it is about India.
And we say “you just have to go and see and smell and feel for yourself”…
Is this what this troufle trip is?
Or does it feel like I jave just drunk a case of beer within 10 minutes, and now the effects are starting to kick in?

The lamb was a typical French pot with Spanish Chorizo with red wine sauce. Aren’t I the continental gourmet?
The dessert looked like a piece of art in itself. A chocolate mousse with crocain ice, and orange sauce…

9 months ago I was starving in Athens. With a bone fracture, and jaw fracture, wondering how to get out of there…

Now, I tripping on troufles, smoking my brains out on Amnesia haze, stuffing my gills with lamb with garlic in red wine sauce, and ice cream only a few joint puffs away from Red Light District in Amsterdam….

The place I couldn’t find was almost right next to the restaurant. It looked just like a pharmacy, with an extencive menu. Unfortunately I didn’t take any with me, as I was stashed up on at least 6 different strains already.

The troufles are apparently wearing off.

I’ve found my seat at the Green House by Waterlooplein.

Little did I know until the night before that Green House is somehow linked to Strain Hunters. Some locals travelling around the world to find the best strains from Africa to India and Caribean.
I have 7 joints to finish before I head off to the airport tomorrow.
Most of the indica dominant, so I will fall asleep fast.
In fact, I will enjoy the small walk to the hotell in the dark of night with an indica soothing my fried brain meat.

I have noticed something this week. I have hardly touched alcohol. Only for meals, and the first night, where I had one pint at Smokey’s after my first meal on Monday. Not even a pub crawl had room in my journey into the mists of Amnesia.

Oh, my. How time flies when you’re having fun. It’s been a Disneyland of colors, tastes and smells in psychedelialand.

I’m back at the hotel room. Got 6 joints, mostly pure to smoke before my flight tomorrow.

At least 3 of them heavy on the indica – all hashish. Which reminds me, I must try Temple Hash the next time I’m here.

Day 7


I smoked my brains out last night on hashish and strong indica weed,
Fell asleep around 3am with still 3 joints to go.

I smoked my AK47 before packing my few things and checked out. Wanted to walk the distance to the train station while smoking my shit.
Stopped by Newmarket and Hill Street Blues. There were 3 coffeeshop almost next to each other. Only had time and cash for one stop and something that would keep me going for the next few hours.

Purchased: A super mix of Amnesia, Lemon and Super Silver haze.
Had some of it before heading on with the joint in my hand feeling the surge from the weed, the canals and the fact that I was going home high and stoned like a motherfucker.
Having a Maroc as I write. Sitting at Voyager with a hint of the old travel excitement.
I will finish off with a strong White Rhino. This will be an interesting experience.
As if I have never travelled stoned like a rock before.
But somehow, I wish I could sit on a train, and live only a few hours away. Airports are a hazzle.
George Carlin was right. Airport security is ridicolous. So is prohibition for that matter. But if it wasn’t for prohibition, I would not have come to Amsterdam for this purpose. There would only be a rich history with guided tours around the old Red Light District and hookers to be the extra attraction.

The couple right next to me who missed their flight was trying to do their best to rearrqnge things through internet while they were smoking the doobie.

A couple of women tucked in an old bastard who looked two yers older than Moses declaring to him that the tobacco was bad for him, and to stick with the pure weed instead. They hve just rrived from the “land of the free” to get some legal weed for an oldie who’s been smoking the shit before the ladies were born.

It was hilarious. They have just arrived to feed their old granddad with weed, while I was on my way back to the country of prohibtion with the heavy THC working like a well oiled machine before I headed off to the trainstation ready to meet “Big Brother” again due to people’s fear of uncertainty and adventure when they travel.

They would rather give up their right to carry a bottle of water through security than to have a nasty man blow up a plane with the help of CO2..

What a fucking progress we have, eh?

I’m deliriously happy to actually experience an Orwellian society in action.

I think I will bring with me some weed back to this pre- stonehenge country of stupidity the next time I’m in Amsterdam to take another joyride of the psychedelia of the canals…
My government aqs of these days can go fuck themselves.

And I ain’t going to rest until they have received the THC their brain meat is in such desperate need of…

By the way: I’m toking up right fucking now!!


Profetens Ummah, Zionister og kvasikristne kryptonasjonalister

Jeg har en utfordring til dere. Møt meg alle ansikt til ansikt, og få litt vett banket inn i skallen. Snart vil det gå opp for dere hvor mye dere har til felles. Dere støtter alle vold, undertrykking, meningstyranni, og ”politisk korrekthet” utfra deres egne definisjoner. Enhver dissens blir demonisert av dere. Dere tåler ikke meningsdifferanser. Dere krever monopol på moral der dere på en eller annen måte støtter i praksis folkemord, og påberoper dere en eller annen slags hellig himmelnisses støtte til drap på småbarn. Og når dere begår grusomheter, så skylder dere på ”de andre”. Altså ofrene for dere egen ekstremisme. Bruk gjerne meg som punching ball. Jeg frykter dere ikke. Og i motsetning til Jesus, så vil jeg IKKE snu det andre kinnet til, men heller være litt mer ”,muhammedansk” og ”kristelig” om dere vil utfordre deres egen skjebne og kvapsete verdier.
Derfor tenkte jeg å utfordre dere til det ytterste, og pisse på bibler og koraner og toraer for å bevise at deres ord og bronsealder ideologi ikke er mer verdt enn den urinen som vil farge deres ”hellige” bøker med min uhellige avføring.
Da jeg er prinsipiell motstander av bokbål, så er å pisse på deres ”helligste” det beste man kan gjøre for å angripe deres religiøse fanatisme når kampen egentlig kun dreier seg om en jordskorpe og makt over andre mennesker.
Med andre ord, verken Profetens Umma, MIFF eller noen av disses mildest talt forvirrede disipler er noen kandidater til Gandhi prisen. Om noe slikt skulle eksistere. De eneste som tjener på dritten er våpenindustrien.
ISIL er intet annet enn en gjeng raggete kjøtere som tror de har noen som helst slags koranistisk autoritet til å påtvinge andre. Zionismen er intet annet enn en forlenget utgave av Nazismen. En nazisme som har gitt seg forskjellige utslag både i Amerika, Europa og Midtøsten. Nazismen avgikk ikke med døden i 1945. Den levde videre i beste velgående i Sør Amerika, Washington DC med opprettelsen av CIA, og opprettelsen av Israel med de samme elementene som førte til gasskamrene.
Og til dere av mine landsmenn som kaller dere ”Israelvenner” og ”MIFFere”: dere bør få hodet ut av deres ideologiske og religiøse rectum, og lukte litt på møkka dere sprer. La meg påminne om at staten Israel ble opprettet ved hjelp av disse sosialistene dere gjerne ser gjennomhullet av terrorist-kuler viss opphav er FRP. Et parti som dessverre sitter ved makten i dag grunnet korrupt hestehandel og firing på såkalte prinsipper.
For å si det brutalt:
Jeg er drittlei selvrettferdigheten, hykleriet, og deres suveren forakt for både menneskerettigheter, deres selektive forhold til ytringsfriheten, og mildt talt schizofrene forhold til egne påberopte prinsipper.

Og hva “Profetens Umma” angår, så ser jeg ikke på dere enn noe annet enn en flokk ignorante drittunger som ikke vet hva krig er, og som drømmer om et slags fascistoid storkalifat hvor ignoransen, ufriheten og tyranniet vil råde.

Så kom igjen knehøner!
Jeg vil være hjemme i Norge fra begynnelsen av September, og jeg vil ta imot både hoff og utfordrere. Og i motsetning til min gamle redaktør Shabana Rehman, så frykter jeg dere ikke. Heller burde dere mentalpygmeer frykte meg! Jeg vil være lett å finne. Og jeg vil være lett gjenkjennelig med min irske six-pence, sneip i kjeften, sandaler og Jesus glorie.
Jeg refererer til ”Never Piss Off a Writer” i samme blogg.
Så for å dra en Belfastard utfordring til dere:
”Give me the fucking satisfaction! I will enjoy inflicting some mental anguish and spiritual pain. It’s my specialty. Just ask my ex. wife from Belfast! She gave me plenty!”

Operation Dog Rescue Update

Marco is the first pooch out for a donation. When a poor Bohemian writer can take the economic Liberty of donating a large portion of his small Income, I don’t see why Rich bastards vacating at Club FAT cannot do the same. Yeah, Dag Stiansen! I’m talking about YOU, you old bastard! I don’t know the rest of the Club FAT members I call your peers, but I know you!  And you are no good, but a psycho who would get an outlet for your violent tendencies on 5-year olds!

And now, you have one chance to make commence! Don’t screw this chance up!


I am also happy to see that Shoe now also have a sponsor…


Demagogeri, skremmerier og løgner i BT….

Hvorfor “professor” Rossel ikke bare tar feil, men også hvorfor slikt ikke skal kunne stå uimotsagt…

Jeg kan enten si at dette var en rørete lapskaus av historieløst møl som kun har ekko i det grumsete folkedypet som lar seg lokke av retorikken som rottene til fløytespilleren fra Hamlin, og la det bli med det. Mannen er rett og slett en demagog. Enten en løgnaktig demagog, eller så bør han få skolepengene tilbake.

Eller så kan vi legge til grunn for hvorfor han ikke bare tar feil, men også direkte skivebom på flere punkter. Men slik stemningen er på nettet om dagen, så blir det vel som å kaste perler for svin som kun roter etter de trøflene de liker. Og de liker dem enkle. Som f.eks. “they hate us for our freedom” mantraet som ble spilt etter 9.11 og under oppmarsjen til invasjonen av Irak.

Regner med denne “kristne nestekjærlighetsguruen” er pasifist, var motstander av invasjonen av både Afghanistan og Irak, Obamas droneangrep, tortur, Gitmo, og massiv overvåkning av storebror stat?

Regner med denne kristne “professoren”  i litteratur var motstander av Vietnam krigen?

Allerede i ingressen er det noe som skurrer.

Muslimsk ungdom mer tilbøyelige til vold enn ungdom i samme alder? Siden når?

Mannen har tydeligvis aldri hørt om Tveita-gjengen, Ellingsrud-gjengen eller Rykkinn-gjengen. Han har heller tydeligvis ikke gjort noe annet enn å skumlese noen innandringsfiendtlige blogger, og brukt et eller annet løsrevet sitat fra koranen, og gir ekstremistene legitimitet til deres ekstremisme, som om det er DE som representerer “ekte islam”, og bortforklarer, bagatelliserer den voldelige ideologien kristendommen representerer.

Han tar også rablende feil når han kommer med påstander om at kun islam har en politisk ideologi. I hinduismen er kastesystemet en politisk ideologi som deler samfunnet i grupper som har forskjellige oppgaver.

Toraen i jødedommen er en lovbok som dikterer jødisk lov, altså¨politikk. En lovsamling som har blitt brukt av kristendommen etter eget forgodtbefinnende da denne fikk verdslig makt som varte helt fra Nicea til Opplysningstiden. Ordet “tora” betyr ordrett “lov”. Altså en ideologi!

Han forsøker å gjøre forskjell på Muhammed og Paulus hva ideologi angår. Kristendommen har brukt Paulus skriblerier for sin verdslige lovgivning på lik linje med det Koranen sies å være.

Han sier at religionen kommer først i Islam. Selvfølgelig kommer religionen først når man er religiøs! Spør en kreasjonist!

Hva kommer først i den mannens verden? Hans nasjonalitet? Er det nasjonalisme og eurosentrisme som ligger hans hjerte nærmest? Eller er det litteraturen? Islam er ikke noe større trussel mot et sekulært samfunn hvor religion blir der den hører hjemme, på museum, eller inne i et kott. Islam er ikke noe større trussel mot Hossels kristendom enn hans kristendom var mot den gamle Åsatroen.

Så fortsetter han å drone på “voldsmentaliteten” og snakker om “verdensomspennende islamistisk terror”, som det er noe isolert som dukket opp helt av seg selv? Han snakker om antisemittismen, som om dette er noe som har vært mer dominant innen islam enn hans egen europeiske kristendom.

“dette er et perspektiv som vi kristne bør være stolte av” og skryter av “nestekjærlighestbudet” som noe unikt kristent er en så renspikket løgn at mannen er nesten farlig nær å¨være like fundamentalistisk som en kreasjonist. Mannen er tydeligvis ikke klar over at kristendommen er pr. ideologi, altså via det 1. bud den minst tolerante religionen av dem alle, og har desidert mest blod på¨seg av alle dogmer og ideologier.

Hva religiøs tolerane angår i rene dogmer er dette lett å vise:

De kristne krever at Jesus er den jødiske stammegudens enbårne sønn, og eneste veien til frelse er gjennom en slags førerdyrkelse uten ansvar. Bibelguden er ekslisitt i sin intoleranse med sine første bud. Og den kristne misjonsbefalingen går ut på å gjøre hele verden til Jesu disipler. Her snakker vi om en verdensomspennende tvangsmisjonering med innslag av folkemord i stor skala. Kristendommen anerkjenner ingen andre religioner enn seg selv, aller minst islam, eller hinduismen. Pr. definisjon er hinduismen som den eldste også den mest tolerante religionen, på tross av at Gandhi ble skutt og drept av en hinduistisk nasjonalist.

Islam er en slag sær sekt av kristendommen og jødedommen. En attpåklatt som anerkjenner både kristendommen og jødedommen som eldre slektninger, men med visse forskjeller i troen på mytologien. Kristne anerkjenner ikke jødedommens rabbinisme, og har gitt jødene ansvaret for Jesu død. Jødedommen anerkjenner hverken Islam eller Kristendommen, da de benekter både Jesus og Muhammed som deres Messias. Kristne syter over “islamsk intoleranse” fordi islam nekter for både treenigheten og Jesus som noen guddommelig skapning.

Alle religioner har altså en like mye politisk retning som en åndelig retning.

Det var kristen antisemittisme gjennom historien som førte til Holocaust. Når jøder ble forfulgt av kristne gjennom pogromer, så flyktet mange jøder til det mauriske Spania, hvor det Andalucia var et lærested for vitenskap på en tid da Europa badet i kristen føydalisme og blod. Hadde det ikke vært for at kristne brukte jødene som syndebukker for sin sjefsfrelsers død, så hadde Holocaust aldri ha skjedd. Og nå forsøker mannen å henvise til historiske ubetydeligheter med en ubetydelig mufti i Israel som representant for Islam og dermed medskyldig i det folkemordet millioner av kristne europeere var delaktig i. Og så babler mannen om et møte med en ubetydelig stormufti som om dette viser at islam var delaktig i folkemordet på jødene?

Tror nok det var mange motiver, og mange uhellige allianser på denne tiden. Og dette var på en tid da Zionistene med Stern og Irgun begikk terrorhandlinger mot en palestinsk befolkning som ikke var forberedet på denne masseinnvandringen. Opprettelsen av staten Israel i 1948 var bygget på ruinene av 400 byer og landsbyer som skapte over 700 000 flyktninger hvor mange av etterkommerne av disse lever som fanger i eget land på Gazastripen idag.

“Professoren” glemmer beleilig nok de mange tusen muslimer som kjempet for de allierte i Nord Afrika.

Den kristne intoleransen han mener er sagablott er en like full løgn. Han viser dette i sitt eget grumsete innlegg. Han ser på islamisme som noe isolert, og ser ikke dette i større sammenheng, med skapelsen av Israel (takket være zionismen, og dårlig europeisk samvittighet, hvor palestinerne måtte bøte for de forbrytelsene kristendommen har begått mot menneskeheten.

“Nestekjærlighetsbudet”, eller Den Gyldne regel finner man i alle religioner. Du finner den i forskjellige former i Hinduismen, Buddhismen, Islam, rabbinistisk jødedom, shamanisme, jainisme, ba’hai, taoisme, og konfusianisme. Du finner denne t.o.m. hos ateister!

Hva dagens vold dreier seg om er altså ikke noe isolert som har kommet av seg selv. Vesten har vært innblandet som kolonimakter som tror vi har hatt en slags fødselsrett til å ta oss til rette. USA og UK siklet etter Midtøstens olje siden Mosaddeq. Vi kan ta med i regningen de forskjellige regimene CIA har vært med på å styrte, de regimene CIA har støttet uten å måtte styrte, samt det høyst kristelige korstoget den evangeliske GWB startet i 2003 under full jubel av en nærmest hypnotisert befolkning hvor ALL kritikk og dissens ble nådeløst slått ned på av en republikansk administrasjon som siklet etter krig, og fikk den krigen de ønsket gjennom flere år.

Bush&Cheney åpnet et vepsebol i et kunstig skapt land som nå er i ferd med å falle sammen, hvor ustabiliteten har spredt seg til flere steder i regionen, og neokonsene støtter både den ene og den andre lysskye “motstandsbevegelsen” og regimer.

Og i vesten finnes det mange ungdommer som har blitt mer konservative enn sine foreldre som lar seg lokke til idealistisk krigføring. Alle ungdommer er idealistiske. Og de er lette å lede om man har et enkelt budskap.

Dessverre er ikke dette det samme budskapet som Salman Rushdie eller Ahmadiya forfekter, men en forvrengt versjon av en gammel mytologisk religion tuftet på enda eldre mytologier hvor minst en krever enerett på “guddommelig”, ideologisk og religiøs sannhet, og påberoper seg å være mer tolerant enn alle andre religioner.

Rossel tar nok altså feil på alle punkter, og minner meg om typer som er “overreligiøs i huet”:


10 – Du benekter selv hardnakket eksistensen av tusener av andre religioners guder, men kommer i harnisk når noen benekter eksistensen av din egen gud.

9 – Du føler deg fornærmet og ”avhumanisert” når vitenskapen sier at mennesket har utviklet seg fra andre livsformer, men du har ingen problemer med den bibelske påstanden om at mennesket ble skapt av gjørme.

8 – Du ler av polyteister, men har ingen problemer med å tro på en gud, som egentlig er tre.

7 – Du blir lilla i fjeset av indignasjon når du hører om grusomme overgrep gjort i Allahs navn, men du blinker ikke engang når du hører hvordan Jehova slaktet alle de førstefødte spedbarn i Egypt eller beordret utryddelsen av hele etniske grupper i Jesaia – inkludert kvinner, barn og trær(!).

6 – Du ler av Hinduistenes tro på at mennesker kan bli til guder, og greske ideer om at guder har seg med jordiske kvinner, men du har ingen problemer med å tro på at en Hellig Ånd befruktet Maria, som så fødte en “menneskegud” som ble drept, men som livnet til igjen og deretter fløy til himmels.

5 – Du er villlig til å bruke livet ditt på å lete etter smutthull i den etablerte vitenskapelige alderen på kloden (4,55 milliarder år), men du ser ikke noe problem med å tro på en datering fastsatt av noen stammefolk fra bronsealder som satt i teltene sine og gjettet på at verden var sånn ca noen generasjoner gammel.

4 – Du tror at alle menneskene her på jorden, bortsett fra de som deler akkurat din tro – minus naturligvis rivaliserende sekter – vil tilbringe evigheten i et evig brennende Helvete, og likevel ser du på din religion som den mest ”tolerante” og ”kjærlige”.

3 – Mens moderne vitenskap, historie, geologi, biologi og fysikk ikke har klart å overbevise deg om det motsatte, så vil hvilkensomhelst idiot som ruller rundt på gulvet mens han ”taler i tunger” være alt du trenger som ”bevis” for at din religion er sann.

2 – Du definerer 0.01% som en ”høy suksess rate” når det gjelder å bli bønnhørt, og du anser det som tilstrekkelig bevis på at bønn fungerer. Og du mener ar de resterende 99,99% gangene hvor du ikke ble bønnhørt som ganske enkelt ”Guds vilje”.

1 – Du vet faktisk mye mindre enn de fleste ateister og agnostikere om Bibelen, Kristendommen og kirkehistorie – men du kaller deg likevel en ”Kristen”.

Tilbake til forrige

Et godt råd deg Stossel: Bruk tiden din til å analysere forfatteres tegnsetting og ordvalg framfor å gjengi noe sprøyt som kunne ha vært snytt ut av “Gates of Vienna”, eller Worldnet.Daily…


Operation dog rescue -“MY” 10 dogs – In Memory of Ol’ Boy and every dog I have known

Whatever indifference, or cause of pain to our best friend committed by people, they are likely to do the same to human beings.

I have been hungry. I have been alone. I have had to fight. I have been homeless. I have been locked up. I have been rejected. I have lost someone I love. I know what these dogs have been going through.

Whenever I start getting an ounce of faith in humanity and decency, I’m bound to get disappointed. I just hope Shoe won’t ever get that experience again.



“Dog SHOE was saved from a villager. This man kept SHOE since the dog was 5 months old, tied in a chain, inside his house’ basement. Poor dog didn’t saw for years the day light, didn’t smell fresh air. When we rescued him, we noticed the “strange” walk – SHOE forgot how to walk on grass.

As devastating as his story sounds, SHOE is ready to move on and forget. Lately, he made promising steps forward and trust every person at the large shelter”

I just hope that you can forgive quicker than me boy. I wanted to send you a gift, but has been stopped by some bad people. It’s like when you were in the basement, hoping for a kind word, and a soft hand a long walk, play and a treat instead got a boot, and some rotten leftovers. But don’t worry. We’ve weathered storms before. And now, you are my cause. One of my causes. One of the many fates and tragedies that needs to be mended, and you can live out your lives the way it’s meant to be.

And then there is Nabi.


This is her story.

“Nabi means “Butterfly” in Korean. In order to give a name to hundreds of dogs that need to be advertised on the website , dogs that keep coming and going into forever homes….we should use our imagination and be really inventive!

I called this white, female dog Nabi because I searched for a soft, inspirational name. To match the real story of her life:

Nabi was rescued from the steel plant surroundings, together with 2 other females dogs. They all had 3 bigger and 6 smaller babies. They made no trouble sharing the kennel space, from the very beginning. Actually, they made a habit to nurse their babies together.

Nabi is the weakest dog from all the three moms. She is overprotective and extra careful with all the babies, including those who are not hers.

Nabi and her puppies would have been most certainly dead by now, if she wouldn’t be rescued. In many ways, she lives now a totally different life than before.

There are many female dogs like Nabi across Romania. One of my greatest fears, as a human being, is to be powerless and couldn’t be able to help the ones I love.

Many moms like Nabi watch powerless how their babies die. Many of them lost their lives while trying, starving, to hunt something to keep them and their families alive.

Many got deadly injured in dogs’ fights, trying to protect their babies or were abused by heartless people.

There is something that makes Nabi story special: When rescued, she had a problem to one of her front legs. Usually, these types of problems represent a top priority for our team but in this case, we had to consider that Nobi is nursing the babies and if we tranquilize her, her role of “mother” must put on hold for a short while.

As always, ROLDA supporters were receptive to cover Nabi special needs, which included extra-protein, diet food, the leg’ surgery and post surgery treatment,the sterilization.

Nabi and her puppies reminds us how important the sterilization is. We should also think about thousands of dogs like Nabi that don’t get medical help, or food – they die nameless, hopeless and isolated, treated like garbage by an indifferent society.”

I was going to limit my 1st contribution to 10, but this little lady melted my heart. Beaten, battered, and having pups to protect is not an easy task for anyone, having to trust humans again is a chance to take. Somehow to let her know that there are someone who loves her and her pups, and want to make them feel safe and happy.

And then there is Marco. My child hood hero. Travelled half around the world, and wrote about it.

“MARCO was rescued from the Smardan, a village located nearby Galati and transformed into a “perfect place” to dump unwanted dogs (e.g. former pets abandoned by their owners).”

Dump a dog, just like you’re dumping a used dish washer, or old socks, right? Dumping little Marco is the same as dumping the legacy of Marco Polo.  In my world, this is sacrilege.

Or send him to the pound for euthanasia because of barking. As an Atheist (and Buddhist), I still may have some of that baby Jesus child like faith in me. That little boy who couldn’t stand injustice. Now, I’m still with the poor, the down trodden, and ostracized. I have walked down that path before, and see it and feel it every single day I can stand walking among humans, or get into tear mode watching rescued pooches get well again.

Not long ago, SVEN was a stray. I can only imagine how a stray life is.

I’d call him Tip. He reminds of a Collie I had as a best friend during my year as an exchange student on a one animal farm in fundie land Kansas by that name. Whenever, I had a rotten day at school, he’d always be there to make me feel better. When I was having knee issues after football season, and needed to rehabilitate, and start taking walks again, he’d follow my across the fields on the farm I lived on. He would guard over my jack rabbit catch when I went hunting. No animals, just the corn fields, and the farm dog my old buddy Tip and wild game by the creek.

It’s just sad SVEN doesn’t like cuddles or treats yet. It must have been something in his past and his endless days, weeks, months, even years as a stray not trusting anyone but yourself. I know there is a cuddly boy underneath there somewhere. He just need the right and willing person to show him how.

Gonco has his own YouTube clip as well.  Switch out the ‘C’ with a ‘z’, and you got Dr. Gonzo. One of my favorite American writers.

“GONCO was saved as a puppy. He grew up in our shelter and transformed into a wonderful, adoptable boy.GONCO’s dream is to be adopted by an active family, with kids.”

I may be a single veteran (from Bosnia 93) with a broken heart still in Belfast, but maybe Gonzo could mend that, and help me found a new family, including kids. Ah! A man can dream. Even the most cynical of us can dream. When you hear a whimper from some dump in the middle of the night from a dog, it’s the dog crying over a long lost love, or the dream of getting cozy and loved at least once in life.

BEAR means Bamse in Norwegian.

I am quoting Bears story from the site.

“Not long ago, BEAR was a stray. I can only imagine how a stray life is. We, humans, might feel stress about getting a better job or getting a loan to take a new car. These animals are stressed to survive day after day. To hunt for little food, to avoid imminent dangers. No wonder many of strays who get less and less contact with aggressive people are transformed into semi-wild animals.Our modern cities are for these dogs a jungle in which they are busy to survive. It is completely humans fault for these dogs presence on streets and somehow, it should be our responsibility to deal with them humanely.”

Who knows how long time he’s been out there? Has he ever felt the warmth and love from a family he can call his own? I do not know. Until they are groomed, and named, washed, and given food and medicine, most stray dogs might just seem to be a nuisance in traffic for most people it seems. And for some, they mean even less than that when promises broken have only been done by humans.

I would choose Bear due to his age. And rename him to his Norwegian name. As I am a traveler, now home, that travel bug might still kick in. In the meantime, I or someone could give this old boy some happy remaining days until he passes on. Imagine your grand parents being kicked out on the street after they are “productive” anymore.

VINCENT is just van Gogh for me.

It’s also a memory from my Belfast years as I came as close to family life as I have ever been.  Belfast Vincent was the son of an old girlfriend of mine at the same age when I met  him. I fell in love with them both during my first 6 months in Belfast working for Microsoft. Both he and his mom inspired me to write “Birds, the Bees & a Bottle of Whiskey” after a breakup. I miss them both.  Vincent seems to be the wee fella who can shred old dark clouds to pieces or perhaps spread some sunlight in someone’s life.. Whomever that lucky person might be. He certainly looks up for the task…


Seriously? Fluffy? Might as well call the little fella “Timmy”… or Tiny Tim

Somehow, I have always had a soft spot for both big and small, but definitely the “wild looking” dog. Fluffy are one of the many who needs a sponsor and ultimately a parent or two to look out for him.


Choosing between so many beautiful young ladies is as difficult as choosing one at a harem. She could whisper in my ears and charm the girls for me and do all the job while I will get a reason to smile and laugh everyday again. Ever heard of a happy writer without a companion?


It had to be a German Shepherd as last. First I ever remembered as a small child was a female German in one of my uncle’s family called Bianca.  Who better to understand a semi old fart and his problems than a chum his own age. It would be to reminiscence with an old pal you only just met and will have a friendship with until last breath and longer.

I will let Sarah Brightman call out their need, and thousands of more pending an unnecessary, painful and lonely death…

So! 40 quid per character was and still is my goal. All I have to do is to make my own “owners”, the company who was supposed to pay me for work done, and are now more aggressive than fighting dogs on a leash. Don’t worry fellas and lady. Something will come. I have gone through enough myself not to give up entirely on miracles.

All I have to do is to deal with some bad people. I have dealt with the kind before. I will still chase them and name them as long as they insist on acting on power and force.

There are plenty more doggies to choose from people! Something for every taste. As cute as pups in the store are, you will see something different in the eyes of a stray dog finding his or her home. I cannot understand it. Buying and selling dogs as if they were some commodity? It’s like selling babies on the open market!

Kicking out or abandoning your dog is like abandoning your own child, or breaking up with someone. Both have happened. So, dogs will also be kicked out and have a broken heart from our follies, selfishness and prone to cruelty and indifference.

And it disappoints me that a country calling itself “Christian” can do what it does to it’s dogs. Not surprising. But…Disappointing. It seems to me the Romanian people or at least its power and church are more interested in dressing up and worshipping idols than actually to walk the road given to them by their savior. Go to church on a Sunday. Join a rally on Monday. Get sacked on Tuesday. Kick a dog that same day…And blame the immigrants and Gypsies!

But I have a message to those people, Well, Johnny Cash has a message to those people…


To last, I have a challenge to the rich man who now calls himself Stian Stiansen.  Call yourself animal lover? When living off the hard work of others who pay their rent monthly, it’s easy to play “anthroposophy” when it’s peanuts and pocket change you put in your little hedge fund also called “Foundation”. It’s the rich mans way of washing away some guilt.

Now, read the whole thing again WITH the music!



Imagine… A stray dogs tale and last wish.

What it’s like living from day to day, struggling with getting something to eat, something to drink, while constantly fearing for your safety all alone. Imagine to have your whole world being taken away from you by a family you thought loved you, and suddenly find yourself in a place where dangers might lurk around the next corner. Getting something to eat have suddenly become an issue.

The dangers are many. Other dogs, human beings, traffic, diseases….

This is what has inspired me lately to not stay silent anymore and start talking again.

Your “crime” may that your owners kicked you out.

“I’m trying to do my best. You were my entire existence. I would have given my life for you. I let your kids drag my ears. Sit on me. All I wanted was a place to sleep, not having to worry about my next meal. Then I got sick. Tormented by my owner who no long cuddled if he ever did, but comes with lashes and punches. Now, I don’t know where I’m going. Some mean people threw rocks at me. The big cars are scary. I run. I panic. I meet bigger, meaner dogs having lived out here longer than me. I’m so tired and hungry. Where’s my bed? Why am I not home with mom and dad getting cuddled before bedtime about now?”

Many dogs who ends up on the street are there because their owners were cruel even before they kicked the little one out. Some of them have been living their entire life on the street without knowing what it is like to have a home. Some may have vague memories about thus, and cries about it in loneliness.

Most dogs die in a kennel, or outside somewhere no one can find them. Without having the chance to know what it’s like to fall asleep in your moms or dads arms, getting treats, long walks, cuddles, toys and tom foolery games with someone to love them and care for them.

This video made me all cry for the first time since I became “stray” myself.

You know how awful it is to be hungry, sick – and have nobody there to care for you? To have an itchy sensation spreading all over your body and can do nothing about it?

You cannot ask for help, as you don’t speak the human language – you can’t even cry loud your misery, as there is nobody there, near you to care!

All these sound horrible – It’s not something you’d wish for your family, or for anyone else you know. You and I both don’t want these awful things to happen in our community. Sadly, where I live, thousands of dogs are freezing during winter, or getting dehydrated during hot summer days. They suffer in misery, hungry, alone. Their bodies are often too weak to fight even minor infections.

Even after 3 days, I still have a lump in my throat<a href=”.


This is not a unique story. This drama, this tragedy is being played out on a daily basis while humans play politics, and capitalism in their lives. This dog had at least someone with him when he drew his last breath.

Some dogs make it. Most don’t.


Our ancestors bred dogs for help and companionship. Even some the most mass murdering monsters in history had a four legged pooch. So I wonder how anyone can just walk by and not give a damn about someone weaker than you, made for them treat their best friend this way?

I am not to answer this, since this would be a study in pathological psychopathy.

I am here to get others open their eyes as this clip and many others have opened mine. I guess I feel more like the downtrodden. Maybe some memories from my last ten years have started to catch up with me.

Sponsor a dog.  Help save a life!

I have found 10 dogs I will sponsor as soon as the proceeds from my latest translation comes in.  400 Euros of my 700 Euro payment will goThat is if Linguafield and Natalia Arriba will still have the privilege to call themselves human with an ounce od honor…

I will keep you posted on this! Because something went wrong, and now they are up in hysteria, and makes me worried about having to postpone to go through with sponsoring some wonderful dogs and perhaps adopt one. They are about to find out what it’s like to piss off  writer by screwing him!





What’s wrong with Greece?

If anyone thought that Ireland was in trouble, Greece is fucked. Weekly, there are demonstrations against austerity, termination of public jobs, cuts in salaries, raising taxes while more and more people resort to the streets as beggars and lottery ticket salesmen. Violence, attacks, Golden Dawn, and corrupt politicians and bankers exporting the country’s wealth one Euro at a time.

Golden Dawn MPs are blocking any attempt of making the shipping industry paying their fair share. While their foot soldiers are harassing street vendors for not being Greek. Multinational companies who use their employees and toss them away like old shoes if not everything is PG at all time, referring them to an unemploymence office who demand the impossible, while forcing the unemployed to go hungry for months before they receive a dime – a symbolic sum of 360 Euros a month.

If I wasn’t stuck here, broke, beaten, battered, robbed, and added insult to injury by an employer who seem to not take their responsibility seriously, I would perhaps enjoy the silence before the storm, getting my camera ready to cover the story, to take pictures of a country imploding by it’s own weight, and a public who lose their rights day by day to an increasingly cynical elite – read “job creators”….

I would continue to name names as I go, but one of my readers reacted to my last article, indicating that burning bridges is not a good idea.
Burning bridges?

I didn’t choose to write this story. I was forced to under difficult circumstances, getting an outlet of my frustrations.
And anyone who knows me, knows that it’s an equally bad idea to piss off a writer. Tread on me, and I bite. And I don’t take prisoners.

This Friday, there will be a 6th December demonstration in Exarchia. They will commemorate a police killing of a 15 year old kid back in 2008. I think I will bring my camera., and witness the forthcoming protest that will most surely end up in violence. as the previous years.