Author Archive for M. Toole
NO ROOM LEFT TO FIGHT TRADITIONAL CIVIL WAR
(Richmond VA) Historians have been predicting another civil war in this country since half past Appomattox Court House. Yankee academians save their projections for smoky rooms and snifter back parlors. Wide-eyed rebel saga sharers in Dixie lead with the idea of a third American Revolution. This time they come out on top.
While impulsive reenactments boom off tediously thin walls on both sides of the former Mason-Dixon Line, students of the conflict in classrooms and coffee shops, are faced with a stark impediment to resuming the war. Space.
Before we could pick up our muskets and resume canon fire we would have to figure out how to assemble a force the size of the Army of Northern Virginia or The Army of the Potomac anywhere east of the Mississippi. Sure, the battlefields have been preserved as National Parks but the surrounding area has become the resting place for exploding populations, fast food chains, textile mills and suburbs.
“Lee could not have placed his entire army in the field at Chancellorsville,” said Dr. Orem Welldigger, a fellow at Virginia Military Institute. He had 60,000 up against Hooker, the Union general with a noted tolerance for camp followers. Hooker himself had 120,000 troops,” he said. “There is no physical possibility of all of these soldiers fitting into what’s left of the countryside.”
Professor Walter Burnside, of the State University of New York at Plattsburgh agreed, pointing to a newly erected mall near the battle of Chickamauga. At that site in September of 1863 the Confederates won a victory and trapped the Union troops in Chattanooga.
Burnside, claiming direct descent from General Ambrose Burnside, who orchestrated the hopeless attack and suffered a subsequent defeat at Fredericksburg, says the South would not have defended today’s town quite so vehemently.
“The Fredericksburg of today still sits on the Rappahannock which is but a dribble to its past glory. Everywhere interstate highways and franchised food joints zig zag across the landscape,” he said. “Too many people and no vacant land to stage an epic confrontation. At Chickamauga there’s a few tourist shops hosting visitors who think they’re in Civil War Disneyland.”
Arthur Grits, a self-taught enthusiast of the War Between the States suggests that the next conflict could be fought in Nevada, Utah or Northern Arizona…maybe even Canada.
“I just drove through the Great Basin and believe you me there’s nobody out there,” he smiled. “Maybe it’s because there aren’t any bathrooms but I think the reason is actually the lack of water. Imagine if you will Union troops taking the high positions adjacent to nuclear waste dumps while the Confederates charge through the sagebrush and the piñon trees. Now that place has the room to house all the armies since the French and Indian War. Canada has space as well,” he added, but barefoot Rebel troops would be hard pressed to put up much of a fight during the winter months.”
Unfortunately for Civil War purists the Western solution just won’t do. Would the new battle of the Wilderness be fought on the shores of Lake Powell. Would Sherman burn Las Vegas? How could Confederate troops dig trenches in the caliche of the Great Salt Lake Desert?
Travelers chronicling the engagements of the Civil War often discover poorly marked Union and Confederate graveyards dominated by burger outlets, and cannonballs lodged in ancient trees cut down to make room for football stadiums, factory outlets or convention centers.
“It’s that damn Yankee arrogance that has resulted in the rape of Southern culture,” says Welldigger, who refers to the recent sprawl as “the second Yankee invasion of the South”.
“Not only did the Northerners move right in to our better neighborhoods, but they brought with them all of the trappings of federalism including welfare, television, low wage industry and pollution. The Spanish moss, the cotton fields and the magnolia trees are fighting for their lives.”
Burnside disagrees saying that many of the corporate entities slammed by Welldigger had origins in the South.
Look at the biggest cultural disaster, Wal-Mart,” he chided. “That blight began in Arkansas. Look at Colonel Sanders. Does he appear to have abolitionist tendencies? Then there’s the Black-Eyed Pea and Popeye’s.”
Maybe simple physics will deny us the chance to settle unfinished business here in North America. Maybe that’s why we can’t keep our nose out of the Mideast. Is it all that barren land?
“If Pierre G.T. Beauregard fired on Fort Sumter today he’d risk hitting three franchise pizza parlors, an IRS office, two malls, a ring of interstate highways, the corporate headquarters of Mr. Doughnut and some poorly constructed town houses along Charleston Harbor. His politically incorrect behavior might net him a summons for discharging a weapon within city limits and would certainly hurl him into a legion of lawsuits.”
Grits agrees adding that for now sworn enemies will just have to settle for fighting scrimmages in their living rooms and unfurl their blood-letting charges within the confines of video games.
“Just remember,” said Grits, “that just because our cadaverous campaigns are constipated by space restrictions there’s no stumbling block when it comes to blaming each other for the current state of affairs in this nation. – Kashmir Horseshoe
Kryptonite discovered in San Juan mountains
A major deposit of the rare mineral Kryptonite has been found adjacent to the present site of the Camp Bird Mine near Ouray according to assayers there. Already thousands of would-be prospectors have crowded roads in and out of the town. Kryptonite, previously thought only to exist on the pulverized planet, Krypton, is worth an estimated $2830 per ounce on the open market. It is used chiefly as a computer sensitive component in plastic credit cards and in the production of mountain bicycles and other recreational equipment.
Residents have been warned to stay in their homes until this, the latest of a multitude of booms, subsides. The last boom in Ouray stretched from 1888-1902. Continued exposure to the mineral can allegedly cause serious side effects in judicious wise acres and other persons of constant opinion. Symptoms include loss of teeth and hair, a seriously warped sense of altitude and the tragic, slow deterioration of the ego.
Miners up Dexter Creek, where a smaller vein of Kryptonite was first tapped in March, have been seen discarding once-precious gold nuggets for the lucrative Kryptonite. Many have become instant millionaires in just a week.
“We don’t have the technology (mules) to haul out the gold and silver too,” slobbered a sluggish sluice-boxer from Montrose. “This claim alone has netted over 400,000 tons of the rich ore and we haven’t even got the price tags off the shovels yet!”
Since last Tuesday thirteen camper cities have evolved in any available space from Ridgway to Silverton. Lumber has been cut down to make picnic tables for hungry miners while a glass of orange juice at the Buen Tiempo Restaurant costs about nineteen dollars. Hardware and supply houses as far away as Ridgway are doing a banner business, and there’s no end in sight.
Many of the mining claims are accessible only through Zute Indian lands and some are located right smack in the middle of the Southern Zute Reservation. Mining interests have appealed to the federal government to intercede on their behalf and the state militia has taken up defensive positions surrounding the Zutes. There is hope at press time that an agreement can be reached and violence averted but if not…well…there’s always Utah. At present there are 73 militia for every Indian in the region and that doesn’t take into account the over 30,000 heavily armed miners and the crew of the battleship “Colorow” that is anchored off the Uncompahgre Inlet.
In an official statement Governor Hickenlooper has asked that persons having no previous business in the area stay away unless they really need the cash. – Rocky Flats
Kirk, Spock on Victory Lap
(Vulcan, CO) The “first-string” crew of the original Starship Enterprise will tour Western Colorado this summer in honor of visiting celestial aliens and as part of an overall awareness of outer space exploration.
Captain James T. Kirk, Officer Spock, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Ensign Pavel Chekov, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott and Chief Medical Officer Leonard Bones McCoy will begin what is being called “a victory lap” by Trekkies in Grand Junction and meander through most rural counties ending in Vail for the start of ski season.
The journey, provoked by the popularity of interstellar crew members on the after dinner speaking circuit, will feature controlled reminiscence, one-to-one contact, question and answer seminars, rare footage from the Emmy Award winning television program, and a celebration recognizing the final defeat of the Klingons back in 1979. In addition pieces of the Starship Enterprise will be on display.
Funded by the United Federation of Planets, the six month excursion will leave plenty of time for adventure, bonding and morality, just like the one-hour serial. Crew members will appear in authentic Star Trek costumes, despite expected weight gain and the fact that the suits are made of uncomfortable polyester. Just for authenticity, they will communicate in familiar tongues of their native lands. All phasers must be checked at the door.
Highlights of the tour include an exhibition of the Vulcan mind meld, and the modern applications of tractor beams, the mystery of Tricorders, photon torpedoes and Romulan cloaking devices. Later in the visit the creator of the series, the late Gene Roddenberry, will be honored at a dinner in Paradox, his adopted hometown.
Despite the fact that the original presentation lasted only three seasons, rerun Star Trek episodes have had a powerful impact on generations all over the globe. An exact agenda of stops and schedules will be released at the Vulcan townsite, under Blue Mesa, on Friday.
– Gamma Cardassians
The super-secret bar…
Montrose is no stranger to hidden gems such as civil war hideouts, underground strip clubs, and my recent discovery of The Bar with No Name. I came across this strange place one night when I was walking through the woods behind Riverbottom park, the super-secret short-cut to my house; not at all an unusual route for me during the summer months. The moon was just a fingernail in the sky when I noticed faint moving light coming deep within some tangled trees in the distance. I proceeded with caution considering there might be a possibility that it was some hoodlums having a fire, getting all liquored up–kids these days. As I got closer I noticed the lights were all different colors, hanging from the trees was a disco ball lit by a single beam of light on top of a little barn wood shack. I pushed my way through the thickness of trees, and then came into a clearing. How had I missed this before?
I didn’t get but three feet in before I was confronted by a man, a very old man. He told me to have a seat, I was about to question him before he started telling me the drink special, it was a “Swedish Sandbox.” In no way did it sound appealing, but this was not the time to be rude, “one of those please.” And do you happen to have helicopter flavored potato chips?” I asked. He ignored me and started to make my drink. I wasn’t sure if his old ears were failing him or if he didn’t understand the question. I watched as he poured what looked to be iced tea (without the ice) into a dirty mug, then reached high up and grabbed an unlabeled bottle from the top shelf and filled the rest of the glass. “Only top shelf for you my friend.” I didn’t repeat my question, or refuse the drink, I slammed it–he was not impressed by my dedication.
Over a concoction he called a beer (moon shine and yep, iced tea), I was able to ask him a few questions. His name is Bob, short for Bobert and he had been in the spot for almost forty years, working seven days a week. When I asked him why he picked this location for the bar he simply said, “Because I want to.” I stopped the questions there; I could tell there were no secrets to this man, just a simple man that stood in front of me, open, truthful and spontaneous. “I like it here, and there are people out there that depend on me.” I didn’t believe him. I turned around to a rustle in the trees, then a rabbi, a priest and a panda walk into the bar.
I pushed in my plastic chair, it was time for me to leave, I thanked him for the drink and the hospitality and turned to walk back into the real world, “wait,” he said. “About the potato chips, I only have plain.”
UMPS INSTRUCTED TO SHORTEN GAME
(New Jork) Baseball Brahmans here, fearing a drop in fan interest due to lengthy games, have once again turned up the heat on Major League umpires. The latest suggestions include reducing the size of the field, limiting behavior while the ball is not in play and terminating other age old traditions in an attempt to pasteurize the sport.
Insiders confirm that there is a move afoot to shorten the distances between the bases and between the mound and home plate. This would, according to anxious supporters, speed things up at all corners and give the pitcher a better advantage over the batter.
“If this doesn’t work we can always make the fences taller and add a few more outfielders,” said Pee Wee Drysdale, former owner/manager of the Grand Junction Ferrets, a now defunct Armenian Association franchise. “Another idea is to eliminate the dugouts. Do you know how long it takes for the average player to climb those few steps and trot back out onto the field at the change of an inning?”
Other plans involve speeding up play by limiting neurotic keystone habits such as giving multiple signs and issuing intentional walks.
“We feel that a manager or coach can get by with a minimum of three to four signs per inning,” explained Drysdale, “and limit his mound visits to weekends only. Anything else is just mindless repetition.”
On the subject of intentional walks Drysdale was adamant in his critique of this wasteful procedure saying that the current practice was simply a tedious pantomime that resulted in exactly the same situation whether four balls were actually hurled or not.
“How many times have you ever seen a decision to walk a player changed after the count reached 3 balls and no strikes?”
In conclusion, for the time being, Drysdale praised efforts on the part of progressive owners to do away with silly traditions such as stolen bases and check throws which he says waste more than 117 hours during the course of a season.
“I don’t see why we can’t limit throws over to first base or pitch-outs to two per inning,” he shruggedl. “Is that oppressive? What about limiting stolen bases to night games only? That would speed things up.”
Calling baseball traditionalists “moldy throwbacks to another time” Drysdale insisted that the game must keep pace with changes in society if it is to survive another century.
“Take the practice of the home run hitter jogging around the base paths after doing his dirty work. It reminds me of the ancient Roman gladiators,” he laughed. “What are they hoping to achieve? Are they waiting for thumbs up or to be showered with flowers? I think they should have a time limit to get the hell off the field and get on with the show.”
One reporter responded by agreeing in part with the new plan but raised the question of how the league would schedule the multitude of commercials slotted on radio and television broadcasts.
Drysdale’s response was swift and to the point.
“Just run the ad spots while the first batter is in the box. They usually don’t do anything all that exciting anyway and if they happen to we always have instant replay.”
– Kashmir Horseshoe
UFO REPORT
by Zelbrat Acknor, Astral World Three
Welcome children of the universe and our new readers in the Twor and Hakka Bennie Galaxies. As you all are aware we have been observing the residents of the planet Earth since the first Sputnik entered what they refer to as Outer Space. To update you on the situation here, we must first describe the daily rituals of humans living in a country called the United States.
This culture has succeeded in not only destroying most of the atmosphere, but it has also exported its ideals to other parts of the planet. The result of all this is the choking off of the air supply and the termination of millions of indigenous species. In short, the planet earth has achieved the status of damaged goods in comparison to the more progressive planets and stars. All this destruction has occurred within a very short time span, even in earthling terms.
These things have come to pass so as to acquire what these creatures call worldly goods. The amazing thing is that, although the planet is shared by all beings, only a small percentage of these people control most of the wealth. An innate ability deep in the heart of this phenomenon called rationalization allows these beings to perform in this way. Ironically, it is this same ability to rationalize that is said to separate these humans from the other primates and lower forms of plant and animal life. According to human mythology, that difference designates the human as clearly superior and accounts for the miserable treatment handed down.
The average human here begins his day with an assortment of government-approved drugs, rushes off to a job, and, according to some remote norm, spends the greater part of his/her day at that often tedious pursuit. After that time, or, as the humans say, when the whistle blows, they are set free to endure hours of electronic entertainment via an evil inventions until they retire to recharge for the night.
Another recent human invention, the Hubble Telescope, has been busy taking pictures, like one massive intergalactic Japanese tourist. Luckily, due to some twisted sense of vanity, most of the snapshots are of the self-absorbed earth itself and scientists there still don’t know we’re out here.
One saving grace is that the temporary occupants of this planet have shown themselves to be rather charming on a one-to-one basis and I have to admit that I find them generally warm and amusing if not loving and creative.
Although there has been talk of condemning this planet to the stellar wrecking ball, observers, including the 2 million alien space travelers now residing there, suggest that we take a wait-and-see approach to this mindless planetary drooling and doodling. Later, when another century or two has passed, we can decide on the final fate of this former Eden.
It is our fervent hope that we can open up lines of communication with the rat and the cockroach, two harmless groups who have exhibited the ability to withstand brutal human assaults since the last hurrah of the dinosaur. These two species have not been guilty of this stumble-bum ecological suicide and should be treated with respect by those who would intervene at a later stage. These scurrying survivalists, it is supposed, might even withstand a nuclear annihilation the type that has not been seen since the Cosmos Forty War, which, like a good bump on the head, seemed to corral stubborn mavericks throughout the Universe.
That’s about that for this month. We’ll be back again unless the earthlings accelerate their activities and cease to be, thus solving another riddle in our rich, scattered megacosm.
