The Irony We Can No Longer Afford

Ahhhh the irony. The Grand Old Party, hell bent on returning us to the glory days when god, guns and guts made America free, appoints a blubbering, emotionally unstable clown with a fake bake as their spokesperson. The party determined to sustain the absolutely idiotic and unsustainable lifestyle of suburban sprawl gleefully backs a semi literate nudnick named Sarah Palin as a potential presidential candidate. The Grand Old Party, known to be notorious shills and lobbyists for multinational corporations and the uber- rich, actually supports the actions of a bunch of overgrown children known as the Tea Party, claiming that they are the voice of Joe Sixpack here in America.

Okay.

The Democrats are just as bad. Mr. Change himself has yet to grow the cajones necessary to throw even ONE SINGLE THIEF from Wall Street in jail, after the banks, GM, Fannie, Freddie, ad nauseum extorted trillions of dollars from the federal government that the American taxpayer will ultimately have to foot the bill for. Mr. President has himself proven to be nothing more than yet ANOTHER shoeshine boy for the multinationals, the entity which we can plainly see is REALLY in charge of our destiny here in the Western world.

More and more these people appear to be nothing more than over glorified cartoon characters. Talking heads on a television screen, reading scripted dialog off of teleprompters. Their MSNBC/ Fox News crew of cheerleaders come across as awkward high school students in a corny after school play. You can't help but laugh at them, and pity them a little bit at the same time.

The irony is that our corporate masters dumped us a long time ago for younger, cuter, cheaper and lower maintenance Asian mistresses. They've been skipping their alimony payments, and pretty soon won't be paying us at all. For awhile we made out ok, as they were treating us to regular dinner dates at Burger King and KFC, but their Asian harem is getting restless, and demanding to be fed more than just Top Ramen. Their harem seems to have expanded quite a bit over the last decade too, taking on exotic lovers from India, Southeast Asia and South Korea.

The irony is that the banking sector held America hostage and extorted trillions of dollars in "bailout" money, so that wealthy execs could keep their condos in Antigua and give themselves raises. The irony is that these thieves stole our money and not a single one of them was held accountable for ANYTHING. The irony is that these plutocrats continue to rip us off, and we're doing absolutely NOTHING to stop them.

Irony. You see it everywhere. From overweight, suburban wanna be thugs, to "hipsters" wearing stupid trucker hats and growing bad moustaches. From ridiculous TEA Party idiots who rave on and on about freedom, yet insist that Creationism is valid and climate change is not, to "environmentally aware" leftists who drive to the farmer's market in SUV's. The whole kit n kaboodle is starting to look rather ugly, and not in a way that I find ironic at all.

Irony is a luxury we cannot afford anymore. It's time for us to get serious and start acting like adults, because it's clear that adults aren't running the show here in the US. Post industrialized America has been a prolonged exercise in trying to sustain a society built on dwindling fossil fuels, and even though those fuels are diminishing in supply, they are increasing in demand exponentially by the day. America has set the standard worldwide for reckless, wasteful behavior and somehow made it look glamorous. Since no one wants to be left out of the party, we'll soon see the price of oil skyrocketing as oil producing nations are unable to keep up with the demand from "up and coming" economic giants like China and India.

Many will tout alternative energy sources as the solution to our oil addiction, but they are living in a fantasy world. We missed the boat on that 20+ years ago, as the infrastructure and production facilities necessary to make the switch from fossil fuels to alternative energies were never built. In typical American fashion, we shirked our responsibilities and fell asleep at the wheel because we were too busy partying during the cheap oil boom the realize that it wasn't going to last forever. We never took any pause to realize that we were going to have to wake up eventually with a rather unpleasant hangover.

It's up to us to get plan "B" in action while we still can, and contrary to what WAYYY too many optimists want to believe, plan B will have little to do with driving electric cars or relying on an economy solely based on mindless consumerism. The days of spending our money on superfluous crap and gambling for commodities in the stock market are soon to be over, likely for good.

I don't proclaim to be an oracle with the ability to predict the future, and I would caution against taking the advice of anyone who does. I WILL however, say that I feel that now, more than ever we are on the verge of a global economic collapse that will affect the way of life in the US in ways that almost NO ONE is prepared to deal with.

When I do talk to so- called "survivalists" who claim to be ready for the collapse simply because they own a lot of guns, it's laughable. Have fun eating and drinking bullets Rambo. When I talk to Christians who are convinced that the Rapture is coming, it's sad. What if there is no Rapture, and what kind of god do you worship who tells you that the best thing you can do to help your family and your community is to die?

When I talk to conspiracy theorists who think the US government is all powerful and will soon institute a One World Government, I shudder. We have the most powerful military in the world, and it took us almost a decade to restore order in the antiquated city of Baghdad. The fact that conspiracy theorists actually think our governement has enough resources and man power to hold a siege in EVERY modern US city overnight is laughable. Especially in a country of 3 million gun owners.

Truth be told, I don't know what is going to happen, only that I hope that Americans can figure a way to make it through the collapse without re- emerging as a nation full of fundamentalist Christian cavemen who bring back the practices of burning witches and exorcisms. I hope that Americans are deep down, actually not as self centered and sociopathic as I see them acting now, because if they are, we're in some serious trouble.

As the ramshackled empire of the United States of Rome burns right under our feet, the many many Neros of this country keep fiddling on whimsically, preoccupying themselves with video games, "reality" TV, P' Zones and football. Unless these people morph into something resembling responsible adults (and soon) I do not want them on my team. We need to stop looking to our government for answers, help, or guidance, because they are no longer fit for the job of governing. We need to learn and apply all those old world skills so that we can (hopefully) emerge as a stronger nation comprised of significantly less materialistic and shallow children.

In a word, we need to grow up, and fast.

My Run In With Oscar The Death Cat

Awww, check out that pwecious widdle kitty witty! Cute lil guy aint he? Little do you know, ignorant human, that this cat is literally the Grim Reaper himself, wrapped up in a fuzzy disguise of feline fatality.

This cat goes by the name of Oscar, although Charon, Hel, Thanatos or Set would probably suit him much better. You see, Oscar has the uncanny ability of being able to predict when patients at Providence's Steere House nursing home are about to die.

That's right, when a patient in the Alzheimer's ward on the third floor is about to kick the bucket, Oscar likes to get all warm 'n fuzzy with them. In fact, he's accurately predicted over 50 patient deaths at Steere House. He does this by laying down and snuggling with them rather than ignoring them like he usually does. Two hours later, Oscar wakes up and the patient does not. The victims of this terminal tabby are often touted as going "very peacefully" because of his presence.

Two months ago I took on a courier job where I deliver medications to nursing homes. The first stop on one of my routes is Steere House, and I remember vaguely hearing some chatter about a cat that could predict the death of the patients there. I kind of forgot about this until a friend recently inquired if I'd seen "the death cat" yet. Since there are about 55 cats in that home, I figured I'd google to see if the death cat was mentioned anywhere online. There are a myriad of articles about him, and one of the better ones is here:

http://www.cbc.ca/health/story/2010/02/01/death-cat-doctor.html

Aw yeah, "furry angel of death" indeed. I was happy that I'd never seen Oscar before, and was admittedly a little disappointed that he looks well... so damn cute! I figured a "death" cat would be much larger, blacker, scarier and surlier looking. Oscar's such a little cuddle bug, you almost can't resist snuggling up with him, and that's the most frightening thing about him. If he has the ability to bait people into petting themselves straight to Purgatory, well then Oscar needs to stay far far away from me.

Ahhh, but my luck was bound to run out eventually. You see, Oscar and I finally met tonight, and not only did I see him, but his full attention was placed squarely on ME from the second our eyes met. I was delivering meds to the third floor, when all of a sudden, from under the nurse's desk, ole Kitty Cat Charon himself jumped up on the counter. Recognizing him immediately, I jumped back as he started rubbing my med bin with his face.

Sensing that I was trying to avoid him, he jumped off the counter and started jogging over to me. I screamed "Get that cat AWAY from me!" but the nurses just laughed, saying "Oh come on, he likes you!" like that's a good thing or something. I wanted absolutely no part of his bad juju, and couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

Luckily no physical contact was made between Oscar and I. When the elevator reached the first floor, I asked the nurse if she had everything she needed and she replied,

"Oh, this was marked wrong, it has to go up to the third floor."

My heart sank to the bottom of my chest. I was not prepared to have to face Oscar again, having narrowly escaped my first encounter with him. When the elevator arrived at the third floor, Oscar made a b line dash out the door, with a nurse screaming "don't let that cat out!" from inside. Part of me thought it might be a good thing if Oscar actually escaped, as with the rest of Steere House as a buffer zone he'd have less chance of finding me again. Unfortunately though, that was not the case, as from the window in the door I could see him sitting in the middle of the hallway.

Staring.

Waiting.

In front of the elevator.

For me.

Not wanting to try and cheat this hirsute hitman again, I figured it was time to stand my ground. I cleared my throat as I entered the hallway and said "Oscar, get out of my way, I'm getting on the elevator." He didn't budge.

I tried a firmer approach; "Oscar, I'm leaving now, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY WAY." Oscar started licking his paw and then cleaning his ear with it.

One final time I said "DAMMIT OSCAR, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME???!!!" Oscar then lazily walked over to a nurse who was sitting in the lounge area who said "Aw, be nice, he's famous you know!" to which I replied "Yes, I know, and I know WHY he's famous, and I want no part of it!" To which she replied "You don't really believe that do you?" To which I retorted, "Better safe than sorry!"

I breathed a sigh of relief as I got on the elevator, and I hope I never see that charming (yet deadly) cat ever again. It's not often that you meet a cat who has real supernatural cred., and given his impressive track record, I'll err on the side of caution and avoid him as much as possible.

But... but... he's so CUTE!

The Evolution Of A Modern Survivalist

From the time I was knee- high to a grasshopper, frugality, conservation and self reliance were values that were drilled into my head (and no, I did not learn them from the Boy Scouts, as my parents were FARRR too poor to afford that.) The methods my parents and grandparents employed to teach me these skills were often akin to a trial by fire, but I am happy to have learned those hard lessons, as they have proven to be invaluable to me to my survival as an adult. I have always liked to abide by the old adage of "better to have and not need, than to need and not have."

Survivalism and sustainability became a bit of an obsession for me by the time I'd reached my late twenties, and I tried to cover all the bases from urban to woodland survival, from hunting and foraging to herbalism and basic farming. I geared up and tested my ability to survive in extreme heat as well as extreme cold. I also devoted a lot of time to both armed and unarmed combatives training, finding that my initial cockiness in these areas often ended up being my most invaluable teacher. There's nothing like a few fractures and knock outs to prove just how tough you really are(n't).

Like many young survivalist types, I envisioned myself as some kind of post- apocalyptic John Rambo who ran around shooting at bad guys, taking whatever I needed and having no accountability to anyone. This is the pitfall of many modern survivalists, as they seem to romanticize an "every man for himself" type of scenario, or at the very least, a scenario where only their family/ gang/ tribe and themselves matter. This myopic super hero fantasy will not get you very far, unless your bullet belt can somehow miraculously fertilize plants and purify water.

More and more I started to realize that these "lone wolf" types were overtestosteroned, paranoid idiots, and generally just a mirror reflection of the Conquistadors we already have in our government. The Rambos would swear up and down that the government was their mortal enemy, but they seemed to employ exactly the same type of fear mongering and macho posturing that the mainstream media did. Sure, they had SOME good ideas, but their plans to rise above the rubble armed with AK47's and cans of Spam started to sound ridiculously cartoonish to me. The bottom line is- if you want to make something worthwhile happen, you NEED to learn how to work with people.

Add to that, much of the propaganda coming from the Lone Wolf Rambo crowd was brought to you courtesy of Christian fundamentalists, right wing racialists and various other sociopaths I wanted nothing to do with. I'm seeing many of these 1990's "militia" stereotypes reincarnated in the current Tea Party and Constitutionalist movements, and they still leave a bad taste in my mouth. Moreover, I'm starting to become concerned that the Rambos might actually be gaining a foothold with the status quo, and the idea of plowing some Christian lunatic's beanfield with a bayonet in my back doesn't sound too attractive to me.

As I grew older with my survivalist mindset, I started to wonder if any community of rational, pragmatic individuals could be built around the principals of self sustainability. I wondered what the role of women and children would be, and how would we address issues such as child care, education and health care. The Rambos never showed any interest in these issues. Luckily though, I was quite happy to see many inroads being made for realistic sustainability right in my hometown. By the early 21st century, farmers markets, biking and urban farming were coming into vogue, but I was still hungry to see more discussion on what REALLY could be done in the event of a societal collapse.

Enter the writings of James Howard Kunstler, particularly his books entitled The Long Emergency and World Made By Hand. Both of these books deal with the condition known as Peak Oil, with The Long Emergency being a nonfictional prediction of what might happen and World Made By Hand being a Novel about life after the collapse.

I found both of these books (as well as Kunstler's website and blog) to be very inspiring because they are quite a departure from the gloom and doom of most survivalists. Rather than pushing a "Mad Max lording over the post apocalyptic wasteland" angle, they espouse a far more pragmatic and humanistic worldview. To me this stance is crucial, because the doomers leave me feeling highly uninspired, and I suspect that I'm not the only one. Their obsession with violence and retribution is not anything that anybody could build a society around, at least not one with any longevity.

The thing is though, for as grandiose as Kunstler' claims of the importance of community are, I wonder if he actually believes his own propaganda. His snarkiness and cynicism is apparent in his blog entries and lectures, and he seems to get quite easily sidetracked and offended by non- issues such as people wearing clothing he deems too baggy, or enjoying mainstream sporting events and getting tattoos. What James needs to realize is that in order for his own vision to become a reality, he needs to get anyone and everyone on board, including the types of people he may not like very much. He also seems a bit folly to, dare I say; a bit of undeserved self importance from time to time.

But the thing about Kunstler is- we need him and people like him. We need him because whatever he lacks in charisma, charm and tolerance, he makes up for in his ability to tell it like it is, not to mention being able to outline a workable strategy for surviving the impending collapse. He's not likely to be the standard bearer on the battlefield, much less the cool neighbor you drink beer with after work, but he's definitely someone worth paying attention to.

It's easy to hate on the self centered Baby Boomers, the whiny, apathetic Generation X-ers, and the cynically paralyzed Millenials, but every once in awhile I'll meet someone from one of these age brackets who is a bit different. They'll have a glint in their eye, a positive outlook and a lot of great ideas. I hope these people keep appearing in my life because it is far to easy these days to throw your hands up, say "fuck it!", and dismiss our future entirely. Those who are idealistic and pragmatic are as good as gold to me, even if they are as irascible and tempermental as Kunstler is. Those who fight the good fight and are simply far too dedicated and strong (and maybe just a little too naive- in a good way mind you) to even think of capitulation or defeat are the people I want in my tribe.



You can watch a good James Howard Kunstler lecture/ debate at Brown University here:

http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Political_Theory_Project/janus/events/lectures/building_america_who_should_control_urban_growth

(sorry for some reason the hyperlink wouldn't work with this address, so you'll have to cut and paste)

Unfortunately, you can't scroll past where the cursor is cued up, you have to wait for the video to load and get ahead of where the cursor is. At 90 minutes it takes a LONG time to load, but if you can make it to the 67:00 mark you'll see where my question about his tattoo prejudice pisses him off and gives Randall O'TOOL a chance to rip on his earring.


some great books:

Ragnar's Urban Survival- Ragnar Benson
No Such Thing As Doomsday- Philip L Hoag
When Technology Fails- Matthew Stein
World Made By Hand- James Howard Kunstler
The Long Emergency- JHK

Happy Eostre!

How Eostre is usually recognized by modern Heathens is by having what is called a "blot" or "forn" where an offering is made to the appropriate goddess which represents fertility. The Germanic peoples had a LOT of goddesses, many unique to a specific locale and tribe, and many having overlapping attributes, fertility being just one of them. It could be appropriate to have a forn (which is what about 99.9999% of Heathens do, as blot literally means "blood" and there isn't a whole lot of animal sacrificing going on these days) to any of the following goddesses:

Freya- Goddess of war and fertility, with a distinct focus on female sensuality.
Frigga- Odin's wife- goddess of hearth and home.
Idunna- Keeper of the apples that made the gods eternally young.
Ostara/ Eostre- German and Anglo Saxon goddesses of fertility.

Sadly, we really only know Ostara/ Eostre in name only, but we do know that she was associated with the month of April, and likely to be associated with the return of spring and fertility.

The first three goddesses I listed are from Icelandic lore, with Freya also being sporadically mentioned in what little surviving German and Anglo Saxon lore remains. Personally though, the fact that very little info about Eostre is out there is actually very exciting to me. This allows room for creativity, something that is sometimes lacking in the Heathen community. Heathens often make many lofty claims to authenticity, but it is still a reconstructed religion which is likely to bear almost no resemblance to the original faith. Since my focus is on Anglo Saxon Heathenry, I will now speak about an obscure, but still very powerful goddess and Holy Tide, both known as Eostre.

Eostre is an important and joyous, albeit somewhat obscure Heathen holiday. Much of our knowledge of it is recorded by the Christian scholar Bede who tells us that the month of April was known as Eostremonath by the Anglo Saxons. Although Eostre's true attributes are unknown, it is speculated that her name means "east" and that she is associated with fertility, as in the sun rising in the east, and spring returning. This confuses me a bit, as the previous month's Holy Tide is known as Hrethmonath, and is related to the goddess Hretha. Hretha is speculated to be associated with sacrifice and war. The month before that (February) is Solmonath, and is associated with the goddess Nerthus, also known as Hertha or Aertha. All these goddesses who possess similar names (and functions) seem to be an overlap of various local dieties who could have been one in the same, or evolutions of the same godess(es).

In the interest of keeping with the Anglo Saxon traditions, I may very well hold a Hretha forn next year, as any "tough" goddess is surely one I can relate to, having worked with both Freya and Skadhi in the past with great results. Hretha may have actually been the Anglo Saxon's version of the Norse goddess Skadhi, as we associate both goddesses (with what little is known about Hretha) with winter and hunting.

Since I like to keep the Holy Tides distinct from one another, I prefer to look at Hertha as a goddess of the earth and agricultural fertility, and Eostre as more of a goddess of the flesh and human reproduction. Both have their place in worship of course, and both have very similar, almost interchangeable characteristics, but as a modern Heathen I feel it is necessary and useful to differentiate the two. Hertha is also known as Jord by the Scandinavians, and Hretha seems to be unique to the Anglo Saxons. I have often held my Hertha blot in March rather than February, as February hardly feels like the end of winter here in New England!

Hot cross buns, rabbits and eggs all come from ancient Heathen customs and were appropriated by the Christians in order to convert the Germanic tribes more easily. Much like "Christmas" trees, by appropriating these familiar images the Christians were able to sell their new religion to the Heathen tribes more easily. The problem with this appropriation is that it came at a price, and that was the destruction of the native gods and goddesses. That doesn't mean that we cannot bring them back though, even if we don't know much about them. Through working with them and embracing the holy powers, we can re- learn the knowledge that has been lost for so long, and regain our connection with the Holy Powers!

Alex Jones and Mark Dice aint nice.

(Ahem) to all you conspiracy theorists out there (and I know a few of you...)


What's a whole whole hell of lot better than thinking that the big, bad evil government of ours is up to all kinds of no good, and responsible for everything from 9/11 to the swine flu, I offer you a better alternative. TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR OWN LIVES! There's no Bilderberg conspiracy, the Jews DON'T control everything, Bohemian Grove is NOT Satanic, the government is not going to declare martial law, and there's no such thing as reptilian aliens.



Although these beliefs are deeply held by many people, the people that hold them both frighten and depress me. They frighten me because they are just as zealous about these beliefs as any religious fundamentalist. They'll try to hard sell you on their bs and if you tell them you don't believe their crackpot theories you get subjected to a barrage of "but but but buts!!!" They're just as bad as born again Christians who try to convert you on the spot. In fact, many of the heavy hitters in the "NWO, 9/11 truth" movement ARE Christians, and not very open minded ones at that.



Conspiracy theorists depress me, because rather than take some positive steps forward "just in case" (like becoming more involved in their local farming communities for example) they opt to become a bunch of chicken littles who try to scare everybody into becoming just as paranoid as they are. Rather than empowering their community to become more respectful and self sufficient, they encourage everyone to mistrust each other and aspire to be a bunch of Mad Max thugs who think they'll rule the post apocalyptic wasteland after "the shit goes down".



Alex Jones, Mark Dice and David Eiche are a bunch of semi literate con men who use the same mainstream, sensationalist crap to try and spread their propaganda that they accuse the government of using. They run around with bullhorns and act like macho idiots towards anyone who criticizes them, and utilize nothing but scare tactics to get their message across. They are egocentric attention whores selling snake oil to people who are too ignorant to realize that they are no better than the government they so vehemently claim to despise.



I will just say this about 9/11. If the government really DID intend to use that as a mechanism to usher in a "new world order" why the hell are they waiting ALMOST TEN YEARS to do so? Wasn't Bill Clinton supposed to usher in the NWO back in the 90's? Give me a break.



Our government does not have the resources, organization or manpower to undertake such an endeavor. We currently have 150,000 troops in Iraq alone, trying to get Baghdad under control. It is completely unbelievable to me that people actually think our government could possibly declare martial law in this country, where there are over 3 million gun owners willing to shoot each other if they have to wait in line too long to purchase a Wii. If our military can't get Baghdad (a city of roughly 1 million people with an antiquated infrastructure) under control, what makes anyone think that they could hold a siege in ALL the major cities here in the US?



Conspiracy theories are like a new age, gnostic religion, sucking in gullible rubes who are afraid to take control of their own lives and actually LIVE them. I feel that the big bad ugly truth about our government is exactly the opposite of what the conspiracy theorists claim it is. Rather than being an omnipotent, all seeing, all knowing entity, it is in reality quite disorganized, corrupt and painfully inept. Essentially a lion without teeth.

Passing The Time In The 'Burbs

Growing up in the suburbs in the 1980s was quite an adventure. Wait, no, I take that back, it was totally freakin BORING. There really wasn't anything to do in my hometown, especially if you were an angst filled punk rocker like myself and my friend Brad. This led us to explore the ever popular "bad" kid pastimes like drugs, skateboarding, shoplifting, and our all time favorite; vandalism.

I wasn't much of a juvenile myself, but Brad used to take punk rock's destructive tendencies to outrageous new heights. He was always getting into some kind of trouble, be it with the law, his parents or the teachers and principal of our high school. Hanging out with Brad was one of the most exciting things I could think of doing, as he was a veritable human whirlwind of criminal excitement.

Brad was tough too. He'd walk up to people and punch them in the face if he didn't like the way the were looking at him. People usually were looking at him too, as his shaven head with stupid spiky bangs made him stand out like a sore thumb anytime he went out in public. More often than not though, anyone who taunted him, calling him either a "freak" or a "skate fag" would get knocked out cold on the spot. Brad wasn't someone you wanted to mess with, which many people soon learned the hard way.

What Brad lacked in brains he made up for in sheer enthusiasm. You could always guarantee he'd stage dive higher and more often than anyone else at punk rock gigs, and in the mosh pit he was unstoppable. Brad's pent up aggression was a good match for my devious schemes, and he and I would quite often work as a team when we launched some of our greatest pranks. Surprisingly though, one of Brad's finest moments would happen without any assistance from me whatsoever.

At our high school we never had an actual paved running track until about 1986. Previous to that it was always packed down gravel, so when the town finally scraped together enough money to pave the track, our jock loving principal McWalters was on cloud nine. He'd made numerous announcements about the track impending paving, and you could sense the childlike excitement in his voice. Knowing that this was our principal's achilles heel, Brad decided to vandalize what our principal cherished the most.

I knew that something was up one Monday when I came into school. Right when I walked in the main lobby, one of the vice principals grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to the office. I was told to sit down, as the principal got right in my face and started screaming at me. He was red in the face, and screaming "I know it was you or your punk friends who ruined my track!" over and over again. Since I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, I suggested that he call my mother so she could confirm that I hadn't left my house at all the entire weekend.

Principal McWalters took me up on my request and called my mother. After my mother confirmed that I was indeed a "good boy", principal McWalters actually apologized to me. He said "I don't know who did that to my track, but mark my words, I'll have his head on a platter!" Since I still had no idea what he was talking about, I asked if I could go outside and take a look.

There was a sizable crew out by the track, making a vain attempt to clean it off with some pressure washers. When I finally got close enough to see what it was they were trying to wash off, I could see it was a drawing of a HUGE penis ejaculating onto a smiling face. The thing was, whomever had painted it didn't use regular spray paint. They used white house paint and a brush, so on top of the brand new black asphalt, this white visage of juvenile perversity shined like a beacon into the cosmos.

It was also so big, you couldn't really see the entire image unless you got up onto the bleachers and looked at it from an elevated vantage point. It reminded me of a more perverted version of the giant intaglio figures found on the plains of Nazca Peru. You know, the ones written about by author Erick Von Danicken in his controversial book Chariots Of The Gods?

I knew right away that this HAD the be the handy work of Brad, and as soon as he came into school I could tell by his expression that he was the one who had decorated principal McWalters' precious new track. Brad was scared to death of getting caught, but none of us ever ratted him out. It was pretty funny though when the morning announcements came, and McWalters did his his best Dirty Harry impersonation, saying "Do you hear me you little punk... I'm gonna nail you..." in a low menacing tone. Brad's cut up and scabby hands were a dead give away that he'd gotten into something over the weekend He'd apparently soaked his hands in turpentine to get all the paint off so no one would suspect him of destroying principle McDouche's track.

The funniest thing too was that because he had used so much exterior house paint on the track, they eventually had to pave over where he'd painted and you could still see a 3D impression of the giant penis he'd drawn. This penis's visage remained on our track for many years afterwards.