|"Mojo" Ramblin': We have reason to fear!
February 18, 2001
By: Mike Townsend
The "mojo" has been spitting out particularly twisted communiquÈs since the turn of the new year. But can anyone wonder why? I think only the truly insane can blissfully go about their lives pretending everything is copasetic. Take for instance, the above graphic. Only a government beaurocrat could sanitize a menu or bury it under the official secrets act.
History teaches us well how to deal with such madness. Below is an example of a method of coping, drunken stone (stoned?) characters. This is the way Gerry and I generally handle brushes with reality. And this brings me to my point.
The following is the result of leaving the "Mojo" on late, when fear and loathing spills into the night.
TRANSMISSION IS, REPEAT, IS ALLOWED.
AFFILIATIONS TO THE (NPA) IS CONSIDERED NB.
(NPA) No Particular Affiliation
INFORMATION AS FOLLOWS:
FROM THE NOT_QUITE_FRONT_LINE:
SEE APP. #238-345-384766-4788569
DEAR MICK: Obviously from the heading I'm not allowed to divulge any true, or even perspicacious information that might put anyone in danger. However, being one of the chosen few who are paranoid or bi-polar, Canadians only, of course, I am allowed to let you into the secret. That secret being - Who is they?
I have been told by unimpeachable sources that, after serious research etc., gabble, gabble, that the G.O.G. has figured it all out.
G.O.G. is of course the acro for "Group of Geeks". The G.O.G. are members of the Institute for Paranormal, Existential, Allegorical, Numerological, Taro logical, Astrological, Pyrimagozoid Studies, and other non-related topics.
As you can see, G.O.G. Is much easier to use, so I will now lose the points, and be simply known as GOG.
Anyway, GOG was researching "Sesame Street" only because Fozzy Bear had a pedagogical propensity to say "Wakaw, Wakaw, Wakaw" after each and every one of his little soliloquies. Wakaw became the watchword for the GOG. ****Classified**** said they lived down the street in the clapboard house. After surveillance lasting some 89 hours, 43 minutes, 23 seconds, it has finally admitted. Mr. and Mrs. Pudelko are "They"!!!!!! Amazing, isn't it? Can you believe it? Mr. And Mrs. Pudelko of Wakaw, SK. are really the "They".
I know I found it hard to believe, but, after careful review of all the material, I can only come to one conclusion.
So there you have it, my friend, the first revelation of the new millennium. Or perhaps the last revelation of the old millennium. I really suppose that it comes down to how an individual marks time.
And isn't that a kicker? Can you imagine that there are people out there that have nothing better to do than tell the world that the Millennium stated on the first day of 2000 or, conversely, on the first day of 2001. I mean really, Good God!
I'd almost bet you that they are members of the same group, who are secret members of the Bloc-heads, closet members of the most secret language police of the Sovereign oligarchy of the most screwed province that ever existed.
But I won't dwell on a whole bunch of irrelevancies.
By the way, you may recall some previous conversations we've had concerning the Hubble. I have since discovered, through extortion and torture, that there are ways of finding this stuff through the "Integral". (Integral - you have to have read Tom Wolfe's "The Right Stuff".) Anyway, I have some addresses or sites or whatever the hell you call them - to find stuff on the Hubble.
I had to waste several good resources to the Great Ones to get this information. They're all no longer answering their phones. What this means, exactly, I don't know. But it bodes ill.
On a lighter note - as you well know - I have been gearing up for our so called 'White' hunting season. My savings have been destroyed what with the purchase of ammo, targets, cleaning stuff, blaze orange clothing and head gear, footwear, hand warmers and gloves, as well as copious amounts of beer. Then of course, there were countless hours and several hundred rounds expended in order to hone the superior skills of the true marksman. I could knock the wings off a fly at 100 yards. Then comes 'Der Tag'! We've got two weeks this year (which should be plenty of time) to blast some poor, defenseless, four footer right into steaks, chops, and hamburger, then right into the freezer. An easy task, one might say, made easier because deer don't carry guns.
We got up each and every morning at 0-dark-30 then proceeded to our happy hunting grounds in search of our erstwhile prey. ONLY TO BE COMPLETELY AND IRRECONCILABLY STUMPED!!!! In fact the only things we saw were tracks and deer poop!
I have never been so p....d off.
Now here is the kicker
There has been a major investigation by the deer narcs into an incident on a near by reserve. It seems one of the members was strolling about the bush and ended up at the back of someone's (a person of means and power) property. And just what do you think he found there? Fifteen count them, 15 headless deer carcasses. Needless to say, the reservists got 'up-in rhetoric' (being your normal sheeple, "arms" never crossed their minds). But, except for the breaking story, there hasn't been another peep!
Because of the failed hunt, the failed election, and the failure in general of the Canadian 'sheeple', I am in a bit of a funk!
Well bud, my arms are about to fall off from all this verbosity, so I will wrap up and give you my warmest wishes.