Tag Archives: bureaucracy

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Blog Prompt 6-7/8ths

Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

This prompt reads like it was composed by a Taylor Swift fan, or a MAGA hat speech attendee.  If it is entirely uninteresting, how could it possibly connect to my life??  Okay, here goes….

Back in January of last year, an ostrich farm in British Columbia had three or four of their flock die because of avian flu.  The owners destroyed the diseased birds, and there was no further indication of infection.  Around the first of August, the inappropriate government agency, working at the breakneck speed of smell, notified them that they had to euthanize the balance of a 3000-bird flock.  Appeal is still pending.

Watch how I string this together, like beads on a necklace.

I have attended several Renaissance Faires.  One of the few, historically-accurate foods sold, are entire, roast, turkey legs.  One of those will keep a normal adult male busy all afternoon – or a hyperactive kid about ten minutes.

Vendors would need larger roasters/smokers, and the captive-audience price could break the food budget, but a whole, roast ostrich leg could feed a family of four or five.

I had one emu burger at a French-fry wagon.  It tasted like chicken – ‘cause everything tastes like chicken –at twice the price.

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Government By The People – And Some Weirdoes

In honor of “The Donald” Trump, here’s a list of the folks who rule us – or would like to.

ADHOCRACY – a committee formed ad hoc to deal with a specific issue.
ARISTOCRACY – a government or state ruled by an aristocracy, elite, or privileged upper class.
AUTOCRACY – government in which one person has uncontrolled or unlimited authority over others; the government or power of an absolute monarch.
CHRYSOCRACY/PLUTOCRACY – Rule by the rich
CLEPTOCRACY/KLEPTOCRACY – a government or state in which those in power exploit national resources and steal; rule by a thief or thieves.
COTTONOCRACY – Cottonocracy refers to planters, merchants, and manufacturers who control the cotton trade.
DEMOCRACY – a state of society characterized by formal equality of rights and privileges.
DEMONOCRACY – Theology – power of, or rule by, demons.
DESPOTOCRACY – The rule by a despot or despots; the power of despots
DOLLAROCRACY – Dollarocracy refers to a state in which private wealth determines the base of political power. It is synonymous with plutocracy
DOULOCRACY/DULOCRACY – A government where servants and slaves have so much license and privilege that they domineer
ERGATOCRACY – rare government by the workers
GERONTOCRACY – a state or government in which old people rule.
GYNAECOCRACY/GYNECOCRACY/GYNOCRACY/GYNARCHY – government by women.
HAGIOCRACY – government by a body of persons esteemed as holy.
HIEROCRACY – rule or government by priests or ecclesiastics.
ISOCRACY – a government in which all individuals have equal political power.
KAKISTOCRACY – a form of government in which the worst persons are in power
MEDIOCRACY – government or rule by a mediocre person or group.
MERITOCRACY – leadership by able and talented persons.
MILLOCRACY – Rule or government by mill owners
MOBOCRACY/ OCHLOCRACY – the mob as a ruling class
MONOCRACY – government by only one person; autocracy.
NOMOCRACY – government based on the rule of law rather than arbitrary will, terror, etc
PANTISOCRACY – a community, social group, etc, in which all have rule and everyone is equal
PEDANTOCRACY – the supremacy or power of bookish theorists
PHYSIOCRACY – an 18th-century group of French economists who believed that agriculture was the source of all wealth
PLANTOCRACY  – a ruling class of plantation owners
PORNOCRACY – government or domination of government by whores
PTOCHOCRACY – government by the poor
PUNDITOCRACY – influential media pundits, (a learned person, expert, or authority).collectively.
QUANGOCRACY – the control or influence ascribed to quangos
SLAVOCRACY – the rule or domination of slaveholders
SNOBBOCRACY/SNOBOCRACY – social class or group exercising power through snobbish influence or elitist control
SQUATTOCRACY – squatters collectively, regarded as rich and influential
STRATOCRACY – government by the military
TECHNOCRACY – a theory and movement, prominent about 1932, advocating control of industrial resources, reform of financial institutions, and reorganization of the social system, based on the findings of technologists and engineers.
THALASSOCRACY/THALATTOCRACY – dominion over the seas, as in exploration, trade, or colonization
THEOCRACY – a form of government in which God or a deity is recognized as the supreme civil ruler, the God’s or deity’s laws being interpreted by the ecclesiastical authorities.
TIMOCRACY – a form of government in which a certain amount of property is requisite as a qualification for office.

Did you see anyone you recognized??

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Fibbing Friday #301

Some of the words on Pensitivity101’s list last week might be repeats.  I will do my best.

1. Verklempt

That’s how you have to hold your legs, when you really, really, really have to pee, but the bathroom is in use.  How long a minute is, depends on which side of the door you are on.

2. Vittle

It’s a new brand of dog treats that was recently released to the general public, now that the Queen’s Corgis are no longer the main customers.

3. Vuvuzela.

That’s the country that Trump just invaded as a posterity project.  Now that he has ousted its tyrannical dictator, he may have to move down there to live, because the American courts have repossessed Mar-A-Lago, and the Trump Tower for non-payment of his felony fines.

4, Vexillology

That’s the subtitle of Trump’s new book, How To Piss Off Everybody, Everywhere, All The Time.

5. Velociraptor

The lead-foot, red-neck neighbor, and his intelligence-deprived, hillbilly friends and relatives leaving the area.  SCUUHREECH!!!  There’s more tire rubber on the pavement than inside a Goodyear factory.  You’d think they were runnin’ from the law.  Uhh….  Wait a second….  😮

6. Vamoosinator

That’s my cousin Melvin, at a restaurant.  The waiter drops the bill, and he suddenly remembers that he has an appointment at the Optometrist, to get his eyeballs rotated.

7. Vicissitude

The act or condition of being a timid or cowardly person – a baby, chicken, coward, cry-baby, jelly-fish, namby-pamby, pansy, panty-waist, pushover, wimp, or wuss.

8. Voce

This is actually the completion of Caesar’s famous Veni, Vidi, Vici statement, meaning “I came, I saw, I conquered.”  This means, “I brag about it!”

9. Vagary

This is homeless people living in abandoned buildings, empty fields, and under bridges.  I feel sorry for them, but it’s a growth industry.  I blame bureaucrats.  They claim that they are throwing money at the problem, but they ensure that a lot of it sticks to their salary – their department – their staff.  😮

10. Verbose

It’s a sugar that is produced by the over-use of action words.  It tastes like Library.

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Self-Rejection

I have been content to have been saddled with the second-most common – and boring – surname in the English language.  Others have not been so lucky, or accepting.

Many years ago, a young female co-worker had married a Lithuanian-Canadian named Butkevicius.  He felt that the name was too long – too complicated – too confusing to others – too…. European??  He wanted to change it to something shorter, easier.  In all naivety, and with no sense of irony, I suggested he change it to something like “Butkus.”  She replied, “That’s what his American cousin, the football player, did.”  They were related to Dick Butkus, but still hadn’t changed their surname, the last time I saw her.

I was hired to replace a man who had given his two-week notice.  His name was Scheibelhoffer, which, strangely, translates as someone hoping for discs.  Back in the days of paper checks, he complained that it took two, for him to sign his name.  He wanted to become simply ‘Hoffer,’ but found that government bureaucracy, with forms, and fees, and warrants, and applications, made it too expensive.  While accepted as a German name, it’s actually more likely to be Austrian, where polysyllabic names like Schwarzenegger and Lautenschlager are common.

A girl named King moved from Newfoundland to our German host city, and soon married a perpetual child named Detwiler.  Even after getting married, and siring a son, on most fair-weather weekends, he would be building and racing go-carts. She came home one Sunday evening, after a weekend visit to an aunt, to find a $3500, full-size, fully functional replica of Dr. Who’s Dalek in the living room.  The divorce could not come too soon.

She wanted to be separate, not only from him, but his name, and any impending bankruptcy, but, like the guy above, she found that going back to her maiden name through the courthouse, would cost $750.  She was already seeing a new man when she told me of her problem.  I suggested that the new romance might solve it.  Sure enough, just over two years from the divorce, she married a mature mechanical engineer who earned 2 or 3 times what we did, and got the new surname, Johnson, for the cost of a marriage license.

The German-Canadian family of a co-worker named Fischer, became an English-Canadian family named Fisher, during WW II – even here in a German city, once named Berlin.  😮

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Anarchy Inc. – Battling Bureaucracy: Episode VII

I’m licensed to drive for another two years.  You’ve been warned!  Lay in your supply of Xanax.

I passed my 80-year-old retesting examination.  My fears have been allayed.  It was even easier than I hoped, but there were the inevitable Government administration SNAFUs.  I received a form from the DMV, with a covering letter.  It said that I was required to watch a short, online movie.  I thought that it might be instructional, but it was just a little rah-rah piece about keeping our highways safe.  No-one ever asked me to prove that I’d viewed it.  I guess it’s assumed that local Mennonites who drive cars, must also have internet access.

The cover letter said that I could book my appointment online, or with a toll-free number, which I chose, and talked to a real, live, refugee who could barely speak English.  The Government form had all my information – name, address, phone number and license number – and a blank line at the bottom where I was instructed to write in day, date, and time.  I was given a 1:00 PM slot, which I dutifully wrote in, and the wife entered it in her cell-phone calendar.

On the day, we arrived at 12:50.  There was a sign saying that there was no receptionist, have a seat and wait, and I would be called.  There were seven people in the waiting area, adult children waiting for mothers and fathers.  There was a group in the examination room.  Conversation revealed that they had a 12:30 appointment time.

One o’clock came – 1:05 – finally, the examiner lady began releasing them one at a time, every few minutes.  After the third or fourth, the wife asked when I would be taken in for my 1:00 o’clock time slot.  “Oh, all the one o’clock people are already in there.”  Obviously not!!  “Well, I’ll finish with this group, and take you in alone.”  Apparently, the session was scheduled for 12:30, but a few of us, both online, and with a live clerk, were told 1 PM.  Those Oners who arrived early enough, were taken shortly after 12:30

The letter said to present my plastic, credit card license, and the mailed form.  I handed them both to her.  She was surprised with the license.  Apparently, I was the only one who had it handy.  She had to ask each of the others, and wait till they dug it out.  She swiped it through a reader on her computer, and handed me the paper form back.  “All your data is on here.  I don’t use that.”

She had me look into a VR headset kind of thing.  At the bottom there were seven numbers.  I quickly read off the first five.  With the divot in my right eye, I wasn’t sure of the last two.  I pulled my head back slightly, and turned it, so that the left eye could confirm – the same ‘averaging’ system I use in real life.  Then she activated some peripheral-vision lights on each side – nowhere near as complex as the ‘range of vision’ tests I have to do at my eye doctor’s.

Then it was on to art class.  I was given a sheet of paper, a pencil, and told to draw a clock – round(ish) circle, dot in the center, 12 numbers in their proper places, and hands set at 11:10.  She gave me five minutes to complete it.  A bit shaky, but I was done in less than one.  The entire test only took five minutes.  Now I just have to look forward to repeating it every two years.  Look out, Captain America!  Here we come.

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Fantastic Fibbing Friday

Pensitivity101 had a bit of fantasy last week. What can you come up with for these?

  1. Whose home planet is Skaro?

Al Capone.

  1. What would you expect to find in Dinotopia?

Chicken broth, shredded chicken breast, chopped leeks, and small potato cubes.  This soup is so good, it not only cures the common cold, it’ll cure COVID.

3. Who was born on Krypton?

All the code-breaker nerds who work for the American NSA, and the British GCHQ.

4. Where can you find Plutonium?

In my toilet bowl after a shit and stink sit and think session, following a feed of nachos.

5. What colour blood would a Martian have?

The Martian was a red-blooded American astronaut who, as in most American movies, triumphed against impossible odds.

6. Whose home planet is Gallifrey?

The newly-hired non-human, full-time chef on Dr. Who’s TARDIS.  A hedgehog from the Medusan Galaxy, with his superior senses of smell and taste, he can whip up an omelet or paella that will make your taste buds weep for joy.

7. Whose home world is Eternia?

These were the evil aliens who drafted the service protocols for all Government offices.  You stand in line, to be allowed to stand in a different line.  Just as you reach the service counter, your clerk slaps down a sign which reads, This wicket is closed.  Please stand in line.  If you do manage to sneak up on a clerk, they will demand a document that you don’t have, and possibly does not exist.

8. What was the Hyborian Age?

That was when the Czechoslobovian kid across the street could finally have a pint in the pub – legally.  His older brother, Tibor, has been gibing him for two years, and his younger brother, Jawor wants to use the Gregorian calendar.

9. Where would you find Pellucidar?

In any of Donald Trump’s speeches – half obscurity, half outright lies, half boasts and brags, half egotistic narcissism, and ALL buffalo manure.  Any clarity or truth is purely coincidental.

10. What is Thedas?

Like sand through the hourglass of time, these are Thedas of our lives.
This was a long-running American soap opera, mostly for bored housewives with no lives of their own.  I scrolled through on a Monday, and someone was leaving the room.  I happened back on the Friday, and the door was just closing.

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Happy Birthday John E.

A funny thing happened on my way to the Post Office.  It wasn’t there.  😳

I sent John Erickson, who litters decorates my blogposts with witty comments, a birthday present.  His actual birthday is still over four months away, but I was using the Canadian, metric calendar, and got my conversions mixed up.  I sent BrainRants a birthday present some years ago, and there were very few repercussions, so I thought I’d risk it again.  Since it was by surface mail, TSA didn’t get involved.

The daughter’s bestie likes to buy the occasional commemorative coin from the Canadian Mint.  She claims that she only intended to buy one, but wound up with two coins medallions, celebrating the life of Queen Elizabeth II.  Since she knew that I was interested in coins, she gave one to the daughter to pass on to me.

While I am ‘interested in coins,’ I am interested in mostly foreign coins.  Even though this is a magnificent artifact, it is neither foreign, nor a coin.  It has no face value.  It is a medallion.  If I kept it, it would only languish in a box.  I thought of John E.  Despite being an American, marooned in the wilds of Ohio, he is a greater – finer, Anglophile, Royalist, and Elizabethan than I ever could be.  When Elizabeth died, he wailed so loudly that, “My Queen has died!!” that I thought he was talking about his wife.  I decided to send it to him as a surprise present.  I put it in a bubble-pack mailer, added a cover letter, and headed for the post office.

In Southern Ontario, Canada Post has a sorting and shipping depot in every large urban area.  All of the other Postal Services, they have abdicated to branches of the most populous pharmacy chain, as well as some selected convenience stores.  Certain clerks are supposed to be trained to Canada Post levels, on Canada Post protocols and procedures.  I have a pharmacy nearby, but I was headed for the Wal-Mart out on the Golden Mile, so I went to the drug-store next to it.

Some of the stores are mirror images of each other.  I marched in to the left-rear corner.  Hmmm, cosmetics.  I grumpily stomped over to the right-rear corner.  Grrr!!, vitamins.   Where in Hell is the postal outlet???  A clerk told me that they are the only branch which does not host one, and she had no idea why not.  The one by my house is nearer but, “If you’re going to the XXX Plaza, on the other side of town, there’s a store over there with a postal outlet.”

By coincidence, we were headed for that plaza, to reap savings on grocery sale prices.  This damned inflation is eating better than I am.  While the wife grocery-shopped, I walked over to the pharmacy and stood in line – and stood in line – AND STOOD IN LINE!!  That part of Postal Service, they have mastered.  The woman in front of me had a mailer identical to mine.  She finally stepped forward, handed it to the ‘Postal’ clerk, asked that he check that it was ready to go, and to please apply sufficient postage.  It was judged okay.  $2.08 later, she was on her way.  I stepped up, handed the same clerk the same mailer, and asked for the same thing – check that it was ready to ship and apply postage.  $2.08 later my little package was on its way.

I excitedly waited for an email from John, that the parcel had arrived….  Two weeks later, I went to the community mailbox to pick up my own mail, and there was my mailer back again.  It had a Canada Post sticker over my address label, with three little boxes – all checked.  Insufficient postage – Incorrect label – This service not available in this country  W.T.F!!?

The next day, I went to a convenience store.  It’s a bit farther than the pharmacy.  The people who run the store, and the Postal Outlet, are recent immigrants, but I’ve used them before, and feel confident.  I handed the clerk the package and asked what was wrong with it, and how could I correct any problems.

Three check marks – three lies!!  I had sufficient postage, but I was also expected to pay for a Customs Declaration of value.  My address label was correct, but I was expected to add the Customs label, because…. The country that didn’t provide the service was the USA.  “You’ll have to send this as a small parcel.”  “What the Hell is in your hand, if it’s not a small parcel??”  “Well, it needs the Customs sticker added to it.  How much is it worth??”  I received it as a present.  I don’t know!?

I guessed at $29.95 Cdn, hoping that John would not have to pay duty on it when he received it.  If he did, I should have guessed $9.95.  How much for the Customs sticker?  $10.00, do you want it traced??  I didn’t trace it the first time.  How much to trace?  “Only another $5.00.”  Screw that!  If it don’t arrive, I just won’t tell John I tried.

When I got home, and told the wife what had happened, she innocently said, “Well, we could have driven it down.”  Are you saying that we might go on a trip?  Further adventures may ensue.  😀

Four days later, I got an excited, grateful email from John.  Apparently, I done so good that he and his wife were willing to consider another short visit.  😎

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Pisces, Libra, Virgo – But No Cancer

THE DEED IS DONE!
SHE MADE THE CUT!
(actually, someone else did)
THE WIFE IS HOME, SAFE AND SOUND, WITH ONLY FOUR NEW HOLES IN HER HIDE.

When last we left our comely heroine, she was waiting for a surgeon to schedule an operation to remove a possibly cancerous polyp from her duodenum.  A Japanese doc was to do it on March 29th for a YouTube instruction video.  On the 27th, the office said that he had declined.  The schedule reverted to April 16.  On the 12th, the secretary of the Toronto endoscope surgeon reported that he felt he didn’t want to risk removing her Cancer and referred her to a thoracic surgeon at another Toronto hospital.

He needed a CAT-scan to know what he was getting into, and scheduled one at a local hospital.  When she got there, they told her that they would be using medical dyes for image contrast.  Previous such dyes have caused serious allergic reactions.  They gave her a prescription for 2 Prednisone, a steroid that reduces swelling, and 2 heavy-duty antihistamines.  When she obtained them, and tried to rebook the test, she found that only the doctor could do that.  April came and went.

She finally got the scan on May 5th; he got the results and called on the 8th.  His office would email some authorization forms, and schedule the operation – soon.  Then we were told that she had to have another CAT-scan of her lungs.

Finally, the operation was scheduled for June 15th.  The doctor who we were dealing with was the head surgeon – the bureaucratic manager – of a three-doctor team.  He passed her off to yet another surgeon, a youngish female Chinese-Canadian with great hands, and good control.  In the end, the operation was not performed by a Ninja, but by a Kung Fu queen.

She told me that she would try to do it laproscopically, for minimal invasion – should take about three hours.  If there were problems, she’d have to incise, and open the abdomen – about eight hours.  At 3-1/2 hours, I began to worry.  At 4, and 4-1/2, I worried harder.  Finally, just at the five hour mark, I was told that it was over.

Kung Fu Katy told me that there had been some minor delays, but she’d been able to do it lapro.  Between the CAT-scan, and the poking around, she knew exactly where it was.  She cut a tiny circle and popped it right out.  Initial hospital test said that it was not cancerous, but it got sent to a lab for macro testing.

We hope that the growth shows no cancer, or that it is minor and contained.  Free, socialized medicine or not, a person could die of all this bureaucracy.

***

The wife’s four-week, post-op check-up has come and gone.  We thought that we might have to go to Toronto again, but the little surgeon was satisfied with a telephone interview.  Because of the stress of the surgery, and the anesthetic, she’s a little weaker and more disoriented than before, but the four little drill-holes all healed up nicely.

There had been enough time that the lab report was in.  While the growth was sprinkled with pre-cancerous cells, there was no indication that any of them had mutated.  She has been declared cancer-free.  We had hoped that the polyp was the cause of previous bouts of irritable bowel, causing extreme pain and diarrhea, but since she’s had one post-op bout, that hope has been dashed.

The surgeon mentioned that she might refer the wife back to the endoscope doc at the other hospital, just so that he could check from the inside that all was well.  The wife has experienced no problems, no pain, no noticeable internal bleeding.  We have not heard from the endo-doc.  If we ever do, it may necessitate another commuter-train adventure.

Thanx for your interest and concern.  😀

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’23 A To Z Challenge – G

I’ve locked and barred the door against a raid from the Woke Police.  Bill Cosby used to be funny.

Coz worked some clubs, and dropped a couple of funny albums in the early ‘60s.  By 1965 someone felt that it would be a good idea to put him on weekly TV.  He appeared in a secret-agent type show called I Spy.  Just so that the audience knew which one was the funny one, they teamed him up with Robert Culp, who was a bit intense, and as amusing as a root canal.

They played a pair of secret agents, posing as a couple of tennis bums.  It would have been nice to let Coz be the tennis player – like Arthur Ashe was, in real life, but network TV would not allow that.  Culp portrayed the tennis player, and Coz was relegated to be his coach/trainer.

Various world tennis tournaments were the excuse for them to be uncovering agents in Mexico City in June, or the Philippines in October.  It didn’t work so well for Bratislava in February.  During its three-year run, I Spy (sometimes comedically) referenced Russia, China, and Communist Cuba.  It also poked fun at social, political, and bureaucratic issues.

It showed that the life of an agent was not all adventure, dames, and champagne.  There were after-action reports, and expense account entries that would drive James Bond bonkers.  In one show, our Daring Duo submitted an expense claim for $25, for

GLASS PANTS

The gag for the show was that the finance department would not reimburse them without a complete explanation of what it was, and how it was valid.  Working in Mexico City, they had made friends with a street photographer, who saw all the comings and goings, as an informant.  He would not accept a payment for that, but before they left, he insisted that they let him take the $25 photo portrait of the two of them, as a souvenir.

Speaking poor, heavily-accented English, he told them to “Glass Pants,” and confusion and amusement ensued.  After the third command, they finally understood that he wanted them to “clasp hands” and shake like a graduate receiving a diploma from the Dean.

Ah, the Golden Age of television…. I still occasionally view it through the pair of rose-colored glasses that Elton John gave me.  I’ll put them away to see you back here in a couple of days.  😀

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From Bad To Worse

Heeeere’s John E.  This is a tribute to the pride of Chicago – a man so impressive that he was born three days before Christ.  He said that he had no trouble turning 50.  He’s done it 10 times.  Happily Birthday!  😀 I wish him many more, but I want “Quality Of Life” to go along with that wish.

This is the man who put the ILL in Illinois, to the point where they forced offered him a free lifetime citizenship in South Turnipville, Ohio.  Older bloggers have seen his muddy footprints in their posts for years.  They can be distinguished from Sasquatch footprints by the fact that there are two left feet.

The (at least temporary) ouster of Donald Trump, has removed a pain in his ass, but as the age counter inexorably ticks upward, he has accumulated aches and pains elsewhere – migraines, and rheumatizz.

Bureaucrats at all levels are rushing to be at the forefront of the Woke movement.  To solve the problem of opioid overdoses and addiction, the DEA raided the offices of the only pain-management doctor – a physiatrist – in a large section of Kentucky.  Aha, you’re prescribing thousands of pills!  That’s dealer level!  He protested that he had hundreds of patients in extreme pain, careful, complete documentation, and justification.  Doesn’t matter!  We’re shutting you down, and seized his computers, files and stock.

A pharmacist in Virginia refused to fill an opioid prescription for a woman in final cancer stage, because he didn’t want her to become addicted.  Her adult daughter came in and screamed at him that her mother was in final stage, in constant, debilitating pain, that the medication had been legally prescribed, that her mother would be dead long before she ever became addicted, and if she wasn’t, addiction would be the least of her worries, and that if he didn’t perform his legally-mandated function, she would sue his ass.  Even then he wouldn’t do it without a signed waiver form.

My daughter is in a similar situation, not for any ethical or moral reason, but because the Provincial Government has wasted so much money on projects like paving over fertile farmland, to build unwanted, unneeded highways, that they’ve cut back on benefits to the vulnerable.  They wouldn’t replace her power wheelchair until a local manager raised a huge fuss.  I used to drive her 75miles to get xylocaine pain-med infusion – and met others who had driven 150 miles.  Too expensive the government said.  Go to one of the now-legal cannabis dispensaries, and pay for you own CBD oil, that doesn’t work anywhere near as well.

Johnny-In-A-Spot – Dear John – Big Bad John’s doctor, possibly worried about the same thing, recently sloughed him off to a local pain clinic, who told him that they had also stopped providing any opioids.  Dear Big Government, thanx for saving us from ourselves.  We’d like to remember your care and concern for us at the next election, but those of us still alive won’t be able to reach the polls.

I baked John a special birthday cake with a surprise ingredient – some oxycontin pills that ‘fell off the back of a truck’, near my dealer’s place.  This getting old is a real pain.