Dark Side of the 60's Moon by Mike Marino (beginner reading books for adults txt) 📕

The death dealing deal was sealed! We all agreed we had  no other recourse except to neutralize Joey the ass kissing narco needle junkie and Paul, J. Edgar Hoover’s little snot nose  agent. Paul was no Sean Connery James Bond, by any means. No Turkish cigarettes, no martini’s shaken or stirred, Pussy Galores or buzzing beehive bevy of other buxom Bond babes lounging around the French Riviera casino pools.  We had to take care of this rat informant extermination business in a hurry, but first, Myrika and I would have to let Olivia in on the plan that would surely change to course of the river of her life.. In effect, we would be erasing Joey from her life. Prick that he was, she was still his girl even though the baby was mine...a product of a night of wine and weed during a threesome with her and my Myrika.

“How do you think she’ll take it, Babe?” I asked Myrika in an almost pleading give me absolution get me off the hook sort of way.

“You and Joey both fucked her, but your little rascal scored a hit. China is such a sweet baby, and Joey seems like he’d rather hit the needle than change a diaper. He’s no good for her or the baby. I think it will be OK. Want me to talk to her?”

“Yeah, would you...please. I’ll take the hit if she puts up any resistance.”

Myrika just smiled that melt your heart make your knees weak and give me a hard-on smile of hers and went to see Olivia as she would be alone. Joey and Paul were down on the beach scrounging drift wood and downed timber from the treeline for a fire tonight.

I turned my attention to Danny Two Horse who had been viewing and listening intently to the recent exchange between Myrika and me. He approved of the direction the compass was pointing. “We have to get this going Danny. We have to leave soon for Washington for the march. Should be as big as Woodstock, amigo! I also want Myrika and Olivia along. We can drop China off at her mom and dad’s house in Detroit. Olivia will arrange it.”

Danny, ever the organized medicine man of our Anglo-Native group also reminded me we had to be in San Francisco taking part in the planned Native takeover of the former federal prison Alcatraz. We would be joining tribes from  across the nation as part of a Michigan contingent. Myrika, a German national photographing the event for publication to accompany and enhance the written word of  my articles from inside the protest I would be  banging out on my portable typewriter for my magazine clients as I would also be doing at the second Moratorium March on D.C. She and I and Danny had a full plate of events roller coasting at once, overlapping, overlaying, over under sideways down as the Yardbirds would say and sing.

Myrika came back with Olivia, both smiling, yet I could see a faint tear stain on Olivia’s face which I could understand.
“It’s OK, Mickey.” Olivia said forgivingly. “I know it has to be done. He’s changed for the worse. He doesn’t care about me or the baby, and he would sell his soul, and maybe me and the baby for a fix.  I have you and Myrika and Danny as my family now. Most of all, China has a good man for her daddy now.

Danny was grinning too, he was indeed  family and now it was official.

“Not bad Kemo Sabe,” he joked. “She will have a cowboy and an Indian for protection. Deadly combination, yes?”

I had to laugh. “As long as I ain’t General Custer, my friend!”

The plan was put into play. Within hours I placed a call  asking for a  meeting with Mr. Levesque who would have the honor of kidnapping our FBI shadow keeping him in a Separatist hideout in Montreal conditioning him for a month on acid. We’re talking about  the good shit too, from Toronto, along with a cornucopia of the best of Can-Am pharma karma. When ready we would transport him to D.C. with us when we attended the Beltway Bash of Peace and turn him loose in J. Edgars playhouse of fear and suspicion with his service revolver full of blanks and  his muddled mind with a full metal  jacket of  paranoia.

Danny on our end would take care of Joey luring him to a meeting in Ontario with members of the Munsee Delaware tribe who would then escort him to a small village in the Northwest Territories called Inuvik smack dab inside the Arctic Circle where he would vaporize himself on a steady supply of junk for a week or so, until he would climb the Everest of overdose with a speedball hot shot we would supply.

These Munsee Delaware people were not native to Ontario, but had migrated there after the American government forced them out of their own homelands. Their descendants still live in Ontario today and friends of the Ojibwe and Huron tribes in Michigan as well as Ontario. Driven from their homelands in the states, they had a score to settle. Joey seemed the perfect FBI informant symbolic  Little Big Horn offering.

The die was cast, the marked deck of cards were  stacked and Operation Fuck You was underway within the week, as we got Flashback, our trusty camper road ready for another from sea to shining sea trip from east to west..to Washington D.C. to march for peace...then to the west coast and Alcatraz to declare war on the cavalry!!

I told you, the Sixties were a schizoid placenta of a Picasso rendering of politics. The country had gone from Camelot to the Great Society to the Silent Majority and  was spinning out of control now ready to Kick Out the Jams, Motherfuckers!!

1969 was already a year of atomic powered speed in science, protest and politics. In July the U.S. had taken one small step for man, and one giant step for mankind, OK, lets not forget womankind either or let’s just bust the PC pinata wide open….HUMANKIND.

Outer space has beckoned we Earthlings as tempting as any short skirted street hooker flags down a customer in a Cadillac on a Saturday night. Space,  a sexual galaxy filled with planetary orbs and orgasms. Sure. Space is Sexy! Seductive! Seducing! Who doesn’t want be an astronaut enjoying sex in a gravity free space station floating aimlessly with the cosmic Kama Sutra co-ed of your choice? Houston...we are having the time of our life.

Now, this year, we’ve been to the Moon and managed to get our moon rocks off, so what’s next? Venus of course is a hotbed of Amazonian Females. Venus is for Lovers!

If extreme solar system sports spots tickle your macho or macho-ette fancy then make it Mars! It’s an Arctic wonderland for solar cross country skiing and ice fishing for 3 headed man killing bass. Think dodgeball is fun? Try ducking a rain of thousands of small meteorites. It’s about as fun as dodging a cinder block dropped from a freeway overpass during rush hour.

Saturn is the most flamboyant of the planets surrounded by a large ring the screams FASHION STATEMENT! It’s actually a planetary runway with ten moons! Some moons are rated PG and others are rated, well….if you’ve seen any porn in a darkened theater then you’ll prefer the moon Pandora just for her box alone…

For the Gay and Lesbian crowd, they’ll clap hands in glee when they take in Uranus (so to speak!) It has a cabaret nightlife to die for. Piano bars aplenty with sequined Liberace impersonators from the Outer Limits of Uranus and the Lesbian Review from the Torrid Twilight Erogenous Zone from the Venusian Vagina Vector.

Round out your space trip to trippy little Pluto. The forgotten planet.  The sad planet. The Hubert Humphrey Planet. If you’re a senior citizen and prefer a dry heat, then Mercury is for you. It’s the closest rest home planet to the sun. Each day on Mercury is equal to 58 days on Earth. You never sleep anyway so you can still make it to the early bird special..anytime you please! Parking is a breeze with plenty of handicapped jet pack parking spaces available.

We were pedal to the metal eating asphalt to get our asses to Washington, D.C. after dropping Baby China off at Olivia’s parents house in Detroit. Ohio was whizzing by as it should. By November 15 was when the Moratorium March on Washington would kick in. Myrika and Olivia were planning the route getting all Rand McNally with myself at the hipster helm of the camper, Flashback  leading the way followed by Danny Two Horse and two rather burly Indians from AIM guarding the whacked out jazzed out Paul who was FBI on LSD whose mind was now MIA and soon would be turned loose with an empty gun in FBI headquarters and soon DOA in his psychedelic quest  for invisible Commies and “red” planet Martians hanging around the water cooler.

Paul was so hopped up on LSD and speed that was given to him daily I’m sure he was walking through a psychedelic minefield of funhouse mirrors diminishing his mental state into a barrel of oatmeal where flying dragons, invisible giant insects and hallucinatory hobgoblins were his constant companions. After 30 solid days of this, I was sure it would even confuse Confucius after a day of meditating on a plane of spiritual medicating and levitating over the Yangtze River.  If he were lucky and merely committed to a mental ward he’d attain Nirvana if they  gave him a bag of colorful balloons to play with in his cell.


“I wonder how Joey is doing,” said Olivia.

Ah,  Joey. I forgot about him what with all the excitement surrounding the upcoming protest march and pulling the plug on Paul.

“Probably walking on snowshoes thinking the North Pole is a pile of smack!” I answered sardonically. “Or he’s looking for Santa Claus and his hidden meth lab. He’d probably roll an elf in a dark alley for some pixie dust to shove up his nose!”

Bad attempt at humor as Myrika gave me a gentle shot in the ribs and shot me