Radical Fairy Tales

with Melvin Weatherman

Part XXVI Angela Davis

Once upon a time there were some less than happy panthers of the black persuasion. They, in an attempt to protect their charming Oakland neighborhoods from violence wrought by “genocidal, racist police fascists bastards” had been thrown in the slammer charged with everything from littering to treason.

And it came to pass that a political science professor at Cal Berkeley, named Angela, heard of their plight. Angela, who was about 359 degrees left of center herself, found out that the panthers, with names like George Jackson and Bobby Seal, were actually not criminals at all but political prisoners who were being abused while in custody. It appears that Eldridge Cleaver (no relation to Beaver) was in the can at that same time penning “Soul On Ice”, but we’re getting ahead of the story.

Although not particularly shocked by the goings on in at Soledad Prison, Angela was a bit surprised how obvious the police were in their attempts to clamp down on the panthers. It was common knowledge at many prisons that the panthers had been targeted by the cops for their subversive activities. They were being deprived of their constitutional rights. (Editor’s note: Now, some 30 years later that can be said for all Americans but then it was just a few or so we were led to believe). The lives of the panthers were in danger. Every day there were murders within the prison walls. Who would suspect the cops? She decided to act.

On March 14 she successfully smuggled 17 high-powered rifles, three hand grenades, a laptop rocket  launcher, 2 coconut cream pies, a roll of ostentatious toilet paper and a copy of Tuesday’s New York Times into the prison. The place exploded. All right, so it wasn’t as impressive a strike as Attica but it was one of the first experiments of its kind and the prison population was new at this kind of thing. Unfortunately, her drastic steps lead to much more violence and the score has never been settled up to present day.

As the dust settled the authorities failed to prove one damn thing with regards to Angela’s participation in the attempted prison break. She currently teaches radical kindergarten in El Cerrito.

(Source: Bedtime Tales for Generation X by Mario Andretti and the Free Speech Movement)

 

Keeping the fun in marriage

with Dr. Muffy Hollandaise, MSW, PhD, ASAP, LSMFT

Part 16 – Creative Disagreement — Keeping It Civil

As my fifth husband always used to say: “If you can’t fight standing up how do you expect to make love lying down.” While many of us here in the business are not clear as to what he means we will go to the wall to defend his rite of common passage. Given: Everyone, with the possible exception of white doves, hermits, the dead and laudanum addicts locks horns sometimes. Nowhere is this phenomenon more interesting than within the sacred bondage of marital harmony.

You may ask: How then Dr. Muffy can two people learn to tolerate each other when the green grasses of secularism beckon and the chains monogamy rattle throughout the night. The answer: Don’t just sit there like a rusty old war memorial. Kick up some dust of your own. Here’s how to do it:

Most people would agree that it’s far easier watching someone else explode than to hit the ceiling yourself. That’s our first direction: Shut the hell up. Sure, it’s tough but generally your opponent will continue to hold the floor at least until they have exuded all primary hostility. Everyone thinks they know what they are talking about but no one has a clue. Blah, blah, blah…and so on.

During this peripheral exchange be sure to keep a serious look on your face (laughing will only succeed in making matters worse), don’t make eye contact (it is often seen as a sign of aggression and yet can simultaneously denote fear ), back away slowly attempting to make yourself seem larger and more formidable (running will convince the predator that you are food). While surfing the primrose path it is wise to make lots of noise so as not to startle your mate, especially if he or she is traveling with cubs (off-spring).

When the confrontation reaches phase two — the actual dialogue it may help to circulate a print-out to the participating parties. This helpful sheet can provide guidelines, parameters and information that will be covered during the brawl. This way nobody feels blindsided by issues introduced in the heat of battle. Hint: Always hold back just a little in case back stabbing is the only recourse. For example: Personal attacks on in-laws and personal hygiene are good while implications as to the lack of integrity and/or obesity are less effective.

Always take time to choose a setting that benefits both sides. The kitchen is often better than the bedroom even though that’s where the knives are housed. The garden may work well for the combatants but what about the tomato plants? Squash can be very sensitive to upheavals and often wilts on the vine in the face of entanglement. (And that says nothing of endive and/or periwinkle). Referring to the set as the battleground does not carry with it the indication that one is serious about solutions. Waiting for the other partner to be drunk is not a good idea as one runs the risk that he or she will pass out during the good part.

Timing is important too. She should throw out a contentious line during, say, the final game of the NBA Playoffs. He could do well waiting until the VISA bill arrives, unless of course he is the big spender. Bringing up an old mate is a valid approach only when he is in jail or her hair is falling out.

Never presume that you are a better lover unless you were actually present during their tender moments. Don’t accept guilt connected to such evangelical surprises as: “After failing at several suicide attempts she joined a cloistered order and was hit by a bolt of lightning while on her way to vespers; he passed away after contracting leprosy, you know, working with the poor in India; or the old standby he jumped into a small bucket of chilled white table wine from a squat piñon tree atop lover’s leap and it’s your fault!”

Along with the setting one should consider the general ambiance. The sound of a distant lawn mower or chain saw can be relaxing. The sound of a dog barking can lead to further frustration. Make sure no faucets are dripping or digital beeping is present as distraction can cause breakdowns of the communicative process.

Music is very important. Country and Western works well, especially compared to the annoying repetitions sometimes inherent in progressive jazz. Rap is not a beneficial option since it is often loud, repetitive, crude and violent. Love songs may not be appropriate either. Save them for the making up part, if it comes.

Body language should not be a consideration and physical response isn’t a solution, even for lower primates. The habit of repeating verbatim every sentence uttered by your opponent is childish and can provoke further duress.

At some point in the proceedings there should be a period of dead air when everyone is finally exhausted. This is the right time to terminate the argument. The best way to do so is to throw your arms around your partner and hug them till they turn blue. Most people find this extension less attractive than facing a bayonet but moments after the initial fear of rejection is conquered anger is usually replaced by relief. Never leave during an argument since it can be taken as a retreat and you may have to go through this discussion process all over again.

Now that the argument has come to a halt it is time to start gathering ammunition for the next big fight which we will undress in the next episode. Too-DA-loo…

 

Dr. Hollandaise graduated from some school back east & uses a lot of words she doesn’t understand. She can’t cook, has over 40 mirrors in her abode and is lousy in bed, according to her last five husbands .

 

MAJOR STORM PLANNED FOR EARLY APRIL

(Crested Butte) A massive snow storm is slated for April, just days after the spring closing of the Crested Butte ski resort according to meteorologists camped near here. Projections call for a total dump of about 50 to 60 inches.

The conditions should be incredible,” said a CBMR spokesman. “The only problem is that the lifts will be shut down.”

Already several Mount Crested Butte bars have announced plans to stay open until it melts. Residents are encouraged to support these new measures.

“It’s the best snow we’ve had all year and we figure on cleaning up on the apres ski crowd even if very little skiing is going on,” said a local libations purveyor. “All that new moisture really generates a hearty thirst and off-season could be a long one.”

Plans to collect the snow and store it for next year have been scrapped due to one Forest Service restriction or the other.

Kebler Yeti Passes On

(Crested Butte) The Horseshoe is sad to report the passing of the Kebler Yeti, a half-man, half-monster, who has roamed the outreaches of this town since about 1956. Although his exact age is not known, it is surmised that the beast was about forty at the time of his demise. The cause of death remains unknown at press time as the Yeti, who refused to give interviews, had no local medical history.

“He had a nice tan and didn’t even look sick a week ago,” said Byron Yezmann, a local biologist who often brought the Sasquatch cookies and fruit each week via snowmobile. “Let’s face it, nobody looks great after spending the winter wandering around naked in the Elks.”

Yezmann insists that the Yeti visited the town of Crested Butte most weekends but had been barred from most of the saloons since he tended to scare the daylights out of tourists. He rarely tipped.

“I’m not talking any names here but there are a lot of people who have drank with him since the snow began to fall last November,” the biologist winced. “I just hope they’ll show up at the funeral. It would be the decent thing to do.”

No replacement has been named as of Friday

BOZAR MERGES with KBUT, WSC & CBMR to become BOZARKBUTWSCCBMR

(Jack’s Cabin) The Board of Zoning and Architecture has announced a surprise merge with a public radio station, a university and a ski resort. All of the principals are located in Gunnison County.

Joining forces will allow all those affected to pool resources and continue to function and flourish during the next few years according to high level sources here. Although the merge will in no way change basic services provided by the involved groups there will be a period of transition.

“No irretrievable differences exist at the present there is always hope for the future,” coughed Margot Marmotbreath, a Denver attorney who set up the package. “If these people can all get along there is still hope for peace in the Mideast after all.”

The first board meeting involving all of the said factions is scheduled for February of 2016 unless it rains.

– Fillie Buster

 

 

Iguana Soup Recipe

After countless requests we have finally secured the authentic recipe for IGUANA SOUP, heralded in many parts of Central America as the ultimate hangover cure. Read on…

Take one regular size deceased iguana (skinned) and prepare in accordance with NAFTA specifications regarding birds and lizardry. Remove tail and set aside. Boil iguana on high for about an hour until it shrinks approximately 20%. Retain water. Add yucca, spuds, maize (if you can’t find maize use household corn), onion, garlic, jalapeño peppers and passion fruit seeds. Place animal back in pot and simmer for about three hours until meat falls from bone. Garnish with tail. Serve in brandy snifters or mate gourds. Enjoy.

“The Mad, Mad Malarkey of Brian O’Linn”

Brian O’Linn was a gentleman born,

His hair it was long and his beard unshorn,

His teeth were out and his eyes far in—

“I’m a wonderful beauty,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn was hard up for a coat,

He borrowed the skin of a neighboring goat,

He buckled the horns right under his chin—

“They’ll answer for pistols,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn had no breeches to wear,

He got him a sheepskin to make him a pair,

With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in—

“They are pleasant and cool,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn had no hat to his head,

He stuck on a pot that was under the shed,

He murdered a cod for the sake of his fin—

“‘Twill pass for a feather,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn had no shirt to his back,

He went to a neighbor and borrowed a sack,

He puckered the meal-bag under his chin—

“They’ll take it for ruffles,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn had no shoes at all.

He brought an old pair at a cobbler’s stall,

The uppers were broke and the soles were thin—

“They’ll do me for dancing,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn had no watch for to wear,

He brought a fine turnip and scooped it out fair,

He slipped a live cricket right under the skin—

“They’ll think it is tickling,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn was in want of a broach,

He stuck a brass pin in a big cockroach,.

The breast of his shirt he fixed it straight in—

“They’ll think it’s a diamond,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn went a-courting one night,

He set both the mother and daughter to fight—

“Stop, stop,” he exclaimed, “If you have but the tin,”

I’ll marry you both,” says Brian O’Linn.

 

Brian O’Linn went to bring his wife home,

He had but one horse that was all skin and bone—

“I’ll put her behind me, as nate as a pink,

And her mother before me” says Brian O’Linn!

 

Brian O’Linn and his wife and wife’s mother,

They all crossed over the bridge together,

The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in—

“We’ll go home by water,” says Brian O’Linn!

 

The Kerry Man Cannot Be Fooled!

(Editor’s note: Just so our reader gets a little dry behind the ears we wanted to reprint a joke heard in Dingle a few years back…)

An American balloonist took off from London and headed west over the Irish sea as planned. He passed over Dublin, then Kilkenny but when he attempted his descent he was pushed and pulled by gusty winds and sent farther west of his destination. Concerned, he made the proper adjustments but still continued to flow west. Soon, after dropping some elevation he found himself over what appeared to be County Kerry, drifting out in to the open Atlantic and big trouble. Just as he passed over what he thought was the Dingle Peninsula he saw a Kerryman out working in his fields. As a last resort he yelled down to the man: “Excuse me sir but…but where am I?” The man looked up, surprised and responded, “You can’t fool me. You’re up in that little basket hanging from a hot air balloon.”

“You Narrowback, bog-trotting, two toilet Irish sombitch.” – Tim “Pegleg” McMonahan to his brother, James, when the two reunited after a pleasant ocean voyage on Tchapatoulis Street in New Orleans in 1843.