Friday, January 31, 2014

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHACHA



LEADER OF THE 420NURSES, ALL BONG HIT BOMBSHELLS

Temecula, CA – It only seems fitting as I light two sticks of incense, one called Chronic (green) and the other called Paradise (red), both purchased from Lady of The Lake, our local metaphysical ‘new age’ shop, that ChaCha Va Voom should be celebrating her birthday two days before the first real Bud Bowl and have a b-day at the end of the first month of the year.

Chartering the group of beauties known as the 420Nurses, the still underground but internationally burgeoning model agency becoming more popular than the Suicide Girls (better name, better mantra), ChaCha came to my attention over a year ago at the LA NORML chapter Christmas meeting. 

To be honest though, it was I who came to ChaCha’s attention and for two reasons. The first was the release of Memoirs of Mr. Pete & Mary Jane Green. The second is told in the report, ‘LicensedTo Chill’. If you are curious then follow the link. But be warned, the way into magic is through curiosity or sex.

Beckoned in to join the group, I was soon bathed in the sensual charm that flowed from the top outward to the creative and the artist, mixed with the mom-ly compassion of a nurse. Like a thirsty man only expecting a glass of water as a cottonmouth killer, I soon found myself neck deep in a warm bath pool, wearing only my speed-dos, metaphysically speaking of course. 

Having a mentor like Hunter S. Thompson meant no fear or loathing when offered a chance to know the group from the inside months later by a mysterious shop owner. I felt as if I were in a fable. Like a Greek though I came back bearing a gift, duct tape as a nurse’s aid. Duct tape is found in every band’s belongings and was a natural carryover from my music scene daze, er, days.



A long ago a simple cartoon in Playboy seemed to sum up where I was. 

A solitary cave man came into view and found a cave which he made his home, building his fire out front. As the cartoon view pulled back in the last frame, the viewer could see that the cave existed atop a giant sleeping girl who lay nude while her legs formed the two surrounding mountain ranges. 

I saw that cartoon probably before I was old enough to buy the magazine, but I never forgot it. 

Inside this cave however, there is no Playboy, no Hustler, or even a Spearmint Rhino grazing in the
grass. Here there are only sick people, patients actually, who gather to boost each other’s self esteem through the sharing of community, pot issues, and activism. 

Because they are models, the first issue is discernment from someone who looks beautiful stoned vs a beautiful stoner. And that is the revolution. 

The French say there is nothing more romantic than a revolution and I tend to agree. So today let us raise our glasses, glass pieces that is, to the person who, after completing her training in LA, decided that she would rather be the Woman, instead of The Man.

Happy Birthday, ChaCha, cough cough, pass






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