Friday, December 31, 2004

2004: A Modest Christmas Newsletter

¡Feliz Ramadan!

Hello Everybody!

Its that time again--Christmas Newsletter Time.

I started the year with a short trip to the Congo, where I was able to extract secret compounds that aid in musical terminal-pain management. This will have great application in elevators and malls all across our great country. I also gained secrets and insights, accompanied by the rumbling of drums, from sage elders who passed on their wisdom by flickering firelight: Buy low, sell high. Word.

When I got back to the Good Old USA, I was on hand to give wise advice and counsel to troubled souls as part of my community service requirements following the railroading I got in the 9th District Court.

You don't remember? I was sued by militant vegans for my black-powder hunting expedition where I killed the last of the Giant Free-Range Tofurkeys. All that are left now are the tiny ones, who lead a short, pathetic life haunted by mortal fear, but I digress.

My community service involved helping Rush Limbaugh cope with sobriety once his OxyContin wore off. This took up a good portion of the 400 hours of my sentence. Praise the Lord and pass the Romilar!

In the midst of that crisis and turmoil my phone rang. Omar, my massive, enigmatic, turbaned, batman murmured "Mr Gibson, line one."

Taking the phone well in hand I turned to the unfolding drama. The conundrum outlined by Mr Gibson hinged on whether or not Jesus Christ had a mullet. It took me less than 10 seconds to definitively answer that question [Yes, and blame the Jews]. I secured 2-1/2 points on the back end in addition to my usual fee.

Once that was in the bag, I flew, on a youthful whim, to Baghdad on a conveniently routed C-17 Don had arranged for me. Our arrival was heralded by a colorful display of light and fire in the night sky! On my arrival to the Green Zone, where I was escorted to see my old friend Paul Bremer. A celebratory RPG landed outside, blowing out a window and introducing a fine layer of dust over our trout almondine.

"So, whaddya think?" was his characteristically optimistic query.

I was hard pressed to contradict him. The building shook under a cluster of mortar rounds. "Keep up the good work, there's a medal in for you somewhere!" I grunted between forkloads of cheesecake. Before leaving I was able to press an invoice into his hand and make the next cab back to Baghdad International. Our send-off was as robust as the arrival!

Various outside commercial interests also did well this year!

  • Sales of my Red Tide Loofahs went through the roof following Bill O'Reilly's enthusiastic endorsements, both on-air and in court.
  • I designed and patented the Cornice Combover, recently acquired for the exclusive use of Donald Trump.
  •  Launched the new Paris Hilton Cartoon Informercial Network
  • The Supermodel Winning Lotto Ticket Delivery Service has already delivered over 100 Winning Lottery Tickets in the Northeast alone. This wildly popular operation features slinky supermodels delivering winning lotto tickets in their signature vintage Hy-Step delivery vans. For no additional charge they linger and Do The Nasty.
  • I got to the final rounds in "American Idol", "Survivor", and "700 Club". In each case I triumphed with a show-stopping version of "Mandy".
  • Took the Bush Girls to Taffy Pull hosted by Jose Cuervo.
  • I am so blessed!

I would be remiss in not mentioning the contributions made by my mistresses and our various demon spawn, but that awaits another epistolary that will more completely showcase their staggering achievements.

So here's wishing you, your heirs and descendants, plaintiffs and assigns the best Free-range Pre-Canaanite Saturnalia and Celebration your satellite dish can offer you, and the sure fact that I will burden you again in 2005!

I am and remain,
yr Humboldt Obliviant idiom Savant

Erasmus Binkster Rfp, SoQ, AMf
Chancellor Emeritii
Hellmouth Amalgamated PolySci
Hellmouth CA

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Southern California Wildlife: Year of the Cat

Cougars are a fact of life here in Southern California. As the pressures of urbanization increase on the foothill and mountain communities, human interactions with mountain lions are bound to increase, often with unpredictable results.

Recently there have been several highly-publicized encounters between the cougar and humans. Some have been fatal for humans. Mountain bikers, runners, and casual hikers are becoming more aware of the cougar's presence in the mountains.

The following talk was delivered at the Quarterly Proceedings of Anthropomorphic Zoology, Spring 2004, by Erasmus Binkster. The symposium was held in the Ayn Rand Asbestosterium, located on the Pyroclastic Community College campus, Puta Vista CA.


Southern California Wildlife: Year of the Cat

"Hello...Hello...I think my PowerPoint Presentation is having a few problems [tapping sounds]...while we're waiting for the AV techs to work this one out, let's get started...oh! there it is! In Farsi and Punjabi no less! I'll be damned. Must have packed the wrong show."

"I'd originally planned to give a talk entitled "Poison Oak in Kinship Rituals among the Late 20th-Century Trailer Dwellers of Lower San Gabriel Riparian Communities". However, recent events in the San Gabriel Mountains here in Southern California have prompted new examinations of old attitudes and data on human and animal interactions"

"The recent arrival of an errant mountain lion within the boundaries of Griffith Park in metropolitan Los Angeles prompted a flurry of media coverage. Park officials were quick to explain that until the cougar actually killed somebody or something, they were going to put up signs advising the public that there was a mountain lion in residence."

"The attention quickly moved on to other topics. However, the lion remained in the park. Daytimes remained as uneventful as a park of this size in an urban setting can be--just the usual tawdry cruising for sex, indecent exposures, Pampers dumping, headphoned joggers stepping into oncoming traffic; in short--all the workaday events typical of an urban wilderness park."

"By night it was a completely different story. It became clear that as darkness fell, and humans retired for the day, the cougar came alive. From its undisclosed location, it would venture out to forage. Eschewing its natural diet of carrion, berries, birds eggs, and other assorted small animals; it was developing a pronounced affection for fast food, left-over beer, and half-eaten roach-coach burritos. The resulting after-effects of this new diet, as examined by park naturalists, led them to dub the arriviste mountain lion "Chucky, the Cheese-Cutting Cougar". This name was kept secret from the public until recently, as subsequent events unfolded."

"In its travels, Chucky came to favor one location above all others in Griffith Park, which has mystified naturalists. My fellow researchers...Travel Town. Yes, Travel Town. And in particular, the miniature scale locomotive that has pulled a train, metaphorically "sixteen coaches long", for generations of happy children and their parents."

"One night, a remarkable event was recorded by security cameras. Chucky was seen at the controls of the locomotive, highballing the train and coaches at top speed in the first of many laps around the track. Squirrels and raccoons were seen standing expectantly on the platform, waiting for Chucky to slow down. Instead he would actually accelerate, buffeting the furiously chattering and hissing squirrels."

"This was repeated at least ten times. Finally, as the red light of the caboose disappeared in the darkness, the raccoons were seen gathering creosoted fence posts and dragging them onto the track. In the distance a lonely whistle was heard. Then--a blinding light as the locomotive bore down on the station. Chucky had mounted a Maxim gun on the cab. Reprising the role of the doomed Strelnikov in "Dr Zhivago", he held the trigger as the machine-gun emptied the belts. Bullets were flying everywhere, but it was no use. The locomotive hit the posts, the train jumped the track and was swarmed by the raccoons and squirrels. Chucky was pitched from the train and disappeared into the night."

"The next day, park officials were trying to make sense of the catastrophe. The park was suspiciously quiet of raccoons, and squirrels studiously went about their business. They believed that Chucky had decamped. It was a case of underfunded wishful thinking."

"Later that week, events took a sinister turn when a grainy Polaroid showing a quivering poodle, with a bag over its head, hooked up to what appeared to be electrical cords, was slipped under the door of the park supervisor. It had Chucky's unmistakable aroma."

"Calls were then made to a top-secret Dept of Fish, Game & Wildlife Rogue Animal Swat Team [DFG&W-RAST]. Their sole function is to "neutralize" wild animals that overstep the bounds of polite society and get "attitude problems'. Recently they were called in on the Sturtevant Canyon Flying Bear Case, where local bears in ultralights were buzzing expensive homes in Sierra Madre and stealing pork-chops off barbecue grills. But that is another story altogether."

"The decision was made at the highest levels to "take out" Chucky. However, word leaked out to the media. Soon, the parking lot to Travel Town was jammed with shiny SUVs sporting bumperstickers ranging from "I Heart the Planet", "Free Tibet", "Visualize World Peace" to "If You Love Something Set It Free. If It Doesnt Come Back, Hunt It Down And Kill It" along with "Gun Control Means Using Both Hands". It was a complete media-circus that drew from all sides of the debate, leaving the Michael Jackson trial in Santa Maria in the hands of the Shopping Network."

"TV cameras were having to choose between Courtney Love and Charlton Heston, both as fervent partisans for the reclusive cougar. Ms Love wanted to "give peace a f***ing chance!" while Mr Heston was supporting Chucky's Second Amendment rights."

"In the end, Chucky tired of the noise and clamor, slipped away. It is believed he rode out of the park in a stolen car, later found abandoned up on the Angeles Crest Highway, reeking, and littered with burrito wrappers. We can only hope that he wasn't scarred by his near-fatal encounter with modern society, and has rejoined his feline compatriots in the high country, preying on motorcycle roadkill."

Monday, March 29, 2004

Passion of the Sliced: VisonKwest 4.0

VisionKwest 4.0: "Passion of the Sliced"
Joshua Tree National Park
31 miles


The Fourth Annual VisionKwest Invitational was held this past Saturday, Mar 27 at Joshua Tree. This annual 31 mile run across the rugged, stony landscape of the unique environment had many rewards and surprises for all the participants.

The VisionKwest appeared as simultaneous revelation to the two unindicted co-originators, Casino Bingo and Draw Poker in 1999. The then-upcoming Millenium was stimuli to deep thinking on the subject. After consulting sacred texts [Morrison:1967, Page & Plant:1971], and channelling bardic entities, the VisionKwest was born.

The course has had many starts, and several finishes, usually a dusty matte. The main route has always involved The California Riding and Hiking Trail. Play your cards right, and there will never be enough shade. There is no freely occurring water on the course.

The rewards for this run vary from year to year, but are consistently proportional to the quality of the participants.


This year's start featured new talent. In addition to the canonical Bingo and Poker, we were joined by Micah "218-KOI" White and Jana "Miss Miwok '02" Gustman. Once again, Ian Torrence was the celebrity no-show, which opened up at least one place for the entrants.

As the implacable rosy-fingered dawn rose over the wine-dork sea, the tight-clustered "Fo-Pak" [Halkowski:2000], exited the Indian Cove campground like tightly-clustered umlauts shot out of Nigel Tuffnel's love-gun. The pack did the traditional trooping of the Barking Ducks in the Missing Gerbil Formation [Krull:2003] at a brisk pace to the trailhead, leaving a wake of perfumed wonderment.

Once on the trail, the pack thundered northwards and downhill for a mile to the cryptic turn-off, then veering cross-country to pick up the Boy Scout Trail as it proceded uphill and in a southwesterly course up another wash.

As the morning was young, and all involved were feeling their oats. The Testosteroni became so thick at times that La Biskera herself would have whipped out her Zippo and flared off 3/4 of the pack. But in Homeric wisdom, she stayed her hand, and the runners continued their climbing up and out of the canyons on to the plateau towards the Keys West water drop.

We were now less than two hours in. The sun was up, but the breeze was holding the temperatures down. It was not going to be as heinously hot as in previous years. It looked as though we were not going to require the usual head-gear.


From Keys West we did necessary road work in the form of high knees and surges--first on blacktop and then down a dirt road to Lost Horse, all on record-setting pace. From there we once again picked up a sketchy trail, passing over Joshua Tree's equivalent of the Grassy Knoll on the way to Juniper Flats. The flowers were out in force, and Joshua Tree was literally Hibernian compared to the last two years.

At this point Bingo and Jana began to pull ahead, with Micah a few paces behind. Draw Poker was having a different time of it, feeling his flexors begin to emit high-pitched whining sounds. Within a half-mile as the tail lights faded, there wasn't a dry eye in the house, Draw Poker was left alone with his genetically-modified thoughts. And therein he crossed into the Western Approaches of Giraffic Park.

Giraffic Park was first noted in a laconic conversation with the correspondent "Notorious D*A*N". His observations indicated that there was an ecological isolate in a remote setting where two competing species acted out their respective destinies with little outside interference.

One half of this equation is the Mutant Mojave Tofurkey, a flightless albino ground-dwelling bird. They migrate across the landscape foraging for date-expired PowerBars. In its small addled brain, it has no natural enemies. However, Attention Deficit Disorder is pandemic in the species. It forgets that it is preyed on by the savagely predatory Dwarf Giraffe, a pack-hunting quadriped whose average height is about 1.5m, and is covered in a beguiling orange and purple plush pile fur.

Today, Draw Poker was to witness a typical ambush. The Tofurkeys had been rooting at the base of a Cholla cactus, a scene of bucolic and pastoral harmony. They failed to notice the ominous thundering that began to rise, and then exploded in a crescendo of fuzzy hoofbeats. The Dwarf Giraffe pack numbered about 29, falling on the Tofurkeys with razor-sharp incisors, disembowelling the hapless birds as their back-up beepers bleated ineffectually. Sprays of white cubes and slabs were speared by indifferent spiny cactii. The Giraffes tore into the Tofurkeys, spitting out the pieces when they realized that they didn't taste like chicken.

The attack ended as suddenly as it began. The Dwarf Giraffes thundered off in a cloud of dust and settling entrails. Even the flies that were drawn by the promise of a free dinner lazily drifted off to the remote dumpsters at Jumbo Rocks. The air was still.


Draw Poker drew himself up to his full 4'9", aimed his fuzzy slippers down the trail, and began to make way again. About a mile from the Geology Tour Road, he met up with Micah "218-Koi" White, who was also having a less-than-fabulous day. They concluded their day on the California Shuffling and Trudging Trail with about 21 miles in the bag. Casino Bingo and Miss Miwok 02 were long gone on the long and winding road that would take them back to Pine City, through the Desert Queen Mine, up over Split Rock, Babeland then down to their epic finish at Twin Tanks.


In the end, it was as the Elders had prophesied a while back..."You don't know anything, do you...Mr Jones?" The epic struggle to maintain the planet on an even keel had been decided. And thus it will be until the next Gathering of the VisionKwest, sometime next year.


That night all gathered around the fire for an episode of CaveMan TV, save for Miss Miwok 02, who beat feet back to the Great Satan. There was mention of the premier of Jackass 2: The Early Years, but this could not be confirmed.

Dr Boyd, Miss MP, Geri K all made full use of the hammered remains of the primary participants to whack them with pig-bladders and !Boiiing!!! devices, with nary a complaint. In addition, Darla would have checked all of them into an evidence locker, but as this was her day off she joined right in.

All in all it was a swell day, and they all went home, tired but happy.

Bone Regards,
Mr Trail Safety

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Grab A Cadaver

A satiric comment on the current body-part scandal at UCLA.

Grab A Cadaver
[with no apologies to the Steve Miller Band]

I heat up, I can't cool down
You got me chopping
'round and 'round
'round and 'round, and 'round it goes
At UCLA, with these donated bones

Every time I get the call,
I pack my bag, I'm roaming the halls
Bodies donated--to science and more,
There's green to be had--deep in the gore!

Grab a Cadaver
I wanna reach out and slab ya
Slab-a Grab a Cadaver
Grab a Cadaver

I drive on campus, a monkey paw
Sack of tools, a power saw
Dead people wait to feel my love
I get a grip with a rubber glove.

Grab a Cadaver
I wanna reach out and slab ya
Slab-a Grab a Cadaver
Grab a Cadaver

I start work, I make a mess
I hate working under duress
Muscle and tendon, gristle and bone
Get paid by the piece by working alone

There's magic and romance in those eyes
Each one of them goin--to different guys
What the hell! the heart is blue
Buy the whole set and the liver goes too!

Grab a Cadaver
I wanna reach out and slab ya
Slab-a Grab a Cadaver
Grab a Cadaver

I work a chop shop, call it by name
Makin' my rent by the midnight flame
Burnin flame, like my van's bald tires
I'll be through any minute, I'm old and I'm tired.

Choppin bodies, at UCLA
Partin out parts, that's how it goes
Choppin bodies, at UCLA
Partin out parts, that's how it goes
Choppin bodies, at UCLA
Partin out parts, that's how it goes

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

Tipping mountain bikers

Dearest Phillip S:

On the subject of manners and mannerisms I will endeavour to elucidate the answer least appropriate to the strictures of time, space and convention.

The Valley Forge trail is not popular with mountain bikers, which limits recreational tipping opportunities for the trail runner. There is something inherently satisfying about the sound of the wind in the trees, birds and squirrels having running feuds, and the fading shrieks of a mountain-biker going over the side of a trail after they've tried to run you down. It's times like these when I feel very close to Nature.
How much does one tip mountain bikers? 15%, 20%? Or does one try to tip them all?

The percentages refer to the leading-edge velocity [analogous to a helo-rotor] of a Powerbar, rattan cane, or 15" Braunschweiger sausage at the maximum hitting point. Top speeds vary from 125mp to 600mph. Therefore even 15% of either of these speeds striking a witless MTB'er will cause a trajectory dislocation. If it jars loose the MP3 player, all the better.

Does it depend on how rapidly they try to run you down?
The variable is if they use non-TSA approved language while crowding you.

The price of their equipment?
Expensive equipment always looks better going over, and as wreckage. Please see related study "Glittery Dens: Leveraged Breeding Patterns By California Gray Squirrels Utilizing Shiny Debris to Attract More Mates" [BINKSTER, 2003]

What constitutes good service from mountain bikers?
Those with long ListMemories will remember Rrrrron's aphorisms on what constituted a good friend on shore leave.

Ringing their little bells and yelling "on your left?"
Man-bra trainees all, no matter what the cry.

The amount of mud sprayed in their wake?
negligible in the overall calculations, at the discretion of the runner.

May one tip them with trail money?
Ideal, and desired for later recognition.

If so, should one use uncirculated bills, or is "dirty money" OK?
As Bill Bennett is my probable witness [20 to 1]: "Never waste good drugs on bad people"

I'm about to write to Miss Manners, but I thought I'd ask you first. Enquiring minds want to know...
Thanks always. Sign up now for the following online seminars:
"Post-Mortem Muscle-Testing And Galvanic ATM Response Strategies"
"Verifiable Methane Flashpoint Calibration At The Spandex-Afterburner Interface"

I am and remain,
yr Humboldt Obliviant idiom Savant
Erasmus Binkster
Chancellor Emeritii
Hellmouth Amalgamated PolySci
Hellmouth CA

Saturday, March 06, 2004

A Seasonal Prelude to Probable Magnificence

A Seasonal Prelude to Probable Magnificence

While 22,000 Road Gerbils were getting their multi-figured money's worth out of the XIX Bill Burkathon here in the Great Satan By The Sea, I was a wee scampering Karma Squirrel skittering over the bosky flanks of Mt Wilson Phillips. Alone. Nearly naked. Cougar bait. And nary a Barking Duck [Torrence, Bingo, 1999] in sight.

I have raised my sights to being a Sunday ultra-trail pest this summer. Not that I'm interesting in running ultras, but tagging along as a whoopie-cushion while others are training strikes me as worthy. It's like watching a slo-mo circus train wreck, where clowns are ejected from overturned box-cars, only with dorky hats and hairy butts. But I get ahead of myself.

The weather had shifted from winter to spring in a few short days. Last week's chill and damp had given way to festive tendrils of happily buzzing flies, outriders to the hordes that will rise up and greet the rosy-fingered dawn a few weeks hence.

Mt Wilson-Phillip's crown of late-season snow was melting off, although snow in the north and west facing hollows were still covering the Rim Trail at the higher elevations. This would ensure a swift and eventful plunge into the abyss. Since my membership in the Sierra Club lapsed in 1988, and I was never a section-head, my ticket was not going to get punched yesterday. Leaving the lot, I hopped the 10' fence, avoiding impalement and disemboweling on the fence spikes, thus depriving carrion crows a full-spectrum non-GMO snack.

Running down the Mt Wilson Road the vistas to the east were stunning--snow-capped Baldy and lesser San Gabriel Mtn peaks were etched in crystalline white. I could only imagine how many round-faced snowboarders were lost in the ravines so far away. It was a Cheetoh for the imagination.

The Mt Lowe Saddle parking lot was crowded with round-bottomed Sierra Club hikers outnumbered by multi-colored body-armored mountain-bikers. I am grateful my sport does not require me to wear body armor. I gather it makes uphill running more challenging.

The descent down the Valley Forge Trail was truly enchanting. A full-on eastern exposure guaranteed a low-80's experience, lacking only the Thompson Twins and Wham! to round out the picture. This stretch is much warmer later, and I shiver with perverse anticipation imagining an August transit.

The trail drops steadily through scrub oak, canyon oak, but not black oak [Arkansas] towards the Gabrielino Trail at the bottom of the West Fork of the San Gabriel, intermittent with sun-blasted sections.

The Valley Forge trail is not popular with mountain bikers, which limits recreational tipping opportunities for the trail runner. There is something inherently satisfying about the sound of the wind in the trees, birds and squirrels having running feuds, and the fading shrieks of a mountain-biker going over the side of a trail after they've tried to run you down. It's times like these when I feel very close to Nature.

The West Fork Campground was empty of human activity. The preponderance of winged insect life again offered a small clue. I elected to continue via the Rincon-Red Box Road, rather than wrassle with the Gabrielino Trail which was probably overgrown entirely with poison oak. Think of it as an emerald-green car wash as the poison oak vines, bushes and shrubs caress you lovingly.

Any benefits of conditional virtue gained during the downhill were sternly and inexorably extracted on the continual uphill to Newcomb Saddle. I passed the Gabrielino Trail where it junctioned with the road. Keeping pure thoughts in mind, I renounced Satan and Temptation, opting for the Schlong and Winding Road to the Saddle. Those who've run Angeles Crest probably have Golden Memories of that aid station, where the Full Rubber Glove awaits the Initiate. The magic phrase is "my precioussssssss".

Newcomb Saddle offers clear vistas of the mountains to the north and east, the Santa Anita Race track to the south, and tucked into the eastern side of Mt Wilson-Phillips, Chantry Flats, Shipwreck of Hopes for many during Angeles Crest.

The trail was rejoined for the fat mile down to Newcomb Pass. Confused? Don't be. You sat through "Lord of the Rings" and you remembered Aragorn, Arathorn, Karamel Korn; and they all had bad '60s hair.

Now it was 6.9 miles back to Chantry. Dropping down through stands of incense cedar, spruce, canyon oak, mairsy doats, poison oak, manzanita [ABBA, 1975] and other misc green and grey shrub items. The streams are in full rip right now, and cold enough to make the Manly Parts Retract If So Desired.

The run finished up as it usually does--the vertically-bracing, searing .6 mile stroll out of the canyon straight up the black top, passing day hikers and stumbling children wondering how their ever going to make it all the way to Sturtevant Falls, 1.5 miles from the parking lot.

But that is another story altogether.

Monday, January 26, 2004

Lo-Achiever's Half-A-50k Dog Jog & Charity Run

Lo-Achiever's Half-A-50k Dog Jog & Charity Run
Sun Jan 25 071354

We milled at the start at Fabled Chantry Flats. The air was well-hung with the ghostly echoes of Barking Ducks. Hal "Clark Kent" Chiasson watched us from the safety of his car, and expressed relief he wasn't coming. After signing some forms, he maintained a straight face while backing away slowly.

The Holistic Ocarina sounded a plaintive note. We were off--a three-way struggle for Massive World Domination. Mr Trail Safety, Dr Casino Bingo and the cryptically tagged Micah "218 Koi" White were raging up the blacktop towards the Upper Winter Creek Trail, leaving naught but molten tar and .38 Special tunes in their wake.

The Massive World Domination [MWD] contest was off, and waddling. Each playah claimed a special disability.

"I've only run 10 miles this week" "My Knee is still fucked up--but I want to keep my streak alive" "I've been watching STYX informercials"

Things were looking dim in the Eyelids of the Morning. Each eyed the other. In the merciless Darwinian Jungle, the Brown Eye never sleeps easily. They were on record-setting unsupported pace.

At the Mt Wilson Trail Option for Upper Winter Creek, the Tough Choice was deferred for a Trip to Mt Zion. The pack breathed easier knowing that they didnt have to step on their dicks going up to Manzanita Ridge...this time. We could take a power stroll up. And over. Mt Zion survived yet another blasphemic pass by apostate JoggerzWhirled escapees.

The Ghost of Randy Rhodes was in trees of Sturtevant Canyon, where the fabled Sturtevant Canyon Bears, wearing beer-hats, wifebeaters and Swisher Sweets, stood up and sneeringly waggled their genitalia at the tightly clustered lead pelleton. This was the same fate seen
by millions in the Bored Of The Shwings Trilogy, where Dildo and SpamWise traversed the Forests of Porn, after they got separated from the Prince Karamel Korn and the ill-tempered sex-dwarf Gimply. Its on the DVD.

They passed through the Sturtevant Kamp and offered the Ritual Salute to Chris the Kasten {How's your dad? My Lawn is Fine!"] then began our Misty Mountain Hop up to Newcomb's, whence we were Back In the Saddle Again.

Having gained the summit, we were swathed in Kashmir, and we rejoiced in our bitchin' selves. In mere seconds, our Bootheels Had to Be Wandering, and we began the Pall Mall plunge to the Finish.

218 Koi had begun to plot his moves, counting on a Power Surge at the finish to bury both Trail Safety and Bingo. They were on to his mackin' and popped him cold-chillin' with Air Supply references. He snarfed drink mix out of his nose, and was fined for littering the trail with his diminishing expectorations.

Meantime Trail Safety was laid low by a well-placed reference to Boston, where he was reminded that it was More Than A Feeling. He countered by a lo-blo to Bingo that Courtney Cox was not anywhere near as hot that other brunette chick in the Old School "Charlie's Angels". Cheap Trick was the undeployed Terror Weapon.

The three front-runners thundered down the mountain towards the finish, they encountered shoals of day-hikers making their way up the fish ladders to Sturtevant Falls. These day hikers would then head home and mate after reaching the falls [cf:PERKINS, MARLON, 1971].

The final bump-up to Chantry had an enchanting aspect, but nothing like it is in it's August prime, where the debilitating scourge of mild weather and perky-nippling breezes are but distant memories....


Mr Trail Safety
Dr Casino Bingo
Micah "218 Koi" White


Times up. You're wrong. Sorry!