All Entries in the "Hard News" Category

CRESTED QUIZ

Take the quiz. All the good things in life are free. Besides, you’re this far into it.  If you answer all of the questions correctly you need to get out of town more often.

1. If Bozar called the shots the White House would be what color? What about the Pentagon?

2. Since the 1860s the dance of choice in the Slate River Valley has been: a.) the Watusi b.) the Bugaloo c.) the Funky Broadway  d.) the Polka.

3. Over 3,000 Indian head rock formations exist inside the Mt. Crested Butte city limits. Can you name them all?

4 Back before the hippies arrived, bears did not prowl within the confines of Crested Butte because a.) every miner had a loaded shotgun by the door b.) there was nothing extra to eat c.) bruins are afraid of polka music d.) dogs ran free and chased them away e.) all of the above.

5. If you had 200 burros standing around in the middle of town in 1880 you could: a.) be in for a big cleanup. b.) start a Fourth of July parade on time c.) hardly hear yourself think. d.) make a small fortune hauling supplies to Aspen. What about 2000 mule burritos?

6. Several wonderful inventions were patented in Crested Butte. Among them are: a.) Skiing b.) Snow. c.) Texans d.) Flauschink e.) mountain bikes. Choose three.

7. If you turn left onto White Rock then go two blocks and take another left, than a right, then another left and go straight what would you run into?

8. Ruby Irwin refers to:

a. A breakfast omelet served with Spam, Velveeta cheese and molybdenum.

b. The Wicked Witch of the East South East, who summers here.

c.  The original home of the Elk Mountain Pilot.

d. A prostitute who nursed over 400 miners back to health after a small pox epidemic in 1895.

9. During the boom days of the early 1900s what great Crested Buttian made up the schedule for two-story outhouse use during mud season?

10. In 1970 Cindy Quint and her magical accordion are playing at Frank and Gal’s Bar and Cafe? What’s the scene there in 2014?

11.) Uncle Meat owned a.) a butcher shop b.) the first gym in Crested Butte c.) a towing company d.) a very successful guide and outfitting enterprise.

12. If the Confederacy had won the Civil War a.) grits would have replaced home fries as a staple b.) Coloradans would vacation in Texas and Oklahoma c.) there would be a statue of Robert E. Lee in Totem Pole Park d.) Gone With the Wind would have been filmed in Almont.

13. What do Jokerville, Smith Hill, Floresta and Painter Boy have in common?

14. True or false? The coal shed of Crested Butte’s first full-service barber shop, built in the 1890s, housed a still, and was not used to store hair as the story goes.

15.) Summer in Crested Butte begins on ___ and runs through ____. (Temperatures not technicalities)

16.) What is the ratio of dogs to realtors in Crested Butte. (Use your calculator on this one).

17.) One has reached coolness in Crested Butte when a.) he/she owns a complete set of tire chains for his mountain bike b.) the local marshal’s office gives one a nickname c.) the restaurants serve him/her breakfast after 11 am d.) the Alpine Express drivers wave at him/her on Highway 135. e.) all of the above.

18.) Where would the premier showing of the film Dr. Zhivago most likely be showing in 1970? a.) Klinkerhaus b.) The Tailings c.) the Princess Theater d.) Lawrence of Oregano’s.

19.) What was the biggest threat to the peace and tranquility of Crested Butte in the late 19th Century? a.) powder days b.) fire c.) Indian attacks d.) Wobblies.

20.) The last brothel in Crested Butte was named: a.) Mrs. Lovelace’s Notion and Confectionery b.) out for a walk c.) according to the premise for time sharing d.) Frosted Fanny’s.

21.) Crested Butte burned down in 1889 a.) because it was made of wood, not of bricks b.) to make room for a new quad lift c.) to collect the insurance when the mines weren’t producing d.) because wood burning ordinances prohibited it from burning up.

22.) The largest body of water in Gunnison County is a.) Blue Mesa Reservoir b.) Taylor reservoir c.) Lake Irwin d.) the ski area parking lot in April.

23.) Mt. Crested Butte, true or false?

24.) What are the seven naughty words never to be uttered on KBUT?

25.) Butch Cassidy’s real name was a.) Harold Zimmerman b.) Paul Newman c.) Neil Murdoch d.) Robert Parker.

Bonus Math Question: If the average income in Gunnison county is $40,000 and the average cost of purchasing a home is $800,000 how can Jack and Jill afford to live up on the hill?

– Mel Toole

Postcards from the Butte

Plot to Assassinate Teocalli Foiled

(Crested Butte) A diabolical plot to rub out populist 13,208-foot Teocalli Mountain has been thwarted by undercover agents here. The agents, operating as is the custom from their warm beds, arrested several Freedonian terrorists and recovered a large cache of single-bolt air rifles and a wheelbarrow full of contraband explosives stashed in a false wall at the Talk of the Town Tavern on Elk Avenue. The bar, long a hotbed of socialization, was not charged in the indictment, although authorities admitted the owner of the janitorial service that discovered the stash looked like an anarchist they once saw on television many years ago.

“We cannot expect people operating a bar that is painted purple to know who has access to exterior wall space,” said a local marshal to federal investigators. “How can I charge them as an accessory to anything! There is no conspiracy here! Now leave me alone or I’ll have your hybrid assault vehicle towed to Wyoming!”

A safe but shaken Teocalli remains in stable, but guarded condition at Maroon Bells Snowmass Wilderness Clinic and is expected to be released later today.

“It is difficult to imagine anyone so twisted that they would attempt to assassinate a 13,000-foot mountain,” said the marshal. “Usually they go for the 14ers.”

Incidents like this one have a strong precedent in Crested Butte, however, as kidnappers grabbed Snodgrass Mountain at Gunsight Point in 1954 and Rosebud Gulch terrorists attempted to drown Matchless Mountain in Taylor Reservoir some five years later.

Perhaps the most disruptive act of coercion took place in the mid-Seventies when the Amax Mining Company attempted to shanghai the seductive, yet illusive Red Lady. A happy ending ensued as members of the High Country Citizens Alliance swat team stormed the Amax redoubt from their stronghold to the north and freed the Lady. In the face of stiff resistance, not to mention the plummeting price of molybdenum, the mineral pirates retreated to their fortified desks in New York City.

– Princess Irm Peawit

MEXICO BUYS AMTRAK

(Puerto Escondido) The Mexican government has announced the purchase of Amtrak effective May 1. The deal was consummated sometime early this morning when nobody was awake yet. Negotiations have been going on since the weekend regarding the transfer of the railroad.

“The North American Free Trade Agreement has paved the way for this and other acquisitions by our neighbors to the south,” said an Obama Administration spokesperson.

The new owners of Amtrak have promised to fire most employees of the railroad and clean the bathrooms at least once a month. The train attendants are being released due to a pattern of rudeness, and the question of filthy bathrooms is being undressed due to basic interstate health codes.

“I remember when taking the train was a wonderful experience,” said Olivia Heartburne of Helper, Utah. “Now, due in part to a bad attitude displayed by Amtrak employees and absolutely no adherence to timetables, it is barely a step up from the bus.”

Depending on the general reception of its initial programs Mexitrak may invest millions in revamping abandoned railroad lines and laying track in remote regions from Maine to California.

“Someday I will be able to visit my boyfriend Willy all the way over in Colona without so much as hitchin’ up the Clydesdales,” added Heartburne. “Won’t that be something!”

Editor’s Note: The once popular practice of tying innocent maidens to railroad tracks prior to the arrival of the charging freight train has severely diminished around these parts since the Denver-Rio Grande pulled most of its tracks out of the Uncompahgre Valley in 1975. Classical villains and sunny day wretches, often dressed in black, enjoyed this recreational outlet and usually were successful in exhorting funds from worried relatives or favors from frightened fillies. Others did it just for the pure joy of it all. It is this group that we will examine in our next segment of Rocky Mountain Mammaries located somewhere in this paper.    

 -Uncle Pahgre

 

Wyatt Earp in Gunnison

The bent mustache figure lurched at his small desk amid faro tables, frontier ash trays and clouded, empty glasses. He had been a lawman, better the law, from Dodge City to Tombstone for the past 30 years. Now he wore spectacles, they stabbed into the thin residue of his gray-haired temples. It all seemed a badge-less blur. The once quick-triggered stagecoach guard turned deputized gunslinger was now proprietor of a struggling gambling enterprise in Gunnison, Colorado.

Some days it all closed in. He had been a feared United States Marshal. Now it had come to this. His dreams of days as a buffalo hunter on the Kansas plains were interrupted by loud clopping on the back stairs.

The door opened and a shaky voice said: “Earp, I’m calling you out!”

Earp peered around the corner and focused on a tall lanky kid whose Colt revolver anchored him to the stairs like a skeleton whaler in a winter gale.

“Did you hear, Earp? I’m calling you out. Just you and me in the street…”

Not another one, Earp thought. This was getting old. It was up to more than two a week in the summer. Did these punks really expect  to gain instant fame by gunning down this grandfather gunfighter? It’s 1903. The classic gunfights were ages ago. Even though the kid probably couldn’t shoot cans off a tree stump, that formidable revolver, and the nervous stance made him a valid threat so early in the morning.

“Not so fast, kid,” grumbled Earp. “I haven’t even had coffee. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off. I’m sure your momma has chores for you to do.”

Earp felt the need to push the kid a little just to see how far he intended to take this challenge. No sense getting shot in his own faro parlor or worse making the trek down to the dusty street of the mining town just to fall prey to the twists of a desperate nipper.

The kid was fresh from momma’s kitchen by way of a full length bedroom mirror where he had carefully practiced his facetiously fatal lines.

“Go for your gun, Earp,” he had mouthed just moments before, his holster hung loosely off his hip, his white handles glowing in the first light. He had practiced his lines for weeks now, driven by a wish for that first notch in his gun barrel. After shooting Wyatt Earp his career as a terrible gunslinger would take off. He would be somebody, not some punk kid from the back alleys of Gunnison. People would show a new found respect for the man who had gunned down the infamous Wyatt Earp.

Despite fears that he would panic and back down or botch his well rehearsed lines if he didn’t take immediate action, the kid faltered. Earp stared.

“You’re the one come a callin’, pushed the old lawman. “Now maybe we can settle this whole matter easily. Why don’t you run down to Sally’s and fetch me a cup of coffee, black, and two or three of those cheroots…”

“I said I’m gonna shoot you! Dammit, didn’t you hear me? Now get up off your ass and meet me down in the street before…”

“Before you lose your nerve? Just go quietly and we’ll forget anything happened. And watch your language. This is a family faro parlor. Go home.”

Just then another stumbler hit the door. This time it was Doc Holiday, already well pressed and oiled from the night before. He stumbled then stuttered his words into a burped sentence that resembled Good morning gentlemen. Whether his presence was any advantage to Earp was unclear since he did not pick up on the scene at first. Then he saw the kid’s revolver.

“Who’s your buddy, Wyatt?” said Holiday putting his arm around the kid’s shoulder. Hey, kid, you wanna cut the cards for fifty bucks? How about a little black jack?”

Holiday’s breath was enough to herd sheep and the kid backed up.

Educated in the profession of dentistry, Holiday had long ago opted for the more lucrative career as gunman. It was easy to see that he would have more customers at 40 paces than he might crouched over some miserable creature, his whiskey breath reeking.

Eyeballing the pistol, Holiday continued his affront, his arm affectionately slung across the kid’s shoulder. He was now hanging on him and effectively blowing the kid’s intricate presentation. Suddenly the kid took a deep breath and bolted from the room and down the stairs. Wyatt pulled his six-gun from his lap under the desk and looked at Holiday.

“Just how drunk are you, Doc? he asked.

“Not that drunk,” said Holiday.

The two shared an induced laugh, reassuring each other that surely the kid would not be back.

“I’m getting tired of these interruptions,” said Earp recounting the number of challenges he tolerated since arriving in Gunnison some months before. He had come north from Pima County to retire, not to baby sit belligerent shavelings. Although his draw was still more than enough to drop the kid in his boots, he sought peace. Along with Holiday and the dapper Bat Masterson he had opened the faro parlor near the booming mining districts of the Elks and the eastern San Juans.

“Maybe I need something a little less conspicuous, out of the mainstream, Doc,” said Earp.

“Running this joint up here in the sagebrush is about as invisible as Wyatt Earp can get,” said Holiday. “Don’t let the kid rattle your nerves. You’ve been through a whole lot worse.”

 

Meanwhile on the other side of town the rawboned gladiator fingered his Colt. He had been embarrassed and would seek revenge, this time, on both Earp and Holiday. He could corner the two on the street that night and fire off six deadly rounds while they were caught off-guard, digesting their dinner. In one evening’s surprise he would shed his baby face for the life of an icy, callous gunslinger. No sun to contend with if he approached from the west on Tomichi. He plotted things out in his swirling head. Then he methodically planned out his moves once more, for good measure.

He had to let them go for their guns, though, or he’d be spending his time in the territorial prison or, more likely, at the end of some improvised noose, a poker-faced mob watching him dangle from the town’s landmark oak. But why the preoccupation with failure? He had accomplished nothing since his less that remarkable birth in 1886, five years after the Earp Brothers murdered/dispatched the Clanton Gang at Tombstone. Now he stood at the threshold of fame, and maybe even fortune. All he had to do is shoot Holiday and Earp.

That evening moments before the sun slid behind the Antelope Hills he called out.

“I’m gunning for you, both of you. Now let’s make it simple. Go for your guns.”

That sounded pretty good plus there were a few local toughs in earshot since the kid had chosen a communal spot in front of the pool hall for his performance. They dropped their faces and their cues and backed up into the doorway.

“Not you again,” muttered Earp under his breath spreading his coat back to access his revolver. Holiday too was tense. The kid was now facing them in the street and may pull his pistol at any provocation. It looked like someone would find himself face down in the dust.

“Go for your gun!” prodded the kid, showing his good teeth, glaring at the two from the lightly shaded street. “I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna come home and finish your chores before dark,” said a female voice to Earp’s right flank. “You’re as worthless as your father. I should let these men shoot you down but then I’d have to hire a man to build fence next spring.”

The heavy-set the woman walked fearlessly between the shooters and lunged at the kid, grabbing his neck via his ear and dragging him off onto a side street.

Earp and Holiday could only laugh, shaken by the knowledge that this recent affront had come dangerously close to a deadbolt gunfight.

“As long as he’s packing, we ain’t safe,” said Holiday moments later. Masterson still has a badge. He’s still a sheriff’s deputy up in Leadville. Maybe we could have the kid arrested before somebody gets hurt.”

An rattled Earp thought the idea a bit cowardly. Years before he would have simply dispatched the weedy warrior, flicking him away like a flea, leaving him crying for his mother in the blood and the dust. But things were more civilized now and if he wanted to enjoy the his later years he had better listen to Holiday. Masterson was consulted.

* * *

“That badge is from Cripple Creek,” quacked Masterson, but I’ll talk to the kid if you want. You say he’s carrying a Colt like the one we took off Les Dalton in Dodge? Can he shoot straight?”

Masterson would confront the kid on the main street with his dog, Jubal, at his side. He had named the dog after the Confederate general, Jubal Early, for no apparent reason, saying that the dog needed a name and Jubal was as good as any other.

“I’ll be staying in clear view of witnesses for our little conference to be sure,” quipped Masterson, “and I’ll bring Jubal for backup. He’s got more sense than most men and the natural instinct to see a problem coming down.”

After about an hour of searching Masterson found the kid near the livery stable saddling his mare.

“Going someplace, kid?” sassed Masterson. “Maybe that’s best considering…”

“Considering what? said the kid fingering his holster. From the looks of it he had been crying.

“Did the old men make a monkey out of you?” asked Masterson, pushing just a little more. “It could’ve been a whole lot worse. I know those two and you’re lucky to be breathing.”

Masterson then asked the kid to explain his behavior and instead was met with threats of the same kind that had plagued Earp and Holiday. At one point Masterson thought seriously about pulling his gun and ending the standoff for good, but he held back.

“You’re nuts, kid,” said Masterson. “And unless you get some sense real quick you’re gonna be dead.”

“I’ll shoot all three of you in a row at sundown!” fumed the kid. “You just be there!”

Then, as he turned toward his horse Jubal bit him hard in the butt, tearing through his jeans and drawing blood.

“Jubal!” cried Masterson. “Down boy! There’s no call for violence!”

The green gunman scurried off cursing Masterson and Jubal. Masterson set off to report to Earp, but turning the corner near the pool hall he saw the kid sneaking up the same back steps to Earp’s office, his pistol drawn.

“You go one step further and I’ll shoot you, bushwhacker,” cried Masterson. “Drop it or I’ll drop you.” The kid complied, dropping his weapon just as all the commotion brought Earp and Holiday out onto the landing.

“Are you one of those shirttail Tombstone relatives?” a frustrated Earp asked, shoving the cornered kid, “or have you just tired of living? This is your final chance. Now come in here and let’s have a drink and forget this whole matter. I’m warning you, Doc here has reached the end of his patience and even I’m getting in a foul mood!”

“I don’t drink,” said the kid. “My mother says it’s sinful. If she saw me take a drink she’d…”

Now let me get this straight,” smiled Earp. “You’re more than willing to shoot down a man you don’t even know, but drinking’s a sin? That makes no sense. You think your momma’s gonna welcome you back home with blood on your hands? Your gonna shoot Doc and I, and for all I know Bat Masterson too, but a go-round with demon rum is out of the question?

“I think we’ll just flip a coin to see who shoots you,” said Holiday. “It’s getting on to opening time and we can’t have all these distractions. The day miners are about to get off shift and we don’t seem to have a bartender for the evening.”

“We’re trying to run a business here,” said Holiday, “and you, my friend, are becoming a major annoyance. But unfortunately you’re not the only one. Just in the past week I’ve had three baby gunmen challenging me to a fight. When push comes to shove somebody’s going to be dead.”

“Has that dog had his shots?” quizzed Earp on the way back up the stairs. “I don’t know about the dog but I could sure use one,” he laughed.

“Heh, kid,” Holiday chuckled, “Are you old enough to tend bar? We’re a little shorthanded here and the pay ain’t bad.”

“Yeah, you can just sit around and watch us on our way to the whiskey grave,” he added, “without firing a shot from that cannon you’re hauling around.

“I won’t shoot you,” said the kid, “but I’m sure not gonna work for you either.”

“But you don’t know the job,” entered Masterson. “Wyatt here doesn’t need a bartender. He needs an executive secretary. You could fit the bill.”

“What do you mean…”

“I mean a sort of body guard,” continued Masterson, someone to ride shotgun when punks to thinking about shooting the famous Wyatt Earp.”

The kid, along with Earp and Holiday sat stunned at the suggestion.

“Wyatt, what do you think?” asked Masterson.

Earp sat pondering the situation. He did not answer.

“What about you, Doc?” he continued. “You could use a little organization in your life. A secretary might be just the thing.”

“Ain’t secretaries girls?” prodded the kid. “I ain’t no secretary…”

“Hang on, kid. Nobody’s saying you gotta take dictation. If you can shoot straight you can be the secretary/body guard/ hired gun in the employment of this faro parlor. Your clients are sitting right here in front of you. If you can keep these punks off our back we can pay you a healthy salary. Now you think about it. Would you rather be in long wooden box or working for Wyatt Earp?”

The kid shook his head.

“You wanted fame,” said Holiday. “You wanted to kill Wyatt Earp and be a famous fellow over at the pool hall. Well now you have the chance to be just as famous without all the blood.”

Holiday was clearly onto something. The kid thought about his friends in town and how they might see him as a hired gunman in the service of such a cast of characters.

“What would I have to do?” he asked.

“Quit asking questions for starters,” picked up Earp. “The job is simple. I don’t want to deal with every young pistolero that hits town. I don’t want nobody sneaking up my stairs. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone anymore. I don’t want no more trouble.”

“So I’d be the go-between? The peace keeper of the faro tables? I’d be paid to watch the backs of you three?” he asked. “I have to admit I could use the work. Would I get a badge?”

“You could use this badge,” gestured Masterson exposing his Cripple Creek star, “but you had better keep it under your shirt for the time being.”

And that’s how it happened. The kid took the job and quit sneaking up stairs, gunning for the infamous. Earp and Holiday went back to the business of separating ore from miners “bucking the tiger” at the high stakes faro tables. Masterson, with Jubal by his side, wandered back to Dodge City where he established a successful photo studio, specializing in portraits of recently shot but still warm desperadoes. Some of his cold clients included Cold Cut Johnny, Three Fingered Pete, Ned Christie and Cole Estes.

Years passed with Holiday passing on from consumption and Masterson following closely behind, a victim of pneumonia. Earp lived until 1929 dying in his bed at 81. The kid left Gunnison after a few years working for the faro enterprise, moving to Denver where he was elected state senator in 1916. He died in 1950.

– Kashmir Horseshoe

 

FREELOADER HOROSCOPE

Even the skies resent a bum, at least we think they do. The following is a prepared astrological sushi roll for the person whose prime time on the planet is spent taking up space, often at the expense of the other guy. Winter is here and there’s no place warm to sleep for the slothful who doze while the crazed, of honest pioneer stock, chop wood and staple visquine till hell won’t have it. Is it beans or caviar? A soft bed or the pavement? Elegance or the shelter? Read on.

SAGITTARIUS (November 22 – December 21)

If your birthday was yesterday you’ve missed it. There is a big difference between expect and expert . Watch out for someone else’s bright ideas landing in your lap. Kick all extra points very carefully. It may be better to open doors than beer cans at the present. Try on a little responsibility. Walk around in it. Look in the mirror. If it doesn’t fit you don’t have to buy it. Nice low profile. Cut the trash, flash the cash! Accept all free rides no matter what the destination. Tonight: Sleep under a different bridge.

CAPRICORN (December 22 – January 19)

Why drag yourself out of bed early? It just makes you tired at closing time. Yield the power of positive thinking to someone else. Feeling sorry for yourself is its own reward. Try keeping to the sunny side of the alley and stay horizontal when possible. It’s not that you exhibit no interests it’s more that they all surface at once, effectively shorting out your brain, leaving you confused by self-motivation and in need of a nap. Your keen knowledge of history will be of great benefit today. Look! A half of an Anthony and Cleopatra, still smoking, right there in the gutter beside you. Tonight: Fried bologna.

AQUARIUS (January 20 – February 18)

Relaxation is your driving force. Milk it. Ask not for whom the couch tolls! Venus, your ruler, will soon travel deep into the sympathetic sign of Capricorn. Hopefully she has four-wheel-drive. Avoid physical labor but never at the expense of mental fatigue. You had a good idea once. Your generosity will not exceed your needs. Curb tendencies toward charity. Venus crosses your love path tonight. Too bad you’ve destroyed credibility and cannot borrow so much as cab fare and the money for a six-pack. Lead with your best side if there is such a thing. You would make a great grammar school science project. Tonight: Change at least one of your socks.

PISCES (February 19 – March 20)

Keep your good eye open for an unexpected pleasure. The merry-go-round is still a miracle even if it’s going in the wrong direction. Ride along or sit back on the bench and watch others spin. Carnivals are far more meaningful than bank statements and phone bills. Don’t allow the little piggies to get your goat, especially in the work place. Don’t ride elevators with banshees. Without the exotic mundane there would be no grounded thrills. This is exactly the right time of the year to talk to cats on the fence. Tonight: Open a whole new can of beans.

ARIES (March 21 – April 19)

Affairs of the heart may get caught in your throat. Challenge house plants. Just because you feel affection for a great many people doesn’t give you liberties in the field of pantslessness. Put your mind to it and there is nothing you can do. Don’t let others make decisions for you unless they are buying the wine. Application of a little charm at the front door might gain temporary entry but will most likely result in a posterior deposit back at the servant’s entry. You will find a new source of income once Mars changes signs this week. Two welfare checks are better than one. Tonight: Get to the soup kitchen early.

TAURUS (April 20- May 20)

A successful career is in your grasp. Take heart…this too will pass. Black tie decadence is not affordable on your second-hand, brown bag budget. That stray bullet was meant for you. Learn to be a graceful loser. Why simply hesitate when you can ignore altogether. Another nap is fine. You may be mistaken as functional in a love relationship. Sabotage is easier than commitment. A remote dumpster offers culinary secrets. Rubbing noses is safer than kissing, especially from across a crowded room. Tonight: Get cozy with cardboard.

GEMINI (May 21 – June 20)

Don’t let late night arrivals distract you from safe snoring decibels. If you sell your soul for whiskey what will you have to trade for ice? A thirsty sailor is not a happy seaman. Refrain from bragging about body hair. Adopt a subliminal approach to pet training. Avoid tete-a-tetes unless you speak French. Chasing rainbows is better than chasing your tail. Seek direction and peace in the wallpaper. Home decorating ideas swirl around in your head. Go ahead: Hang those lovely lace curtains on your grocery cart. When your ship comes in will there be anyone to help you unload her? Tonight: Burn the scandal at both ends.

CANCER (June 21 – July 22)

Learn to appreciate waste. You are far better at creating problems than in solving them. Go with the flow but not all the way down the drain. Running on three cylinders is no walk in the park. A breakfast bar is not always a place to buy a drink before lunch. Too many one-to-one relationships may tax your mathematical prominence. Keep the freight schedule handy as you may be taking a little trip in the future. Bask in the limelight of neon signs. Something in the news will make you warm. Could it be the business section blanketing your shoulders. Tonight: Tie-dye your libido.

LEO (July 23 – August 22)

Pay close attention to the blueprint of your specified arena. Tribesmen are sure to leave for the liquor store soon. If you had a job you could bring home work at night, if you had a home. Dwell on passing the time. Life is just a movie and you are required to perform your own stunts. Follow your instincts and they will lead you to the end of your nose. Leave it to the others to conform to you. It’s probably too late to procrastinate. It’s tough to make a fresh impression tomorrow with the stale breath of so many yesterdays. Tonight: File the short form.

VIRGO (August 23 – September 22)

Objects in the mirror seem smaller and farther away than they may appear. Unlocking doors could land you in jail. Handle all fiscal matters quickly and irresponsibly. Nothing can stop you since you are not moving in any direction. Multi-tasking is highly overrated. Learn to laugh at life since it is certainly laughing at you. If you ignore that important decision long enough it will cease to be of concern. Join the circus. You’ll enjoy the other reptiles. Social activities should have accelerated last month. It’s difficult to diversify when your bicycle seat is on backwards. Tonight: Tuna martinis for the band.

LIBRA (September 23 – October 22)

You will enjoy a wild goose chase especially if you’re not the prey. Forget past obligations with the same vigor that you are embracing present responsibilities. Maintain a sense of equilibrium, at least below the belt. Your soul mate is a cross-dressing hamster. Every queen named Jane has either been murdered, imprisoned, gone mad, died young or been dethroned. What else is left? Beware of pickpockets with vacuum attachments. Seeing good in all things is commendable. Seeing good in a fog is worthwhile. Never confuse the bait with the catch. Tonight: Sackcloth and ashes accentuate your barbarism.

SCORPIO (October 23 – November 21)

Negotiations will do little good once you’re up the steps of the guillotine. Broken bones may impress the neighbors. Clear your throat, your head will follow. Malnutrition is an eating disorder too. Today would be a great time to stop drinking. Next month would be a better time. Never pull a knife in a greasy spoon. Imagine your mother-in-law with a bald head. Stay far enough ahead of the pack to effectively cover your tracks. A shirt-sleeve relative will attempt to get his hands in your pockets. Don’t sweat the small print if you can’t read the headlines. If you insist on paying your bills on time it will grow to be expected. Tonight: Hog the blankets.

-Kashmir Horseshoe, copyright 2004, The Astrological Cavalry