Freak Street in Kathmandu is a hell of a place. If you’re a hippie, that is. Marijuana is the #1 cash crop here, and the flocks of hippies passing through here on their way to or back from an ashram in India end up smoking most of it. Given its status as a Mecca of the counterculture, it’s not surprising the KGB and CIA sent up offices here. The US has been pouring foreign aid into Nepal, though the people here are more likely to get stoned than have a revolution. The KGB is here for the hippies, the CIA is here for the KGB, and I’m here to make money off both of them. Business is good. The only downside is the scent of incense. You get used to it after a while.
I came here with the Peace Corps a few years ago and fell in love with the place. At first, it was just a scheme to avoid the draft when my college deferment ran out. After returning to the US, it was a struggle to adjust. It’s hard to explain, but I just didn’t feel like I belonged there any more. So I called up some college friends and we joined a hippie caravan on its way to India. Hard as it might be to believe today, there was a time when young people with little knowledge of the rest of the world could easily travel overland through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and India. So many came that tourism was a big part of the local economies back then.
Since I spoke Nepali and had a smattering of a few other languages, I was the expedition’s interpreter, though most of the time, I ended interpreting English being spoken with very heavy accents. Fine by me, it felt good to be an expert of sorts. When we reached Kathmandu, I really hit my stride. I became friends with all the hotel and restaurant owners, the souvenir peddlers, and even the local police. It’s no exaggeration to say I had more knowledge of the place than the US ambassador.
Back when I was still with the Peace Corps, we all got invited to the embassy for Thanksgiving. One guy in our bunch really hated LBJ. At the dinner, he got plastered and told the ambassador to go fuck himself. And that is how Peace Corps got banned from the US embassy in Nepal. That guy became a Peace Corps legend though.
When I think of all the pearl-clutching in the US about dope, I wish I could take all those squares to Freak Street. Then they could see for themselves that a country covered in marijuana fields hasn’t collapsed into reefer madness. If anything, the Nepalese have succeeded in making weed boring. Take that, J Edgar Hoover. Today’s errands would take me to the local jail to bail out some guys who’d gotten to rowdy and were too clueless to pick up on the bribery hints the police dropped. Who says there isn’t an upside to corruption? Greased palms get things done. I practically need a diagram to explain how I got the money, but here’s my attempt at it.
First, I made some friends with locals working at the embassy. We’d eat and drink together and sometimes I gave them some cash to pay school fees or buy medicine for a sick relative. In our conversations, they’d inadvertently blurt out some interesting embassy gossip. When I had a few tidbits I thought were worth sharing, I’d head over to one of the bars or restaurants the KGB guys frequented. I’d buy them a drink and hand them a note to set up a dead-drop. I liked to use Hindu shrines since they were easy to spot, and people left all sorts of stuff near them. I used a little clay teapot to hold my messages which the KGB would later surreptitiously retrieve. The night after making a drop, I’d go to the shrine, take the teapot lid off, and take out any money the KGB left inside.
The money from that was good, but why not play both sides and make even more? Once I had enough KGB contacts, I learned their addresses and schedules. Most of them lived outside the Soviet embassy compound in a ritzier neighborhood with all the other expats. Once I had enough quality info, I went to the US embassy and gave them a free sample. That led to the CIA station chief calling me in for an interview. It was a lot of work to convince them I was on their side and worth the risk. The station chief was a wiry, intense man. He told me his name was Bob and tried to put me at ease, but I could tell it was all an act. For three hours, I was stuck in a windowless room in the embassy basement while Bob (or whatever his real name was) and his equally mysterious assistant Chuck peppered me with questions. Questions like: Why are you doing this? Are you a communist? How do you feel about the Vietnam War? Do you smoke pot? How did you get this info about the Russians?
It was grueling, but at last, I won them over by saying that with knowledge of the schedules and addresses of the embassy staff, they could send a break-and-entry team to plant microphones and such. They were surprised and impressed that I knew about such things. I explained that I had learned about wire-tapping and surveillance from reading the Anarchist’s Cookbook and other such contraband literature. Bob offered to help me a get a job at the agency. He set I had the right personality and skills for it. I was flattered, but explained that since I had been in the Peace Corps, I was ineligible to work for the CIA. Bob and Chuck thanked me nonetheless and said that we’d be in touch and handed me an evelope which I calmly stashed in my pocket. I could tell it was full of money. Bob said that I should come to the embassy the first day of every month and ask the receptionist if there was any mail for me. I rose to leave, shook their hands, and said it was a pleasure doing business with them.
That B and E team must have found something juicy, because when I went to the US embassy to ask for mail, I got an envelope full of cash, a plane ticket to London, and a scrap of paper that said:
Good job. Now lie low for a year. We’ll be in touch.
When you get to London, go to the US embassy and tell the front desk clerk Bob and Chuck sent you.
Namaste
-Bob
Well, I was officially a spook. I said goodbye to all my local friends and packed my suitcase. 3 years in Kathmandu and I’d made almost enough money to retire. The only question was whether I’d stay in the game or quit while I was ahead. A year in London would give me plenty of time to think it over.
Kittens are here.
There are six of them.
Toes vary from 4 to 6 on the front paws.
Will be ripe and ready to pick up in 7-8 weeks.
https://ibb.co/mQDRK47
https://ibb.co/xKJ7DDrX
https://ibb.co/QF6yCycC
My mutant had mutant babies.
Awwwwww!!!
You should name them Lomu, Carter, Fitzpatrick, Meads, McCaw, and Howlett…
I’m very happy for you.
The end.
Adorable
OMG baby pics! Post more after mom cleans them up already.
Mom looks a bit tired. Give her a few minutes.
She’s tapped out.
Found my wife and had them out in the open with us right there. She really trusts us. Had them, 3, 2, 1 with about half an hour between sets.
heh True.
We had one who required privacy, behind the sofa.
I can smell that from here.
I’m stuffy.
Can’t smell a thing.
https://ibb.co/mQDRK47
Nice tits.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BMOuRwdl4sw&t=7s&pp=2AEHkAIB&ra=m
One of my army buddies had plenty of pics of the weed fields on Afghanistan. Thousand acres or more per.
@Derp: In case ya didn’t see when ya mentioned me before:
Woah. I’m rather rather rather flattered. That sucks, man. (We’d be an interesting drama /sitcom.) Your present situation reminds me of my becoming a phlebotomist. It was certainly a *bold* idea, and much thought was put into it (can’t AI away drawing blood for quite a while! And mobile!), but it certainly wasn’t the wisest of my decisions.
‘Bold moves’ are indeed that. No can say ya didn’t try. Ya certainly gave Full Effort. Means a fuckload, particularly internally. I’m *very* pleased my ‘take the punches’ mindset was already built into my DNA. Having the straw build up is the way to spiral (further) into depression.
I’m really sorry to hear that didn’t work. I know I was a champion of that. But ya gave it your best shot. Active ‘mistakes’ are infinitely better than passive ones. The trade route also seems a natural fit for you.
You’re still breathing and the air’ll get cleaner. Indeed. Onward, upward, always. Baby steps going forward are Big Steps. Hang in, soldier.
Find some positive Distraction Dust for this eve, perhaps.
Great start for a story Derpy. It felt like you were telling me your story in some steamy bar in in South America.
Bring lawyers guns and money.
Leave the Mexicans, pot, and ass sex at home.
But why?
Cause it’s Haram.
Until Thursday.
Awesome story Derp. Hope you write more.
This reads as Evelyn Waugh meets Hunter Thompson.
Moar, pleez.
+1
Very good read.
Fun one.
“…to set up a dead-drop. I liked to use Hindu shrines since they were easy to spot, and people left all sorts of stuff near them. I used a little clay teapot to hold my messages which the KGB would later surreptitiously retrieve.”
Remarkably true. That’s rather clever. Me likey.
Nice setup, Derp. I’m invested.
“…since I had been in the Peace Corps, I was ineligible to work for the CIA. Bob and Chuck thanked me nonetheless and said that we’d be in touch and handed me an evelope which I calmly stashed in my pocket.”
*checks contents*
Call SLPC
Code name: Arjun
I was half-expecting them to be named Bob and Bob.
What would you say you do here?
I ran into a crazy old guy the other day at the college library who had to give me a global warming lecture along with regaling me with peace Corp stories of his time in South America. I was going through a 6-8th grade science curricula the library was dumping. Well over a $1000 worth of stuff, stuff which we happened to be looking for but randomly ran across. He had to tell me how wonderful it would be to take to South America, uh gunning English not Spanish, but said it would be too expensive to add to his checked baggage if he went again. When I told him he could get an entire 40’ shipping container to South America for under $15k he looked confused like no one could possibly have that kind of money.
Not his kind of people, that’s for sure.
I do not like the stink of Patchouli.
Brings back bad memories of dirty hippies.
Reminds me of my dirty sister in law. Gives me the shivers.
It’s horrible. That crap is everywhere in my hippie college town.
Shouldn’t be much when you move to NJ. Unless you live next door to Rutgers.
It was something to try. Now I know I hate it here – lesson learned.
Yeah, I was more in my element down there. It sucks in many ways but it sucks in ways I can deal with.
Like this vacuum cleaner sucks.
Or this woman sucks.
Those are just fine.
Fucking Marriott is using a toiletries brand that has it in their soap and shampoo. Completely clueless.
It’s used in a lot of fragrances but usually not strong enough to identify.
As much as I like hippie girls, I am also turned off by patchoulie.
/not phased by armpit or leg hair…or carpet.
Patchouli
“Sleeping with more than one pillow may have an unexpected health risk”
“*chuckles* Which if true, means death for us all. And now!…” /Kent Brockman
The ‘fear mechanism’ is a good one to have hardwired in. Without *meaningful* threats… well, then. It’d be nice to made a drug that could specifically turn *that* switch off. I suppose that might be fentanyl, etc, but I’m talkin’ the good shit.
[Med grade fent. was interesting. Got a shot in my ass before some work ’round some of the titanium. Purposefully focused and counted backwards from 100 to see how long it’d take. May have made it to 97. Maybe.
Guess you saw that at NYP? The kind of headline I scroll past because it’s probably bullshit.
Posted just for the pic. It looks like a beater Sandcrawler landed in Alabama after it gave up scooping up innocent victims.
linky
I appreciate the TPTB posting this given my not-so-great day earlier. I’d soldier on in trucking, but the instructor basically said I was so bad today he doesn’t want to train me anymore. He asked me to turn in my ID badge and key card. Had I known the situation, I’d have learned to drive a manual before enrolling in the course. It’s OK. My heart wasn’t set on being a trucker anyway.
Aside from writing fiction, which I haven’t done in a while, my latest bright idea is to make audiobooks on YouTube. I’ve been told I have a nice voice for podcasts and such. To avoid copyright problems, I was thinking of reading stuff from Project Gutenberg like this:
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/9404/9404-h/9404-h.htm
***
The inhabitants of these wild but wealthy valleys are of many tribes, but of similar character and condition. The abundant crops which a warm sun and copious rains raise from a fertile soil, support a numerous population in a state of warlike leisure. Except at the times of sowing and of harvest, a continual state of feud and strife prevails throughout the land. Tribe wars with tribe. The people of one valley fight with those of the next. To the quarrels of communities are added the combats of individuals. Khan assails khan, each supported by his retainers. Every tribesman has a blood feud with his neighbor. Every man’s hand is against the other, and all against the stranger.
Nor are these struggles conducted with the weapons which usually belong to the races of such development. To the ferocity of the Zulu are added the craft of the Redskin and the marksmanship of the Boer. The world is presented with that grim spectacle, “the strength of civilisation without its mercy.” At a thousand yards the traveller falls wounded by the well-aimed bullet of a breech-loading rifle. His assailant, approaching, hacks him to death with the ferocity of a South-Sea Islander. The weapons of the nineteenth century are in the hands of the savages of the Stone Age.
Every influence, every motive, that provokes the spirit of murder among men, impels these mountaineers to deeds of treachery and violence. The strong aboriginal propensity to kill, inherit in all human beings, has in these valleys been preserved in unexampled strength and vigour.
***
I guess I should write a part 2 to this story. Until then, here is something about my real encounter with the CIA:
https://platedlizard.blogspot.com/2023/11/my-cia-memento.html
Wassup Glibs? Wakey, wakey.
🍳🥓🌤️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jk8na_qWZp4
🎶🎶
Good morning, Sean, Ted’S., and homey!
Morning, fellow humans.
How are you today?
Not sure yet.
Logged in to work.
If the proposed lithium battery plant here is causing a green-on-green battle, things are going to be even more lit in the further left college town of New Paltz:
https://www.dailyfreeman.com/2026/05/11/planned-new-paltz-battery-storage-facility-could-reap-county-millions-official-says/
Why would we store them here when we can just buy them from China? I’m sure most of them make it without spontaneously combusting on the journey.
No, the storage is for full batteries to store a charge and release the power when the unstable “renewable” sources aren’t producing any electricity.
suh’ fam
whats goody
Apparently UCS’ breakfast isn’t goody.
Ill see what the hotel has to offer. Or the place next door- one thing about NY or NJ is you’re never more than 50′ from a Dunkin Donuts.
The thing about Dunkin is, I’d rather not eat there.
I dont think their coffee is as good as everyone seems to think it is.
It takes hard work to be notably inferior to McDonalds, but Dunkin’ seems to have pulled it off.
Dunkin is worst coffee I have ever tasted and it is not even close. It tastes like it is filtered through discarded donut dough.
The other good thing is you’re rarely far from something better than that.
Their coffee is terrible.
https://www.wsj.com/world/europe/the-worlds-most-surprising-capitalist-makeover-is-under-way-in-sweden-a7830619?st=z9Cedx&reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink
Wow.
Just throw money at them, they will appreciate the lowering inequality.
NGOs?
A public debate is raging over for-profit schools, which critics say make money by skimping on playgrounds, libraries and staff.
Can you even run a school effectively without 2 counselors who majored in grievance studies per student? Won’t someone think of the nonbinary children??
Man, I hope so. I like the Swedes and would really like to visit before I’m too old to enjoy it.
Maybe. Even the WSJ acknowledges the growing problem with the vibrant new neighbors.
Mornin’ all.
Mornin’
Good morning!
Derpy: I’m liking this one; better than alt-Rambo so far.