It went down on St. Valentines’ Day. Where was the Love?
The Geoduck Nation gathered on the campus of The Evergreen State College to imbibe in the mellow grooves and provocative political beat dropping glory of Dead Prez. The gig was derailed from the tracks of an uplifting conclusion thanks to the Polizei. A student was arrested for Herbal Enlightenment and summarily shackled, jacked and prepped for the hoosegow. The ghost of Marley haunted the crowd.

How many rivers do we have to cross,
Before we can talk to the boss? Eh!
All that we got, it seems we have lost;
We must have really paid the cost.
Burnin’ and a-lootin’ tonight
Burnin’ and a-lootin’ tonight

We weren’t around for the civil rights movement.
Hop Hop is our Vietnam.

 
Riot at Evergreen. Police car flipped.

I recently tried out the extreme sport of waterboarding.  I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie, and am an accomplished kite surfer and paraglider, so when some acquaintances picked me up for a weekend of waterboarding, I was stoked!

 I was a bit hesitant at first, as I didn’t have any gear.  But I was assured everything I deserved would be provided.  After a few hours drive, our van parked inside a warehouse. I’m not sure where the warehouse is, as there were no windows in the back (my associates like to keep their best spots private).  

The waterboard was set up in a small alcove.  It looked a lot like a modified inversion table, like the ones used to ease back pain.  My buddies wasted no time in strapping me onto the table and into the safety harness.  Then they inverted me head down at a 45 degree angle. As the pressure released from my discs and spine, I could feel my circulation improving.  My lungs opened, and I felt a surge of energy.

 My comrades folded a dishtowel and put it over my face.  Then they slowly poured water over it.  As soon as the towel was saturated, water began to leak into my nose and throat.  I began bucking almost immediately.  The water rolled straight into my sinuses and lungs, and I was reduced to pure primal instinct.  I was drowning, and my endorphins were on fire!  My buds decided this would be a good time to play Truth or Dare, pulling the towel off just long enough to shout questions into my face.  I really wanted to try Dare, but I guess it would have been a hassle to unstrap me.  I spent most of the day waterboarding. None of my friends even got a chance to try before we packed up. How to waterboard for fun and torture.

It’s impossible to describe the rush of waterboarding, but the effects are still noticeable several weeks later.  I don’t think I’ll be doing it again soon, but my experience has encouraged me to try other extreme sports..like flying jumbo jets or crop dusters.  

JUST US

My Bus Stop is famous! It was recently featured in a local newspaper!

If you look past the civics lesson in the foreground, you will clearly see the Woolworth’s Building. My stop is right in front of it!Anarchist prepares to get the bicycle beat-down from Tacoma Police…………………………..

Dedicated environmentalists using experimental Green Transportation.

Bombed out hippies take a bong break and roll dumpsters into traffic…………………………
Liberal Arts Students get help with their welding thesis.

Police resort to blow-torching the makeshift monkey wrenchers………………………
Civil servant Hygienics Specialists at work. They like their hippies extra spicy.
A member of olympia port militarization resistance gets a bathing incentive…………………………..

SPICY

The Magic Realm has worked with parents for centuries to ensure discipline. Elaborate systems of bribe and threat have been woven into a comprehensive canon of Processes and Procedures. Parents are still obligated to correct the most egregious behavior. Serious transgressions are punishable by spanking, as it is important to teach children the value of corrective force.

When dealing with soft crimes (sneaking cookies, not staying in bed, whining) it’s often best to use Soft Magic. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough bondable Softies to exert sufficient bribes to ensure discipline year round. Santa and Easter Bunny are overtaxed to the point of burnout, often called upon several months prior to their commitment date. Some desperate parents have resorted to pressing weaker minions into extended service, pushing Tooth Fairy payouts below the TVI (tooth value index).

Many of the most effective fear based creatures of the Magic Realm have been on the dole for decades. Child Psychology and urbanization have ended the tenure of such stalwarts as goblins, trolls, and the boogeyman. Vain attempts to adjust were made during the Industrial Revolution, but relocation (under bridges) and redefining job descriptions (gremlins) were absolute failures.

Modern Parents are obligated to find new sources for threat based acquiescence, and have turned to reality. Compliance is now achieved with the menace of gangs, internet predators, and Chinese toys.

The window for effective Magic Realm usage has narrowed. Parents only have a few years between comprehension and understanding in which to incorporate the canon, but the efficacy is obvious. Despite deep cynicism the children’s traditions of Santa, Easter Bunny, Jesus, and the Tooth Fairy, still remain an integral part of our heritage.

HO HO HO

I was stationed on the border of Afghanistan during Operation Baseball and Apple Pie. My Righteous Brigade was charged with daily peacekeeping raids against the Cloven Hooved Blasphemists. One event in particular tattooed the glory of peacing upon my soul.

We were tearing through a rugged village in our Ark of Tailgating, seeking out infidels to repent. As we passed an inauspicious burnt shell of wreckage, a roadside Judas went off, nearly capsizing our Ark down the side gully. Bubba somehow managed to gain control and prevent us from flipping.

I popped out of the turret hole like a whac-a-mole, sweeping the streets with binoculars. Filthy Mosqueteers were scurrying out after us, intent on desecrating our remains. I shouldered my AK4th of July and let loose a volley of Jesus Nails, redeeming the sinners straight into early damnation. As they scurried into a building for cover, I pulled the pin on a Star Spangled Surprise and lobbed it into their den of debauchery.

It’s raining towels, Hallelujah! It’s raining towels..

FREEDUMB

Stephen Colbert has announced his candidacy for Presidential Spoiler 2008. If successful, he will earn his bronze bust in the Pantheon of Spoilericity, next to Nader and Perot. Colbert’s chore will be far more arduous than his predecessors.

Colbert is of course, a tree hugging leftist, spoofing as a right wing buffoon. Droves of long-hairs will receive their mail in ballots, and cast their hilarious protest vote for Colbert (between bong hits). But conservatives will also take a hit. Red State Hillbillies will vote for Colbert, because they have no concept of satire.

The effect of his spoilage will depend on several factors:
1) The Number of swing-states Colbert is on the ballot.
2) The Density of Liberal Arts Colleges in those states.
3) The Discount Ron Paul cultists can get at Bed Bath & Beyond

CHAD

I used to work in a bulk mail center in Seattle. One of their ironic clients was Bulk Male, a quarterly adult magazine appealing to a gay subgenre: Fat Fetishists. The magazines were hand inserted by a small army of multinational immigrants into classic plain brown envelopes. I remember the Christmas issue in particular. The cover featured a bearded mountain man sporting a Santa Clause hat, his fur-barrel of a chest straining a leather vest. The headline was Goodman is Gay.

I thought I had successfully healed most of the scars opened by my inadvertent glances, but they were recently reopened. I was fine tuning my WordPress blog, and Googling to check the status of some of my recent entries. What a surprise! When following Google links into my page, I was greeted with Google-Ads, based (loosely) on my search terms. One of these ads was for gaycuddlybears.com.

Thank you WordPress, for widening my stance.

DOWNLOW

I’m afraid of bears. I spent the Summers of my youth in Alaska, sowing the seeds of ursiphobia. The airport in Anchorage has a large collection of stuffed animals, not gift shop stuffies. They are grotesque taxidermical nightmares. Every animal is rendered in full blood-thirsty attack mode, lunging badgers, snarling wolves, elk impending impalement. But the bear is the worst. Standing twelve feet tall with a roaring world-record head, and massive paws that could smash a bison’s skull (according to the plaque). I realize now that this factoid is a cold calculation of force and bone density. As a child, I assumed someone witnessed a frenzied buffalocide on the prairie.

I was relatively immune to my “uncle’s” horror stories while camping. The classic hook murderer didn’t faze me much. But being relentlessly mauled by a bear filled me with dread (cliché!). The woods were very real. Sometimes we would go for walks through patches of bear-grass, six feet high and too dense to see more than a few feet. Occasionally we would burst out onto a trail or small clearing, “made by bears”, I was told. I was constantly reminded of bear safety, usually as we walked home at dusk carrying bags of snagged salmon. Clasp the back of your neck and roll into a ball. Great. He’ll get tired of chewing on me and move on to livelier game.

My daughter Viola (age 3) says bears are my favorite. I’m not sure where she got that. We’ve been playing a lot of Bear lately. Mostly just prowling around the living room, sometimes I get a pillow cave. But things have taken a turn. Lately when I’m a bear, she’s a unicorn, and we stage epic battles. My sides are pretty badly bruised from her head butts. I find it strange that she has a natural instinct for a mythical creature’s attack. She drives the horn between my ribs, puncturing the sensitive organs within.

DEAD

I’m a better Juggler than you are. I’m a better juggler than any of your friends, better than your Uncle Fred. You’ve seen better, but this ain’t the circus. If you Juggle at all, you can do a spastic 3 Ball Cascade, but you couldn’t pick a 3BC out of a lineup.

 I purchased my set of professional juggling balls several years ago. I had planned to drive down to Oregon and buy a set from a store called Serious Juggling. I called the proprietor, and he said they would be closed for the weekend because he was driving up to Seattle for a Juggle Festival. It was ten o’clock at night when I pulled into the parking lot of Hawk’s Prairie. I sat and fiddled with the radio while waiting for my rendezvous.

  My contact pulled up beside me, strong wrists gave him away. We got out and made introductions, then walked to his trunk. He looked around furtively and popped it. Rows of colored delight, spheres of every flavour, clubs with glittery handles. He grabbed a set of Todd Smith’s and launched into a frenzied bastardized Claw/Mill’s mess. I opted for a set of Absolute Circus’ in green/black vinyl, and some Ruby’s in corduroy.

 CASH