Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

An office romance explores the differences between men's and women's notions of sexuality.

1. The money I didn't make in my earlier years was inversely proportional to the cool things I was doing 2. I shoot film in mid-century semi-vintage cameras. By the time I die I'll be shooting with an 8x10 view camera using very slow film. 3. I'm really glad I quit smoking. Everything. In 1981. 4. I've been riding bikes since I was 7 yrs old. The thrill never fades. 5. Garlic and cayenne are Nature's way of saying you're special 6. I hate looking for work 7. I don't believe in God, or any of the prophets. My religious notions reside between Haitian Voudou and Tibetan Buddhism 8. I have better friends now than I ever did before. 9. Other people do marriage way better than me. 10. I've got at least 5 good photo books in me. Getting them out is going to be the fun part. 11. Tango gave me a new viewpoint. 12. I need to travel more. 13. Espresso 14. 86% of the drivers in Los Angeles should be on bicycles—everyone would benefit. 15. My math grades in elementa...

  A few years later but in the ballpark. Overheard on the MTA Blue Line, March 13, 2007: "bash poon" or words to that effect. A brief field report, by Bungles, the valet Northbound, from the 105. Two lo-rent playas , a ghetto "Jay and Silent Bob" if you will. Both were in their early 20's at best. "Jay" was dressed in a flat-billed black & white MLB baseball cap, white oversized t-shirt, black pants of the de rigeur urban baggy. "Silent Bob" was likewise in black baggy trousers, but sporting a multi-colored hoody in a rich, variegated pattern of fiscal abundance—stylistically modifed icons of US currency in the $100 mode, casino chips and so on. The object of "Jay's" fascination was his new iPod Nano. So many thumpin' grooves, such a tiny little beatch . The loquacious "Jay", was describing to his reticent associate "Silent Bob" in detail an intimate encounter; by which a young adolescent girl was lu...

Sierra Madre: The Insolvent Village That Could Diamonds and Dust Redefine The Future By Beville P. Flexworth SIERRA MADRE, CA [AP] The unincorporated village of Sierra Madre, CA declared itself insolvent February 1, 2007. This was a chastening development for this seemingly prosperous enclave nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, immediately below the majestic bulk of Mt Wilson. The insolvency was first announced at the City Council meeting January 15, 2007. Rumors had been swirling like Santa Anas through the famed wisteria vines for many weeks prior, and fiercely competing lawn signs had been cropping up like Algerian ivy in the bucolic tree-shaded neighborhoods. Residents were bitterly divided as to how this unfortunate turn came to pass. Municipal debts totaled $18m against available assets of $4m. Immediate cuts were made in fire services, the police department was virtually shuttered as all law enforcement duties were assumed by the Los Angeles Count...

Greetings, Gentle Reader: I have before me a poem that was recently discovered hidden in a wall, behind a broom closet, on the 4th floor attic of the Bilious Refectory of St Pythos The Charred, 2 Close Way, Bangers-On-Mash, Wankershire, England. All internal evidence points as with one eye that it was intended as work d'art, a carta de introduccione if you will, for the author to gain favor with an unspecified, but literate woman. Other works of this era refer to such-said women as "stackedde". The author is evidently familiar with more-than-basic Principia de Pharmacopia, and was competent with the use of the astrolabe and perhaps the Astroglydde. Gyrl, Youe Knowe Yts Trewe In thyss letterre, unadorned bye circumflexxe, Moated by serfe, andde i mperis rex , By guttering light I penne thyss screed, Cribbyng fromm the werkes of Venerable Bede. Your profyle immaculata [verso/recto]—to boote, At the shore, I'm seated, imitating Kanutte, Attempting to conj...

¡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...

Old spirits to the New Year. A legacy presentation from the Mr Trail Safety KunstSchriftArkiv. This originally appeared in The Journal of CryptoAethnology, Winter 1999.   Part 1 The snow lay in a crisp white blanket on the ground. The trees were shrouded in ice rime and crystals. One's breath hung in the air in silver wreaths. The outlines of the trees were like silhouettes cut by a happy child with way too much time on it's hands with a dull razor. It was so quiet you could hear a bird fart. And smell it too. But all this was far far away from our hirsute Forest Prince. Where he was living, the semi-tropical air wafted in through the glass louvers, bringing in the warm damp vapors of the great outdoors and carrying with it outside remembrance of his morning pot of coffee and chili. He stood in the kitchen, with his distinctively shaggy short squatty legs sticking out of a pair of oversize canvas shorts, his rotund gut spilling over the top of his "69" belt buckle he...

This was originally dramatized on the Wanker Network, Autumn 1999.   Prologue du Bois   Our portly, avuncular, geezer-Brit sits in a large wing chair. His fingers are steepled and he contemplates, you, the audience with a smirk. It is presumed we are in his living room at the family estate, Wowzer Hall in Jamaica. " Tonight's narrative concerns the rhythmic intersection of privilege and vigour as our dynamic protagonist, a class of high-caste female graduate literature students, and a middle-aged naif all collide one summer afternoon in a college classroom. Let us begin our story with the Aulde Forest Prince. He is outside on the College Green, riding a lawn tractor. And thus we begin..." Whirring and cutting of the mower-blades released heady green aroma. The blue clouds of rich oily gasoline fumes blended together into a ritualistic summer perfume, dispersing into the early rising heat of the verdant summer morning. The lush and fertile campus of the Biddle-Barrows...