vol 02 / issue 02 / 04’10

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THOSE SEEKING STEREOTYPICAL
CARIBBEAN FARE WILL BE DISAPPOINTED
 Features Let’s talk about time travelin’, rhyme javelin,
somethin’ mind unravelin’ - get down.
Pg 3 . . . . . . . . . . Local Suds 6

Pg 4 . . . . . . . . . Triple-hops Brewed
Pg 5 . . . . . . . . . . VFW Surprises
Pg 7 . . . . . . . . . . . Prairie Poetics
Pg 7 . . . . . Things Catey’s Learned
Pg 8 . . . . . . . . . . . IceFest 2010
Pg 10 . . . . . . Bubbles in Bonaire
Pg 12 . . . . . . 8 yrs old: Cloudy Day
Pg 17 . . . . . . . Like Pot, But Not
I
t feels so good to be back. Thanks for
inviting us into your home, booth, desk and/
or mind.
My hope is that you will follow Mr.
Andre Benjamin’s advice - words I chose for
the introductory header this issue.
Parse your way through this, the sixth is-
sue of The Peg Leg Update, in much the same
was as you would approach a new hiking trail,
summer campfire with strangers or virginial art
museum experience - with very few preconcep-
tions. It will transpire much more smoothly
that way.
ps>flux starts this issue off with another
excellent review of a local treasure - Boss’s
Pizza on Main Ave. here in Brookings. While
his vision might have been a bit hazy during
the meal, I implore you to trust his stomach.
If you have seen the recent beer com-
mercials professing “triple-hops brewed” beer
while showing a pour resembling spilt pee,
Below the poem you’ll find a solid list of
“Things I’ve Learned on My Own,” by Catey
Watkins. And just in case you’re thinking of
skipping the article, she included “Mostly
the Hard Way,” to display her devotion to
knowledge dissemination.
A short while ago, a talented group of
individuals gathered in the Lantern Lounge
for an interesting night of verse, drink and
dance. Read ps>flux’s entry about the event. It’s
not hard to imagine him (or her?) as a young
buck journalist, hot on the trail and ready to
relay words on events.
On page 10 you can find Ben Helder’s
story of good food and better diving down in
Bonaire. As one of our foreign correspondents,
he has put together another excellent piece on
a most attractive place.
Gina Caciolo, who will be furthering her
writing career in some sort of fancy school
this fall (congrats!) continues her short fiction

VISIT: you’ll enjoy Mr. Roose Bellington’s critique on

page 4. He even included some nuggets of hop
series with “8 yrs old: Cloudy Day” on page 12.
It’s a story of love, rejection and dodgeball, so

THEPEG knowledge, so read up.

Anthony Castillo, worldwide Rasta,
you know it’s good.
Then finally, on page 14, we have included

LEG.COM walked into the VFW here in Brookings a few

weeks ago and found something unexpected.
Read his log on page 5.
a piece off our website. The name is “Like Pot,
But Not: It’s Legal, but Stay Scared,” and it
was written by none other than cuniform:ation,
On page 7 you’ll find a wonderful piece, our local zen biking expert and frequent
but one that might have been more applicable contributor to ThePegLeg.com. The article
with a less tardy publication schedule. Kate speaks for itself, and no offence intended if we
Wegehaupt displays her poetic prowess with hurt anyone’s feelings.
a profession of appreciation towards the more Enjoy.
burly type of folks in the area. Enjoy her - Mitch LeClair
creative commentary. Editor
We publish The Peg Leg Update under a
Creative Commons Attribution 3.0
Unported license.
We have published The Peg Leg Update once a month
Basically, feel free to reprint anything you see
in the town of Brookings, S.D., since the beginning of fall 2009.
here, but attribute it please.
Thanks for taking a look.
<http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/> Editor: Mitch LeClair - leclairmitch@gmail.com
Advertising: Stuart Ensz - stuensz.plu@gmail.com

Scribes: Kate Wegehaupt, Catey Watkins, Gina Caciolo, ps>flux, Ross Bell,
Anthony Castillo, cuneiform:ation, Benjamin D. Helder
thepeglegupdate@gmail.com
Cover art: Benjamin D. Helder
Illustrations + logo design: Siri Boyd
Layout: Brandon Henderson, Mitch LeClair

Find us on the Facebooks and Twitters too. For more information: visit thepegleg.com, e-mail us or bring a case of Hamm’s to 830 3rd Ave.

1234567890 PLU 04’10

Local Suds 6: “420 Main”
by ps>flux
W inter break is cold and lonely; I have
no money. A new decade slaps us in
painfully numb faces with negative fifteen,
thirty, fifty-degree temps… F that. I work
outside, shingling houses, over Christmas
break. I eat potatoes and Top Ramen. Town is
dry, like every Christmas break. All the cool
kids are out snowboarding and rolling, watchin’
STS9 ring in the New Year, while I spend the
holidays in Brookings.
Cabin-fever depression, Christmas blues,
whatever you call it, I got it, until, that is, my
buds come back to town. The last paycheck
from break surprises me with the capability of
paying bills and still percolates my pocket with
some loose flow; a close friend just rolled in
from Vegas, and now I can celebrate.
All that work, shivering, and darkness
congeals the spirit real quick – then: a sunny,
warm Saturday morning, a fat bowl of stinky
salad, and a relaxed walk down Main Street
Brookings which, all of a sudden, doesn’t look
so bad anymore. Fixed up, I’m lookin’ to feed;
nothing remedies that January pouty-face
like a beastly binge, but I’m dippin’ from the
drinkin’ for a bit – my liver, cerebrum, and wal-
let need a break. My stomach rumbles; I’ve lost
ten pounds in the last month, shivering and
eating cheap food with little nutritional value.
420 Main catches my eye – a pizza buffet? On
Main Street? Yes, please!
As I walk in the entrance of Boss’s Pizza,
the glass door reflects my tousled hair and
bloodshot eyes. For a moment, I wonder if I
look too sketchy or smell too funky to be in
a restaurant – than I see my buddy Glen the
Can Man posted up close to the buffet, Mad
Bomber cap pushed back as he rips at a chunk
of fried chicken. I think I’m good.
The buffet costs $8.55. As I fill up my
glass with Dr. Pepper and survey the rows of
pizza, potatoes, and chicken, I feel like Charlie
getting his first glimpse of Willy Wonka’s
factory. I visit with Glen for a while as we both
stack plates six-inches-tall with pizza. They
make my favorite kind here: thin, crunchy crust
and heavy on the toppings. And… Oh-ho!
What’s this? They have not only barbecue
and fried chicken, but boneless, spicy chicken
wings. I try to fit a scoop of cottage cheese on
the heaped plate, but realize it will have to wait
for the next trip up.
Three plates later, I stare dumbly at
the television on the wall, metabolism too
occupied with digestion to allow my brain
enough energy to comprehend what the
announcer is so excited about. I waddle over
to the soft-serve ice cream machine, in slow
motion at this point - I get a bowl of vanilla ice
cream and a bowl of chocolate pudding and eat
them together.
Boss’s has two pinball machines: one is
Adam’s Family-themed - the other, X-Files.
I play through a few balls, the toasty-happy-
cloudy buzz dulled by greasy, carbohydrate
gluttony, but still rollin’ enough to speed up my
reflexes and make me trip on the machine’s
intricate synth track. On my first play, I get
within 130,000 points of the high score. I can’t
replicate for another fifteen minutes, so I give
up and hit the street again.
photo by Trevor Drawdy
[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
Triple-hops Brewed
by Ross Bell

E very time I see a Miller Light

commercial, I am left confused. What
exactly does triple-hops brewed mean? Triple
ies. Washington’s hop total trumps the number
two producer, Oregon, which boasts only 12
million pounds. Hop production in the three
simply that APAs are brewed with a little more
thought on the grain side of the recipe. APAs
can be just as hoppy as an IPA, but they tend
hops seems like a lot of hops. However, I have state region, Washington, Oregon, and Idaho to be a bit more balanced. Stouts are the odd
had more Miller Lights in my day than I’m yielded around $340 million in 2009. One one out, using hops for balance more than
really proud to admit, and I can tell you it pound of hops fetched an average of $3.50 anything. Barley wines are probably the most
doesn’t taste anything like hops. What do hops to $4 in 2009.  A 56-pound bushel of corn difficult beer to define, because they have
taste like? What in the hell are they? Do hops yielded around the same price! such a huge range of flavors, ingredients and
serve any purpose at all!? As requested, this Today, hops are used in most styles of colors. Unlike what the name suggests, barley
issue’s article will be an informational piece on beer in varying amounts, and yes, even Miller wines have very little to do with wine. They got
everything hops. Light has hops in it. The hoppiness of a beer their name because they typically have as much
Hops are a little green cone-shaped is measured using the international bitterness alcohol as wine. What most barley wines do
flowers that grows on the vines of the humulus unit (IBU) scale. The more hops used, the share in common is a healthy dose of hops in
lupulous plants. Humulus shares the same higher the IBU will be.  A high IBU, however, their recipes.
genus as cannibus; no wonder hops rule. Being doesn’t necessarily guarantee a bitter beer. A Maybe the fine people at the Miller
perennials, hops tend to yield little their first thick, heavy stout can have an IBU of 80, but brewery are using some European variety
year, but they can grow almost anywhere that the large amount of roasted malts will mask of hops that are low in bitterness, hence the
has a decent growing season. It is completely the taste of hops and balance everything out, hopless taste. Or perhaps they just throw three
possible to grow hops in South Dakota, as long while an India pale ale with the same high little hop cones in their gargantuan batch of
as you keep the plant away from its mortal IBU might make you pucker with bitterness. beer and call it triple-hopped. I’m guessing the
enemy: wind. The hops that I have seen around The most hop-happy styles of beer are latter.
these parts tend to be surrounded by a shelter India pale ales, American pale ales (APA),
belt or hugging a structure of some sort to barley wines and stouts. IPAs and APAs are Questions? Comments? Beer date?  E-mail me
protect them against the wind. brewed with the intent on making a very at RossABell@gmail.com
Hops have been used for beer purposes bitter beer. The difference between the two is
for the past thousand years. Germany and
England were the original stomping grounds
for the first hops used for beer. It was discov-
ered that hops act as a natural preservative
for beer, while also giving it a unique flavor. It
wasn’t until the era of British imperialism that
hops were heavily used. The Brits found that
beer could not withstand the long trek from
the British Isles all the way to India. Solution?
Load the beer with hops. This event popular-
ized the use of hops in beer and is how the
India Pale Ale (IPA) was born.
Today there are a couple of areas in the
world that are well known for hop production.
The number one hop growing area in the
world is in Germany followed by the Pacific
Northwest here in the US. European hop
varieties are better known for their low bitter-
ness. These varieties are used more in lagers
than bitter ales. Oktoberfest styles and pilsners
often times use these hops.
Compared to their Euro counterparts,
hops in the United States tend to contain
much more lupulin, the substance that provides
bitterness. Washington produces the most
hops of any state. In 2009, it produced around
75 million pounds of several hop variet-

photo by david.nikonvscanon [via Flickr, CC3.0]

1234567890 PLU 04’10

Forget What You Know About the VFW
by Anthony Castillo

I t was a Monday, only 7:15 p.m., but the

dark blanket of stubborn cold and intrusive
winds seemed to engulf every part of town except
Dar Tolzin is the Commander of Post 2118.
He sat down at our table for a while after the
games and time after time, tale after tale, he
Dar is from Preston, S.D. He played bas-
ketball there in his youth and explained how
Preston’s basketball team became a formidable
the ever-enlightened main drag. I was late. pulled the carpet of expectation right out from opponent in the Midwestern brackets around
Shuffling my feet for blocks, as not to trip on the under us. that time. I appreciated the time I spent with
inconspicuous sheets of pressed ice that lie in wait
and seem to almost peek out from underneath
their traps of snow, I almost waddled on my
journey north.
The sign outside was trying its hardest not
to sway in the wind. It represented honor and
dignity to any Midwesterner worth his or her
weight. The pride that the sign outside embodies
is only trumped by the warm welcome you will
receive from the staff and regulars.
Cheap beer and a fresh selection of grub,
plus one chance at a tantalizingly large pot
every Monday, Thursday and Friday night
during Bingo can only happen in one place:
the VFW.
Sitting across from Wells Fargo on Main
Avenue, the VFW is the place to be Monday,
Thursday or Friday at 7:00 p.m. if you want to
try something new and get down with some
Bingo. There are at least 21 games of each
night, and you can buy as many score cards as
you want. On Mondays, the cards are $9. On
Thursdays and Fridays, the cards are $15. A
little pricey? Not worth it? Think again. On
Mondays you can potentially win $250. On
Thursday or Friday there is a chance to win
$500. Even if you don’t win the large cash pots,
every game results in cash prizes. Most of the
normal games give out about $10 to $20. That
should be enough to pay for your games and
maybe even some drinks at the bar.
On that note, if the thrill of Bingo isn’t
enough to tickle your fancy, the cheap beer
and mixed drinks definitely will. You can’t go
wrong with $3 Fat Tires, am I right? They
also have some great food options too. The
VFW has sloppy joes and other items that will
round out every bit of your satisfaction. Some
of the regulars bring delightful treats ($.50)
and scrumptious sandwiches ($1.00) for the
Monday evening games every now and again.
If you’re from South Dakota and have ever
had any homemade treats from Grandma or
Grandpa, I think you know what I’m talkin’
about.
As for the company, you can’t find smiles
wider and more welcoming than at the VFW.

photo by Anthony Castillo

[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
 ADVERTISEMENTS
Dar, as I’m sure everyone he meets undoubt-
edly does. He told us stories of how he used to
coach the Haarlem girls softball team. No, not
in New York; Haarlem in the Netherlands! He
spent several years coaching them and told us
stories of how different their perceptions and
points of view are from our own. Dar recalls
a moment when the team was getting ready
for a game. He turned around to find all the
girls in their underwear in broad daylight! You
would be hard-pressed to find that scene in any
American dugout.
Someone commented on how they love
all Dar’s stories. With a solid confidence about
his experiences Dar replied, “I have never
told you a story. Everything is the truth.” I
took that as a statement from a man who has
certainly learned from his travels.
Dar may be a name that is synonymous
with the VFW, but everyone inside has his
or her own story to tell. Why not share some
stories over a game of Bingo and a brew?
I met a fun gal named Mel Lichty that
night as well. Mel’s smile and easy-going
attitude made my night even more enjoyable.
Already knowing the answer, I asked Mel what
the best part about Bingo nights are for her.
“The cheap drinks and a chance to win
some money,” said Lichty with an obvious
assertion.
Above all, the VFW holds the community
as priority number one. All the paper that is
used during the games is thrown into large
disposal bins and recycled. All the can tabs
go toward the Ronald McDonald House as
well. That means you can do your part for your

3
community by coming down and having a

$
brew. Why wait? Power to the Community and

DomesticTalls
the People.

Monday thru Thursday 4pm til close

VISIT: $5 Appetizers
THEPEG
Monday thru Saturday 4pm til 10pm

LEG.COM

Bar and Grill

327 Main Avenue www.ramohares.com www.facebook.com/ramohares

1234567890 PLU 04’10

Prairie Poetics
by Kate Wegehaupt

M y secret wish is to be a poet. Seriously,

give me paper, a feather quill and
some bongo music, and I might just have
stumbled across my future. You may laugh
and say, “Kate. The starving artist so went out
of fashion last year. And besides, do you really
even have what it takes? Shouldn’t poets have
lived a little? Experienced love or heartbreak
or at least the death of the family dog?” That’s
a good point. I guess buying my textbooks off
the Internet (for the first time!) isn’t really nail-
biting poetry material. But poets can write
about anything, so I hear. Poe wrote about a
raven and the word “nevermore” for pages and
pages; I can only go up from there. My only
real hindrance: I think I’m too cynical.
Robert Burns, an eighteenth century poet,
wrote that his love was “like a red, red rose /
That’s newly sprung in June... like the melodie
/ That’s sweetly played in tune.”
That perfect, eh? I’m not sure that’s
accurate.
It seems that most good poets wrote
about what they knew - love, life, experience,
etc. Usually in a giant simile. Burns must
have been pretty head-over-heels about this
girl, enough to disregard her faults (flaming
pudding two nights in a row? The cow escaped
again?) So he wrote about what he saw.
If my goal is to be like those great poets
(as blinded by love as they were), I need to
take a cue from Burns. I should figure out
something I know - that I encounter often -
and then write from the heart, as honestly as
possible. Okay, I can do that. Time for a little
brainstorming:
You know, poetry really isn’t that hard. If
Burns could crank out some silly flower-love
comparison (how trite), I knew I could. And
I’m a girl. I live in South Dakota. Um. really, gentlemen. They say that a poet’s word
Eureka! As a female, I would like to is truth with a capital T.
think I’ve been observant and picked up a little Maybe this whole “cynicism” thing will
knowledge on the way guys operate. And I work out for me. Pulitzer, here I come.
know the weather in South Dakota stinks.
Therefore:
Ode to the Winter Seasone of Men
(all the cool old poets added ‘e’s to the end of words)
O, what is man, but a South Dakota winter?
Love comes in a spring jacket, then in a parka,
all within one week. His brain signals,
so like the electric lines that fail during a winter storm.
The drip, drip, drip
of my nose on the way to class,
he is no kleenex. This snowMan;
this lighthearted snowball chucked in my face.
The ice sheets around his heart
thaw to dirty slush, then freeze again.
He is a frozen tundra of testosterone, a frostbit mind.
As a bicyclist strives to cycle on slick sidewalks,
so the wheels of my heart spin-out.
I see a prehistoric yeti through the blizzard.
It is man.

Things I’ve Learned on my Own…Most of them the Hard Way

by Catey Watkins
1. If you wear a messenger bag and a button
up shirt, do yourself a favor: make sure it
didn’t unbutton your top showing your bra to
everybody (particularly if you’re interviewing
with them).
2. You cannot sing/dance/talk in any manner
as attractive as you think you can after four
hours of drinking.
3. No matter how good of an idea it seems,
a jar of peanut butter and a brick of cheese
is never a smart choice for supper. (Yeah, I
ate the whole brick of cheese because I’m a
college-level genius.)
4. There is rarely such a thing as a “free drink.”
I’ve come to a point where I won’t accept
drinks from men I don’t really know, because
they’ll expect me to talk to them, and some-
times, it’s just not worth it. I don’t care about
your high school football glory, especially not
for a six-dollar drink.
5. All women are crazy: it is only a matter to
what degree and how well or how long they
can hide it.
6. You are always 2-3 times more likely to
skip an 8 a.m. class than any other. Don’t kid
yourself; this year won’t be the one in which
you break the cycle.
7. 13 beers will cancel out 5 miles of running
- let me just save you the caloric math on that
one.
8. If he says he’s well-endowed, he probably
isn’t. Save yourself the disappointment.
9. If you wouldn’t want to explain it to your
doctor, don’t do it.
10. Sushi before tequila is a recipe for disaster.
11. Drunken bicycle riding is still dangerous,
especially if you’re going to try eating a stolen
Popsicle and text at the same time. Good idea,
princess.

[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
Gettin’ Gritty: IceFest 2010, Lantern Lounge
by ps>flux
A t the risk of alienating yet another
possible advertiser, I gotta call ‘um like
I see ‘um: the Lantern Lounge is a sketchy
joint. Nothing against the Lantern Lounge;
I like partying here, I know a couple of the
bartenders and the competition at the pool
tables is unrivaled by the regulars of any other
bar. I’m forever loyal to the Sully’s sharks, but
I have seen more than one friend play some
Friday night at the Lantern and get hustled.
Somehow, the guys at this bar always introduce
gambling into the competition.
A cloud of indicators point to the
Lantern as a place that enables a grittier
sub-culture ethos than someplace like Skinners
or 9 Bar: the bathrooms always smell like pot,
the bouncers are the biggest, ugliest, never-
smiling-est muthers and smells of body odor
and sheetrock dust wander through the USA
Gold haze over a dance floor half-covered in
broken glass and spilled beer.
Tonight, a bartender almost empties a
bottle of tequila; there are a few drops left,
so he shouts out to someone he must know
and tosses the bottle across the room. The
recipient, almost too drunk to stand already,
shouts, “Thanks,” drains the bottl, and drops it
on the Lantern’s uncarpeted cement floor. It
breaks. A fight immediately erupts. I, for one,
am feelin’ pretty comfortable tonight.
It’s Thursday, January 28th, and the
Lantern hosts Brookings’ first annual IceF-
est. Hosted by the non-profit organization
Downtown Brookings Inc., this year’s IceFest
headliner is Bo$$ Regis, a Brookings student
and Brooklyn native. He’s worked hard for a
couple years to break into the hip-hop scene;
1234567890 PLU 04’10
tonight, he’s releasing his first full-length
album.
Along with Bo$$ Regis an array – “posse”
or “crew” is common nomenclature for a
large group in the rap scene – of other South
Dakotan rappers perform. The multitude
of performers is hard to keep track of. The
Committed Committee is a group of eight
performers, overlapping with another group:
Night Shield Entertainment. Performing
alongside these groups is Flame On, a group
featuring solo artists Trey Lane, V the Noble
One and AdApt, who also performs in Truth
& AdApt and The Scaletippers. Artist after
artist takes the stage over the course of the
night, almost as quickly as the audience drains
Lantern Teas and shots of Sailor Jerry.
Trey Lane is a Sioux Falls native who’s
pursued hip-hop for almost six years. He
looks remarkably like Biggie Smalls, except
he wears a preppy long-sleeved polo and jeans
so new they almost glitter. His clean baby
face features a smile that obviously does not
consume tobacco or coffee. He talks about the
uniqueness of the Midwestern rap scene.
“It’s hard to put a finger on what exactly
makes the Midwest rap style,” he says. “We
take elements from the East Coast, elements
from the West, the Dirty South style.” He
thinks for a moment. “That’s probably what
makes us most unique, that we use parts of all
those styles to cook together a completely new,
unheard-of flavor. One that couldn’t happen
anywhere but the Midwest.”
Bo$$ Regis, the man of honor on this
night, walks past and they exchange a high five.
In a corner, Maniac, a member of Committed
Committee, and an amateur audience member
trade freestyles back and forth. It’s easy to
identify the professional’s rhymes compared to
the clunky attempts of the other kid, but both
guys are obviously enjoying themselves in a
moment of pure improvisation.
Trey Lane continues, “What identifies
Midwestern hip-hop as much as anything is
our cooperation. We work hard to build each
other up. I put just as many hours towards
rap as towards my day job, but it’s completely
worthwhile. We all just dream of one day
leaving a lasting impression on people with
our music. I don’t want to be the next Tupac
or the next Lil’ Wayne. I want to be the first
Trey Lane, and that will never happen without
all these other friends here to support and
appreciate my work. I return the favor. We all
love this shit.”
photo by John Seward
Trey Lane excuses himself to set up some
folding tables and make sure everything is
ready for the show; he obviously considers
himself at work tonight.
“That’s what I love about that kid,” V the
Noble One steps in. “He’s got an unbelievable
work ethic.” V the Noble One is originally
from Buffalo, N.Y., but moved to Sioux Falls
almost twenty years ago. He’s been making
and producing rap in South Dakota since
1994, helping give popular acts like Soulcrate
Music Factory a foundation for success. At-
mosphere played with him (not the other way
around) at one of their first shows; it’s obvious
from the interaction between the numerous
artists here tonight that all the younger guys
look up to V.
 “It feels so good to literally be writing
the book,” he says. “That’s one thing you can
never take from me: When this scene blows
up, they can’t tell this story without me.” His
attitude sounds a little boastful, but he’s earned
it, grinding hard through years when no one
within four states even listened to rap.
“Your work, your music: it has to matter,” he
continues. “Some kids in the underground,
they act like it’s a badge of honor not blowing
up. That’s ridiculous. We all workin’ for big
success, but it becomes worthwhile as soon as
you get fans – not just listeners, but true fans,
the people who show up to your show because
they need this music.”
Working this long composing and
producing, V has seen the massive turnover of
amateur artists trying to break into the scene.
I ask him about what it’s like to deal with
the pervasive guys who think they can flow
but really suck. He starts laughing, “I used to
have to answer calls from those guys every day.
Sometimes it would feel like I’d get a dozen
dudes a day, hittin’ me up, like, ‘Man, just give
me some studio time. Play some of my tracks.’
Well, I’m workin’ for my studio time. I’m
playin’ my tracks. You gotta have something
more. You can’t want harder than you work.
Now, though - now I just give all those guys
Trey’s number.” He laughs some more.
“Work ethic is what sets all these guys apart
tonight from some drunk dude trying to battle
rap at a kegger. That’s what I like about Boss
Regis, that’s what I like about Trey Lane.
These kids are very hard workers.”
As the show kicks off, it becomes very
clear this is the place to be for individuals
“keeping it real,” as it were. Some of the
rappers, like Trey Lane and DJ AdApt, stay
clear headed, working behind the table to sell
merchandise and keep the sound quality at its
peak. Others, like the members of Committed
Committee, are obviously here for the party.
Maniac and Night Shield slam bottles of Co-
rona on the dance floor as AdApt rips through
a set of sick songs – his verses sound intricate,
very mechanically polished, with a dark edge
that reminds one of a young Eminem with a
Los Angeles accent. Trey Lane’s style stands
out in its perfect formula; the artist has a flaw-
less handle on the conventions of his gangster,
metropolitan style. A crowd of gyrating
females, looking like they are in a contest with
the rappers to see who can get more wasted,
surrounds the singing and dancing performers.
Everybody at this show wants to be
here. The crowd loves and knows the music.
The performers have worked incredibly hard,
enabling themselves to perform a genre that,
until a few years ago, only came from the
Coasts and Deep South. Everybody in the bar
is unified through the mutual dislike of cops,
the refusal to rat out the group furtively getting
high in the corner and the alcohol instigating
fights and bringing dancing couples together.
They are reciprocally fixated on pelvic regions,
with one member significantly below what one
can only assume would be the other partner’s
un-inebriated standards of physical aesthetics.
Keepin’ it real never felt so right.
In the middle of the show, Committed
Committee and Nightshield Entertainment
(both groups overlap) take the stage. While
Trey Lane and AdApt’s style is polished, styl-
ish, thematically deep stoner-rap, Night Shield,
Maniac, Philthy Fresh, Ron G, D.S.C., and a
host of other misspelled symbolic phonetics (I
asked if I could call them that) blow up with a
maniacal, sloppy, out-of-control sound similar
to an enunciated reinterpretation of Lil John’s
“crunk” stylings.
Night Shield and The Committee
are clearly influenced by their background.
Almost all of them grew up on reservations –
even the white guy, Buddha.
The Committed Committee’s perfor-
mance continues; by this point in the show, the
audience is getting crazy. It seems the rappers
on stage and the people dancing are a chemical
solution, waiting to reach the proper point
of alcohol saturation before exploding into a
cloud of motion, passion and energy. Maniac
wears a gothic, sweat-smeared version of war
paint around his eyes – like a homicidal rac-
coon. His hair sticks out in odd, tight French
braids. The band’s lyrics share stories about
growing up in poverty, living in a culture of
alcohol abuse and desperate living. Nobody’s
given these guys a thing. They’ve worked for
it all; that much is clear from the explicit
performance. At the climax of an intense
dance beat, Maniac leads the crowd in a chant
of “Hoka Ay!” I ask a few band members later
what it means. They give me different spellings
and definitions: “Hey, W’sup!” and “Fuck yeah!
We in the house!”
I catch a few of the guys in line leading
to the Lantern’s disgusting bathroom – among
them Maniac, D.S.C., Philthy Fresh, Ron G
and Buddha. It doesn’t take long to ascertain
these guys are hard for real. The glare at me as
I ask a few questions, asking me what’s up with
the notebook that I occasionally scribble in.
Soon, they have me cornered against a slimy
tile wall; I’m surrounded by huge men with
tattoos on their necks and rippling forearms.
“Listen man, w’sup with the little book - you
like a reporter or somethin?” Philthy Fresh
asks. I slip my old Trusty out of an inside
pocket on my bulky coat and whisper with it
smoothly behind my notebook. The three men
lined up at the urinals don’t even notice as the
goodness disappears from whence it came, but
the threatening rappers visibly relax.
“Listen,” Philthy Fresh puts an arm
around me, “Don’t make us all sound like a
bunch of drunk Indians, just we all crazy and
rep for the rez. We’re out here, doing our
thing in this scene. But we always respect
our background.” I ask more about how their
heritage and tradition influence the music, to
which they reply, “We Natives first, always take
care of each other – always remember where
we came from. But we also rappers mofo.
Don’t ask the question – we hard and they all
know it,” says Ron G. I ask about the “Hoka
Ay” chant, curious if they have ever considered
incorporating more Lakota into their music.
Philthy Fresh visibly reacts and replies, “Aw,
naw. We have to keep the language sacred.
With white kids, you know how it’s cool
to rebel or whatever; not us, we respect our
elders.”
Bo$$ Regis comes up last as the evening’s
headliner. He performs several songs from
his newly released album Da Good Sh!t. The
performance had an extra edge this evening:
both Bo$$ Regis’s parents moved to Brooklyn
from Haiti. His show seems to be person-
ally emblematic, his raw emotion laced with
adrenaline burns as he pursues the dream of
flashing lights and a screaming audience. Bo$$
definitely belongs in this environment.
The first annual IceFest was part of the
Midwest Rising Stars tour. Adapt and V the
Noble One, along with the crew including
Night Shield, Trey Lane, and Bo$$ Regis have
performed several shows across the region,
especially in Sioux Falls at Club David and
Nutty’s. Downtown Brookings, Inc. organized
the tour’s appearance in Brookings; John
Seward, Downtown Brookings’ manager, has
worked hard in the past year to highlight local
bands, simultaneously creating activity and
culture in Brookings.
Check our website [www.thepegleg.com]
for links to the artists appearing in this article,
further reviews of local music, and other com-
munity and culture-building efforts courtesy of
Downtown Brookings, Inc.
[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
Making Bubbles in Bonaire
by Benjamin D. Helder
M aybe you’ve heard of Aruba, famous
for casinos, nightlife and beaches.
Chances are you haven’t heard of Bonaire,
which is an island just to the east of Aruba.
These two islands, along with the exasperating
Curacao, make up the “ABC Islands” of the
Netherlands Antilles; the Netherlands owns all
1234567890 PLU 04’10
three islands, yet they sit just above Venezuela
about 70-80 miles. Bonaire (Dutch for “good
air”) was my destination and domicile for the
first week of 2010.
Bonaire nonchalantly breaks the Carib-
bean tropical island mold: you can’t find a
proper public beach anywhere (it’s all rocky),
the soil is at best comparable to the gravel road
I grew up on, the flora is almost exclusively
thorny bushes and 1 to 15-foot-tall cacti, the
fauna consists of flamingos, iguana, goats, and
donkeys, while the architecture, culture, and
roughly half the people are…Dutch. It was all
I could do to not burst into laughter when I
photos by Benjamin D. Helder
was asked in a Dutch accent about my “fazha”
(think Austin Powers 3).
So why journey to Bonaire? The answer
for most is scuba diving. Bonaire is quite
unique in that its entire coast, all 81 miles,
is surrounded by a pristine reef system, the
protection of which dates back to the early
‘60s. Advances in diving technology during
the ‘60s and ‘70s were paralleled by increasing
reef protection on the part of the Netherlands
Antilles government, as well as a number of
fledgling on and offshore parks agencies. In
many places, the reef has grown right up to
shore, making Bonaire a haven for shore divers
(as opposed to boat diving). While nearly
the entire reef is divable, the BNMP (Bonaire
National Marine Park) has designated 63 sites
on the mainland and 26 on the satellite island
Klein as official dive sites.
Nearly all of these are on the leeward
and more protected west side of the island,
providing a growth-fostering environment
for coral and smaller fish species, as well as
hawksbill turtles and a handful of ray types.
Bonaire is also one of the best places on earth
to see seahorses. Much to my chagrin, shark
sightings are rare on Bonaire, as most larger
critters do not frequent here, with the notable
exception of dolphins, who frequently trail
boats in groups of 20 or more.
Diving is most definitely Bonaire’s strong
point, as it has little else to offer. Well, I take
that back; you could visit a donkey sanctuary
if you’ve never seen one before, drive 30 miles
through some potholes that resemble a road
in Washington-Slagbaai National Park if that
appeals or visit a “Naturist Resort” if you’re
into that sort of thing.
[http://www.sorobonbeachresort.com/]
While decent deals from dive shops aren’t
too hard to come by, everything else there
will cost ya. Gas runs roughly $4 per gallon.
Surprisingly, most grocery items, even produce,
originate from the USA or Western Europe.
Proper European meat cuts and cheeses are
readily obtainable. This could be good or
bad; the unadventurous palette will feel quite
at home, while those seeking stereotypical
Caribbean fare will be disappointed.
Bonaire recovers a few points in the
cuisine category. Around town, the hungry
traveler will find cuisine with influences
strong or subtle, overt or covert from Ven-
ezuela, Suriname, Argentina, Mexico, the
U.S., Indonesia, China, Lebanon, Italy, France
and the Netherlands, as well as the rest of
the Caribbean. Many establishments are
more European in their approach to serving,
featuring three or more distinct courses and
encouraging a slower pace to your dining. The
outlying communities also feature more local
fair. Many families serve passed-down dishes
out of their homes or makeshift businesses. If
you’re on Bonaire and looking for iguana stew,
then you came to the right place.
All things considered, visit Bonaire for
the diving and not much else. My companions
and I decided it’s marvelous as long as you’re
under the water, but kind of dull if you’re out
of it. If you plan to go, be sure to get a hold
of me and I’ll steer you to the best dives. Safe
bubbles!
[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
8 yrs old: Cloudy Day
by Gina Caciolo
D akota stood, toes curled in his sneakers,
with his eyes focused on the line his feet
were perched on. He waited.
“I PICK TRUMAN!”
His small palms stuck to the side of his
green athletic shorts and he tugged on the back
of his WILLIAMS ELEMENTARY t-shirt.
“I PICK JENNY!”
Mrs. Hinder was at the nurse’s station
helping a student who tripped on his way out
from gym. The lunch lady, subbing, sat in the
corner, smoking a cigarette, and told the kids
to, “Play nice, and stay away from my smoke.”
“I PICK HENRY!”
While his eyes were down, Dakota saw
Journey kick the back of her heels together and
the bright pink lights in her soles lit up like
magic.
A group of clouds drifted along under
the sun, respecting its authority. One stray
cloud slid along, showing off to the group and
proving its willingness to be different.
Journey turned and looked at Dakota.
She whispered, “I heard your new nickname is
Smell-face.” Her blue braces shined through as
she giggled. Dakota attempted to pull the back
of his shorts off his damp thighs.
“I PICK MARY!”
Dakota thought he could still smell the
onions from his ham sandwich under his
nose. “Onions suck. And you suck for liking
them,” Ryan had taunted. Ryan had come up
behind Dakota at the lunch table and smushed
Dakota’s nose in between the pieces of rye.
“You smell because of them. Smell-face. Stupid
SMELL-FACE!”
“No,” Dakota lied to Journey. “It’s not
true.”
She sniffed the air in his direction and
took a few large steps back. The pink nail
1234567890 PLU 04’10
polish on her fingers flapped in front of her
nose.
“I PICK JOURNEY!”
Journey sprung forward and clapped high
five with Ryan. Dakota adjusted his tiny glasses
and sniffled. Ever since a gym class in first
grade when Dakota got hit with four balls at
once, no one has wanted him on their team.
“It’s between ‘Baby Jamie’ and ‘Smell-
face.’”
“Who do you want?”
“I don’t want either.”
“Me neither.”
“The lunch lady isn’t gonna notice. Let’s
just play one short.”
“Hey yeah! It’ll still be even!”
Dakota looked over at Jamie. Jamie stood
at the end of the line with his coke bottle
glasses and short shorts, and picked his nose.
He was three inches shorter than everyone
else and still hadn’t kicked his baby weight. He
turned to Dakota. “You want to go look at the
bugs that crawl around the tree?”
By now, everyone had started playing
dodgeball on the other side of the field. “Not
really,” Dakota said. “I’m gonna go watch them
play. Maybe somebody’ll get hurt and they’ll
pick me.”
Jamie nodded his head. “Good luck.”
His weight bounced from one leg to the next
as he wobbled over to the tree by the fence.
Jamie plopped onto the spongy green grass and
picked at bugs and put them in front of his
thick glasses.
Heartbeats raced inside of Dakota’s chest.
What if they did pick him? He thought about
how he really was terrible at dodgeball. He sat
against the wall of the school and watched the
new game begin.
Ryan counted out to three and everyone
ran forward to retrieve the balls from the
middle line. Several kids from both sides
retrieved the beaming red orbs, but only half of
them survived. Dakota paid the most attention
to Journey. The lights in her shoes danced as
she jolted away from the balls being thrown
at her. Ringlets of brown hair bounced on her
shoulders.
“Hey! Smell-face!” Ryan yelled. “What do
you think you’re doing over here?”
“I’m just watching.” Dakota felt his
shoulders tense.
“I didn‘t say that was ok.” Balls continued
to fly as Ryan’s knuckles turned red and both
of his hands gripped the ball tighter. Dakota
pulled his knees up to his chin. He closed his
eyes and buried his nose in between his knees
“HEY! Smell-face! I’m not done.”
Dakota turned his head as one of the
balls flew towards him. He couldn’t duck fast
enough and the ball landed hard against his
face, breaking his glasses. Broken shards of
glass sprinkled onto his bare legs; small cuts
formed along his thighs. Tiny droplets of blood
formed as tears developed in Dakota’s eyes.

Everyone stopped playing to point and
laugh. Mrs. Hinder ran across the pavement
and blew her whistle.
“I get a sub for five minutes and this is
what happens?” she said. “Everyone stop laugh-
ing right now. Dakota, dear, are you ok?” Mrs.
Hinder hustled over to him and slowly helped
him up. Throbbing pains shot into his nose,
and he lightly shook his head from side to side.
“Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get you inside,”
Mrs. Hinder said.
Dakota squinted but couldn’t see a thing.
He stuck out his hand for Mrs. Hinder to take
it and she grabbed it and pulled him along
back into the school. He cried a little harder
and Mrs. Hinder stopped and leaned down
next to him.
“Dakota, just don’t worry. The nurse’ll
clean you up.”
Dakota sniffled again and nodded his
head. He walked into the nurse’s station. The
kid who had tripped earlier was still in there.
Without his glasses, Dakota couldn’t see who it
was, so he quietly and slowly pulled his scarred
legs up and over the plastic cushion and sat
next to the other kid. Dakota looked down and
saw the kid had bandages on his legs. They sat
in silence until the other kid broke it.
“The nurse is in bathroom,” he said.
“Oh, ok,” Dakota said. He squinted again
but couldn’t even make out the eye chart that
he knew was at the end of the room. All the
browns of the wooden closets and whites of
the motivational health posters blurred in front
of him. “Who are you?” Dakota asked.
“Steven,” he said. “I’m new.”
Through his already squinted eyes, Dakota
could see that Steven had darker skin than his
own and had noticed he talked a little different
than anyone else in his class. “I’m Dakota.”
“Cool,” Steven said. “I’m from Texas. I just
moved here a week ago. I didn’t have to come
to school until today.”
“Wow. So you didn’t have school for a
week?”
“Yeah, it was pretty awesome.”
“That is so cool. Did you play games the
whole time?”
“Well,” Steven said. “My dad is a truck
driver. And he drove to New Jersey and back.
So I got to go with him.”
Dakota paused and his jaw lowered. “That.
Is. So. Cool.”
“Yeah, my dad is the coolest. So… what
happened to you?”
Nervously, Dakota moved his hands
under his butt, sat on them, and rocked from
side to side.
“I tripped too.”
“That’s a bad trip.”
They both laughed. Dakota’s eyes had
slowly started to adjust. He still couldn’t see
anything, but he felt comfortable without his
glasses on. The nurse had come in and cleaned
up Dakota’s cuts and helped him find the sink
so he could wash his face.
“So, you’ll have to go back to class,” the
nurse told Steven.
The cold water splashed over Dakota’s
face and he took in deep breaths; it felt relax-
ing to him. Fingers tapped on his shoulder as
he turned around.
“Other than your glasses you look alright
to me,” the nurse said. “But because you can’t
see, if you want to stay in here and rest until
the end of the day, that’s alright with me.”
Dakota rocked from one foot to the other.
He squinted at Steven. Everyone was going
to want to play with Steven. He had an accent
and his dad drove a truck. He’d be popular in
an instant.
“I want to go back outside.” Dakota
rubbed his eyes with his fists and squinted at
Steven. Dakota thought he saw Steven smiling
and he felt better about his decision.
The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “Let‘s
get you two back outside, right?”
Dakota turned toward Steven and even
though he couldn’t see his eyes, Dakota knew
they each had the same idea. They nodded
their heads agreeably.
The nurse took each of their hands and
walked them down the long, dingy hallway.
The bright light from the outside poured onto
them as they walked outside. The nurse walked
over to Mrs. Hinder and the two chatted.
Dakota took in a deep breath.
“Do you want to go lay in the field and
look at the clouds?” Dakota said.
“Can you see them?” Steven asked.
Dakota nodded and smiled.
“Ok,” Steven said. “Last one to the grass is
a rotten egg.” Steven took off towards the field
and Dakota followed. He heard Ryan yell in
the background. Something about onions and
the new kid. He ignored it. He pumped his
legs as hard as he could and when he made it
to the grass he collapsed, took in deep breaths,
and stared at the blurry white forms in the sky.
[ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890
Like Pot, But Not: It’s Legal, But Stay Scared [from thepegleg.com]
by cuneiform:ation
A video aired Thursday, Feb. 25, on KSFY
Action News. Although we must
appreciate KSFY’s attempt to inform regional
citizens of a potential new development in the
realm of feelin’ good, the segment contains
a lot of propaganda and straight-up wrong
information.
First, we must acknowledge a certain
amount of dissonance between the ideological
orientation of KSFY and ThePegLeg.com.
While KSFY obviously approaches this
issue with a bias that ingesting marijuana is
unhealthy and dangerous, the PLU generally
elects to avoid any qualitative value judgments
beyond the basic acknowledgment that some
people smoke some things, some people don’t
and some people try to make and enforce
rules. I’m a little disappointed to see this news
channel – one I’ve watched since I was a kid
– evidence such an obvious lack of journalistic
objectivity. However, such is the cultural
climate these days, particularly in the Midwest.
I still love it here, but I’m probably going to
take KSFY Action News with more
salt than I used to.
You’ve gotta love the opening
line: “It’s the popular new way
for kids to get high and not get
caught…” Apparently we are more
focused on enforcing the construc-
tions of hierarchy and discipline
than public safety, but I digress. In
any case, it is not long before the
news anchor does assert this new
substance’s threat, stating, “This will
get you high like marijuana, but is
not marijuana. For the moment it is
very legal, and very dangerous.”
The article goes on to share
K2’s resemblance to marijuana, cit-
ing its availability at seedy sex-shops
Video courtesy KSFY.com via ThePegLeg.com. Watch and read here:
(while showing video of a straw http://thepegleg.com/2010/02/k2-feel-good-and-stay-out-of-jail/
over a steaming heroin spoon and a
crack pipe being lit) and an option to “Factor
in something potent but legal like K2 and the
list of things that can be used and abused gets
longer and longer.”
Up to this point the news segment’s tone
has been reactionary and over-hyped, but
hasn’t contained any overt untruths. However,
KSFY quickly begins to flirt with this margin.
They go on to state that K2 is two to three
1234567890 PLU 04’10
times more powerful than marijuana, listing its
effects as, “violent seizures, powerful hallucina-
tions, and severe panic.” No citation is given
for this statement.
I can only cite a certain amount of
personal experience in the matter, but I feel it
is relevant and valid within the context. I’ve
smoked more than a little pot. Some of it
high-quality, some of it nasty and crunchy, like
the herb equivalent of Top cigarette tobacco.
I’ve also sampled some of the herbal
smoking products marketed as “legal pot.”
Salvia divinorum used to get marketed in this
way occasionally, although as a sage featur-
ing good ’ol 5-MAO, it’s in a little different
category than reefer. However, I’ve sampled
legal herbal smokes like a’hia bud, “spice,”
daganda and canavalia rosea. They’re all pretty
good. They’re relaxing, last longer than a
tobacco buzz and don’t make you feel dirty
or give headaches like nicotine does. They’re
much cleaner – instead of smoking an over-
processed, chemical-laced cigarette, they come
to you in a nice, clean bud with real leaves and
stems. Many plants out there have little treats
for us if we use them in the proper manner.
Some of these products give you a better high
than low quality pot. None of them get you as
high as real dank. That’s why these are legal.
If KSFY news-anchor Brian Allen thinks
the stuff is two to three times better than pot,
he’s probably not getting very good pot – the
kind that grows in rich forest soil out in the
natural sunlight next to the ocean with purple
hairs and shiny crystals clinging to it. No
herb can match the vibe encrypted in those
flowers… but I digress. In any case – none of
this legal stuff is gonna make you hallucinate.
The problem is that KSFY explicitly
does not ask the right questions to be good
journalists. Media has a responsibility to give
balanced, rational details rather than making
alarming, irrational claims. Rather than mak-
ing scary links to hard drugs through imposing
description and clips of opiate and amphet-
amine use, shouldn’t KSFY give us some facts
about the substance? I want to know what it
is, not what it’s like. An intelligent, engaged
media consumer is going to want more
relevant information when they’re making a
decision about what to think when presented
with something new and foreign. I would like
to know how long it lasts, what kind of things
it encourages the user to think about, and how
exactly it impairs the user.
Well, since KSFY didn’t
do the job, ThePegLeg.com will
gladly fill the gap. The psychoac-
tive component in the K2 incense
product is JWH-018 – a synthetic
cannabinoid which interacts with
the brain in much the same way as
THC (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
JWH-018).
Perhaps KSFY could have
done some real research like the
Phoenix New Times, which recently
cited an actual user as describing, “I
smoked some of this one night when
I was watching a movie, and this
really warm feeling started at the top
of my scalp and just slowly moved
down my face and head. I was on the
edge of my seat watching this movie,
but I felt really, really mellow. And
all it took was one hit.” Well, that certainly
does sound like a dangerous way to be feeling,
especially if one is going to go out and do
something seriously crazy like watch a movie.
Visit this site to read an archive of
people’s analytical descriptions of their
experiences on products containing JWH-018:
[http://www.erowid.org/experiences/subs/
exp_Products_Spice.shtml]. No descriptions
of hallucinations appear; one user states, “It
gave me effects extremely similar to those from
Magic Silver [an analogous “legal marijuana”],
though possibly slightly stronger. One smallish
hit through a water pipe also resulted in a
strong marijuana-like high that lasted for
around 3 to 3.5 hours, and included time
distortion, euphoria, stress reduction, great
creativity and personal insight, heightened flow
of ideas, and increased appreciation of music
and art. It also helped me relate to my children
with increased compassion and insight into
how to reconcile some of their differences.
The poem I wrote, by the way, still looks
really good, to me, the next day. Very creative,
with unusual and interesting metaphors and
rhythmic patterns. I like it!”
Other users described it as “Basically can-
nabis, minus the fun,” “Nearly identical to MJ
but longer lasting” and “A pleasant cannabis
alternative,” The strongest sensory perceptions
seem to include a state of everything glowing
and mildly undulating on some metaphysical
plane.
One of these drugged-out, worthless, ad-
dicts described the experience in this manner:
“The effects come on in 10 minutes and are
intense waves of relaxation, feeling carefree,
munchies, red eyes, etc. All the same side
effects of MJ besides paranoia. Overall I can’t
say how happy I am with this. Even though it
contains the synthetic cannabinoid JWH-018
that doesn’t bother me. I have done a lot of
research on this chemical and I honestly do
not think its any more harmful than THC but
this is all speculation since more research and
testing needs to be done. I have not noticed
any negative effects except during one burn I
had a bit of stomach discomfort but I think it
was due to my diet that day as it hasn’t hap-
pened since. No hangover or lethargy the next
day either which is great since weed tended to
make me feel very lazy and unmotivated even
the next morning.”
It’s important to note that these products
are intended for use as incense. Maybe users
should try putting it in a burner, sitting over
it, and meditating, as intended. I’ll talk more
about this later.
For insight on this new development in
the drug world, KSFY interviews the Director
of Chemical Dependency Services for Volun-
teers of America in Sioux Falls. I’m not sure
this man is going to have a relevant perspective
on the substance, since he probably regularly
deals with hard, burnt-out addicts who have
reached rock bottom – essentially, he’s not
exactly interpreting a “representative sample.” I
doubt he has much, if any, experience with K2
users from his position. In fact, I guarantee
the majority of the people he works with are
not even working through marijuana addic-
tions or overdoses. Sure, people from sketchy
backgrounds are more likely to smoke pot,
and people with addictive personalities may be
heavy smokers, but the ranks of non-affected,
high-functioning marijuana users makes clear
that the simple use of this substance is not an
ultimately deciding factor in life quality.
Please do not interpret me as a pro-mar-
ijuana, or even pro-K2, spokesperson. I have
made certain choices in my personal lifestyle,
but I acknowledge smoking has drawbacks,
and I’ve never tried the actual K2 product, so I
might not know what I’m talking about.
The product does have draw-backs, one
being that we may not know the manufactur-
ing laboratory or see an ingredients list.
However, you won’t get these things on a piece
of beef from the grocery store either.
However, one must also consider the
aspect of this generic origin being a product of
a prohibitive society. Basically, these manufac-
turers of a perfectly legitimate, currently legal
product still must fear the wrath of individuals
like South Dakota Attorney General Marty
Jackley, who, according to the news anchor,
”Knows all about K2.”
Jackley feels that, “Although there are no
state or federal laws that call K2 out as an il-
legal substance, there are federal and state laws
that make possessing and ingesting a product
with obvious drug characteristics a crime, and
he is ready to use those existing laws.” No
wonder this product’s originators don’t think it
wise to identify themselves.
One can see the whole issue of people
smoking a substance meant to be used as
incense is a result of Pot-hibition. If people
could just find healthy, all-natural herb, they
wouldn’t have to turn to inhaling unknown,
synthetic compounds.
Think about it this way: when cocaine was
legal, they put small doses of it in soda pop.
Soda pop has never been so good. During
cocaine prohibition, people have turned to
chemically distilling the psychoactive elements
of the product further and further, eventually
winding up with crack, which has ruined a lot
more lives than Coca-cola, and that’s saying
something. If our society cracks down on
substances like K2, they will simply be seeing
more potent, more heavily distilled versions
of JWH-018 appearing in increasingly more
dangerous, more violent underground circles.
I think it sounds great to put a dropper of this
JWH-018 on the patchouli in my oil burner
and sit down for a nice meditation session.
Possibly the most troubling skewed rheto-
ric in the piece comes from Allen’s utilization
of a generic high-school girl to further drum
up the dangers of “these kids all on drugs these
days.” While talking to this girl, the footage
asserts that kids are doing a lot of drugs – stuff
like Oxycodin and Xanax. Apparently, high
school kids are fighting, cheating and stabbing
each other in a dangerous black market cycle of
hard opiate consumption.
Brian Allen went and bought three bags
of K2 online just because he could, and nobody
was hurt. This should show us how, whether
or not the substance is healthy, the thicker the
prohibitive system, the more traumatic the
consumption society becomes.
According to the girl in Allen’s interview,
she has two groups of friends: those who don’t
do drugs, and those who are high all the time.
The group of kids who are high all the time
is definitely the larger, she says. KSFY never
considers that perhaps, since all these kids are
capable of going through life high all the time
and nobody has noticed (obviously, since the
news is presented as shocking and ground-
breaking), maybe it doesn’t ruin their lives as
much as we would like to believe.
Another recent news story further
illustrates this point. A recent drug bust in
Watertown has one neighbor marveling that
people on his block could be using drugs. A
KSFY story on the incident says: “‘I’ve got
power wheels driving around here all summer
long. A complete fleet.’ Steve Hahn has lived
in this neighborhood for 9 years and says he
knows his neighbors very well, many of them
with kids and that’s why the bust has him so
concerned. ‘I was wondering if they were here
in the summertime, because you know those
kids are out and about all over the place.’”
Maybe the fact that he and his kids have
been able to live a safe, happy, normal life in
the proximity of people who get high should
make him feel safer around people who get
high. There was no trouble in this neighbor-
hood until the cops showed up.
In any case, I’m troubled by the blindered-
perspectives and vicious, prohibitive rhetoric
present in our legal and media hierarchies.
Maybe limited perspectives and aggressive
attitudes are what I should expect from people
who don’t get high enough. I’m not sure nor in
a position to assert this. In any case, we ought
to know by now that prohibition doesn’t work.
Eventually somebody will get smart – unfor-
tunately, for the moment, it doesn’t seem to be
KSFY Action News.
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