All Entries in the "Soft News" Category
Brunot Agreement Rescinded
After more than 150 years courting appeals and petitioning higher powers the Blue Sky People have won an unprecedented legal battle which effectively negates the Brunot Treaty and returning some 3.5 million acres of land to its rightful owners. The questionable agreement, signed in 1873 under blatantly false pretense, called for the removal of all Utes from the area of mines, which included all of the San Juans, most of the foothills and everything else that wasn’t tied down..
Even though a previous Treaty (1868) guaranteed that the land “would be theirs forever” the newer entente, hatched by newcomers such as Governor Frederick Pitkin, called for the expulsion of the seven Ute bands to reservations along the New Mexico and Utah borders.
At the time the Utes did not understand what the government had done. It had been their understanding during negotiations that they would give up land on which the mines were actually located, not all the land that contained mines. The situation was further clouded by a government decree recognizing Ouray (of the Uncompahgre Band) as chief of all Colorado Utes. This designation allegedly helped grease the smooth transfer of lands to white settlers.
“If Ouray was chief of the Utes then my ass chews gum,” said one Ute sheep herder living near Ignacio. “He was never elected to anything. I was all a giant hoax to grab our land, which we feel cannot be owned in the first place.”
During the last few days of hearings, Supreme Quart justices apologized to the Blue Sky People for “unparalleled grievances, rampant violence and methodical racism”. Saying that the land in question was stolen they declared all treaties starting with the Calhoun Treaty of 1850 to be null and void.
“We can’t give these native peoples back their culture, their murdered families or their way of life but we can damn sure give them back their land.
In keeping with the ruling, the town of Ouray will be renamed Colorow and the city of Gunnison to Tomichi. Colorow was a real chief and Gunnison had been named after early white explorer John Gunnison, a man of questionable moral fiber.
“Tomichi sounds better,” continued the herder.
“We expect it will take about 100 years for the land to return to its more natural state,” explained one Ute councilman from what was once called Cortez, and will now be named Weeminuche City.
The white folks currently residing on the effected acreage will have until Friday to vacate the premises or be forcibly moved to reservations in the desert.
– Kashmir Horseshoe
MOST BLACK BEAR LIVE BELOW POVERTY LINE
(Denver) A majority of Colorado’s 20,000 black bear are indigent, penniless and otherwise destitute according to Division of Fur, Scales, and Feathers here. The Office of FSF, a division of the Colorado SOW, says the problem is increasing with sub-substandard snow pack yielding less food and fewer acres of ample ground cover in which to hide from burgeoning human occupiers.
The black bear, the smallest and most numerous of the overall species, has been living hand to mouth, trudging through the milenniums long before statistics as to fiscal well being were collected. In the years when worth was measured not in material wealth but in spirit, this did not present such a gaping problem but today the disparity runs rampant like a hungry child with his bum hanging out.
Although the bear is inquisitive, very adaptive, bright and social, he is up against the wall of progress. Despite the inequality he is remarkably tolerant of humans. A shy omnivore, the bear will eat just about anything plant or animal. Chronic problems emerge when the animals get used to eating human garbage and thus have more contact with the main predator, which, of corpse, is you and I.
Able to run in bursts exceeding 35 miles per hour and climb trees like nobody’s business, black bear are great swimmers. Often living up to 25 years in the wild, the bear exhibits incredible smell, sight and hearing.
“The bear may be proud beasts but are basically stinky deadbeats, like most other forest mammals,” said Durango biologist Lexy Brooine, head of the Fur and Feathers segment of SOW, a state component of Boneland Security.
“If you give a bear a fish you create dependency. If you teach a bear to fish you create a functional creature who embraces independence. With cuts over at welfare and unpredictable gov’ment assistance qualification (compliments of the incompetent trumpies currently in power), it is difficult to cater to our wards even with the above mentioned free-lance, expansion of the traditional bruin cusine ,” she explained. “There is only so much honey to give away.”
Often considered reasonably affluent in comparison to smaller mammals as well as fish and flying things, the black bear have fallen onto hard times due to bad investments, outsourcing, lack of leadership and a gradual departure from scrupulous survival instincts that have served them well since the species began to evolve.
“Sounds a lot like the current human quagmire,” said Brooine.
“In addition to human garbage and abandoned cars, ski areas and mountain golf resorts have mercilessly killed traditional habitat leaving the animals reliant on the gov’ment,” added Brooine. “Think of all the money diverted into already deep pockets on these endeavors, and it’s easy to see why the bear are where they are, at least in a financial sense.”
– Uncle Pahgre
For more on this sad subject see Indian, Buffalo and Bear: Subtle Suburban Genocide by Melvin Bedwetter Toole, Testosterone Bros., Boston.
THE MOONSHINER’S SONG
In 1925 Ouray was still unmistakably a mining town. There had been ups and downs but the mines were still employing hundreds and yielding almost immoral tons of precious ore. There were plenty of churches and plenty of brothels. The Utes had long gone, replaced by new immigrants from Italy, Ireland and Eastern Europe. Most were thirsty fellows and ladies.
The only thing missing were the boisterous saloons of frontier living. The temperance folks had had their way. Prohibition was in full swing with ax-wielding do-gooders saving the population from the evils of demon rum. They had failed to convince the thirsty and the great unwashed as to the moral implications of boozing, so they simply legislated them into dusty submission. The noble experiment doomed to failure.
One man, set on making a living in his hometown, saw a window of opportunity. His family had made what they called mountain dew, or hooch since coming to the San Juans in the late 1880s. Then they sold it more out in the open. Today’s whiskey runner would have to be more careful. Although the authorities generally turned their backs when it came to the sins of the populace, one never took that benefit for granted. Only last spring the police had reluctantly arrested two Montrose men for selling bootlegged whiskey. Now the two were in jail and their families were hungry. What good did that do?
Abe Morrow had served in France during the war. He was convinced that the teetotalers had conspired against the doughboys during a time of national emergency. They had stabbed them in the back with all this Prohibition. If men in France forgot the horror of war with a good bottle (or three) of French wine what harm was done?
By 1925 the nation had settled back into what historians call the Great Dry Spell. Morrow, now approaching 3o years of age had a thriving business. His stills ran all day and he ran around all night satisfying the needs of his customers from Silverton to Dallas. It always amazed him how happy they were to see him. Very little sales work. Just a good sense of public relations and jugs of excellent souma, white lightning or poteen.
Most of his elixir was safe enough to drink and varied in quality and barter capacity. It was rumored that he distilled a sort of kosher whiskey and some powerful bailie, distilled from sorghum, that he sold to the Chinese in town and even up n Silverton, when the opportunity presented itself. He had to be careful not to step on the toes of other moonshiners who did not appreciate the intrusion into their territory and often met Asian customers at the top of Red Mountain Pass.
But most of his customers were miners, good hard working people in need of a good whistle wetting after a long shift underground.
He was looking good, but he needed to take on a partner, someone who could run the operation when he got too old. A bachelor, Abe had no kids to bring into the business. His prospects must know about hard woods and where to get them for a smooth taste. They had to study his bottling procedures. They had to be good in the woods at night. They had to shut their mouth about this and that. They had to be aware of what cops were also customers and which ones would be trouble. Most of all, they had to be honest…yes honest, with the customers and with Abe too.
Since most of his potential associates were employed, he would have to search the ranks of newcomers, or teach some kid the grist mill and mash trade before he embraced some other profession. The population of newcomers was peppered with a sad assortment of ragamuffins and scalawags and that was on a good day. He didn’t want to hook up with his competitors, the Carlson Boys, down valley because then he would have more than a partner, he’d have a boss. The same would go for alliances in San Juan County.
One afternoon as he was headed up to work up Hayden Mountain he noticed a young man coming out of the miner’s union. He knew the kid. His name was Richards. The two had stopped and talked before. His father had been killed at Belleau Wood in 1918. His mother had died of scarlet fever a few years later. Like many of the town’s younger men he had been rustling a job at one of the local mines. At present he said he had few prospects other than nipping at the Old Maid or tending to cranky mules up at the Camp Bird.
There were always jobs in the coal mines but that was far more dangerous work and besides, he had hard rock mining in his veins.
Morrow told Richards he was on his way to work and that he might be looking for some help later in the week. He was afraid to say more, but he needed to start somewhere. He felt like a high wire performer, sans net at his first practice session.
“I know what you do,” said Richards. “I see you coming and going. I don’t drink myself or I might have sampled your wares.”
Abe was dumbstruck. He thought he had covered his tracks better than this. He always took the back roads and never even drove his empty delivery wagon into town. He figured that the miners thought he was a rancher and the ranchers thought he was a miner. He hauled around an assortment of serious-looking tools that he had no use for simply to keep nosey sniffers off the scent. This kid was paying attention.
“So what is it that I do?” he finally asked.
“You deliver milk,” was the answer. “Mother’s milk, I suspect.”
Both men laughed. Abe carefully cross-examined Bobby Richards, attempting to sort out opinions on the morality of the liquor business.
“You looking for a job?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m getting tired of sweeping up and hustling newspapers at the brothels. I think I’m ready for a new career, something stable, with a future.”
“Have you checked at the bank?” smiled Morrow, looking Richards square in the eye.
“No money in that,” said the younger man. “Is this a job interview?”
“Maybe, but I’m having trouble with where to start,” said Morrow.
“Got some deliveries tonight?” asked Richards. “I can drive, you can drop.”
“I’ll think on it,” said Morrow without sharing further secrets.
Although his recent successes were closely aligned with keeping his business to himself, Morrow knew his prayers had been answered. The next day he approached Richards on the street.
“Still want that job?” he asked.
“Sure, except for the fact that I start my policeman training on Monday.”
Abe’s heart stopped. Was the kid serious? Nobody was smiling. Here in his first attempt at expanding his services he had just hired a cop, or at least a rookie one. He froze.
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Morrow. Everyone knows about your war record, how you were a hero and all. Even my dad talked about you in his last letters from France,” he said. “I have no problem with you. Even a cop takes a drink once in a while, illegal or not. Ain’t none of us voted for this Prohibition business anyway.”
Abe began to sweat. He had been so careful and yet this kid knew all about him.
“Lot’s of people know who you are and what you’re doing,” said Richards. “As far as they’re concerned you’re not hurting anyone…You’re just providing a needed service. The marshal and a lot of others don’t want anyone else coming in here upsetting the cart, no matter what the cargo.”
“So you won’t turn me in?” he choked.
“What for?” laughed the kid, “and if my new job doesn’t work out I might consider going to work for you. I think I’d be good at it.”
“No doubt,” thought Abe as the two parted ways. “I’d better move my copper kettles nonetheless,” he mused as he headed out of town.
As he made his way up past Ironton Park, Morrow took time to reevaluate his security procedures wondering how many other people knew his business. The money was too good to stop smuggling booze but he might have trouble sleeping from now on. Prison was not a part of his agenda.
He was far too afraid to conduct any more job interviews. He would remain a one-man enterprise, at least for the time being.
From time to time over the next few years Morrow would watch a young railroad cop walk his beat in Montrose. It was Richards. The new job had worked out fine but neither felt comfortable to resume earlier conversations.
Life goes on.
On February 20, 1933 a Lame Duck session of Congress passed the Twenty-first Amendment to the Constitution, repealing Prohibition. It ended an era of gangsters and widespread disregard for the law. It also killed Abe’s moonshine operation and he was forced to find another, more suitable occupation. One place he didn’t look was in the area of law enforcement.
– Uncle Pahgre
The importance of cutting national intelligence quotients prioritized
When told by a reporter that the Oval Office was actually a rectangle, orange trump vacantly replied “I know that. We’re transparent and covert around here. There are no corners for deadbeats to hide in,” he said*.
“You know, malcontents on food stamps and Democrats playing the system is the big drain. It’s costing us billions!” he ranted. “Even massive tax breaks to the rich won’t solve this “wicked transgression of racketeering and gangsterism”, he deflected.
“Shapes don’t matter to me, he continued. “I have designed over 40 offices, built resorts and made millions through my business deals. I have strengthened our alliances, saved the failed Biden economy through my very popular tariffs, protected voting rights for white American citizens and killed socialist wind energy so we can all go back to watching television 22 hours a day.** In addition I have single-handedly reduced our reliance on National Intelligence, cutting the veteran spook staff by at least 1/3, maybe even 1/4, he bragged.”
“That orange thing is the president and he doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about you or I.” – reporter on oval and rectangular
* The AP Stylebook, Merriam-Webster, The American Heritage Dictionary and The Chicago Manual of Style have sanctioned the use of the world lie as a valid and more precise substitute for the word said when quoting trump or anyone associated with the current administration.
Noting a humorous aside, the exacting language cops topped off this phraseology with a vague reference: “How can you tell he is lying? His mouth moves.” In addition, the embrace of the new verb called “long in coming” by communist detractors certain that trump has never read these reference sources despite “finishing first in his class at University of Pennsylvania,” (or so he said.)
“He reads the wrappers on fast food delivered to the back door of the White House,” said one strawberry GOP congressman. “Otherwise, I have yet to see anything resembling a book in his possession. At least he’s white.”
**It is clear to these nincompoops that since wind energy is not a fossil fuel it is not powerful enough to operate common household appliances such as televisions, riding mowers and home air defense systems and therefore should be demonized, delegated to and designated as a shithole enterprise.
– Fred Zepplin
Congress Reschedules Colonoscopies Until After Midterms
(Warshington) The United States Congress today rescheduled a group colonoscopy for three days after the coming Mid-Term election. The sudden shift affects 50 senators and over 80 representatives.
“We have been on hold here since Obamacare was destroyed, so what’s another few months?” asked Winnie Kampachi (Unitarian-MT).
The reason given for the cancellations was quite vague as has become customary within the governing body. Some say the simple surgery will conflict with last minute campaigning while others expressed concern that their medical results may get lost in the mail now that the USPS has been downsized.
“Considering the scope of things here most of our “leaders” don’t want to be on-camera until they can better analyze the polls in the days preceding homecoming at their designated Electoral College,” she whinnied.
Politicians in the loser’s seat after November remain in heated debate over what constitutes a pre-existing condition and what is clearly cranium-rectal disorder, often treated with overpriced robber baron pharmaceuticals.
The Congress will not be in session on the day of the colonoscopies despite the fact that the intrusive checkup is an outpatient procedure.
– Hal A Butt
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In keeping with federal regulations and the continued validity of our FCC, OMG, KFC, LSMFT status the contents of this rattlesheet turned website must contain at least .03% useful information to our reader. We therefore take this opportunity to embrace public service by including this spit of data within the quakey walls of justice and eternal reams of our consciousness:
Saint Donald (also known as Donald of Ogilvy) is an 8th Century Scotish poet, remembered for living a holy monastic life alongside his nine daughters, who are known as the Nine Maidens. His feast day is celebrated every year on July 15.
trumps’ attack on Head Start is being investigated as a hate crime
donald trump’s attempt to dismantle Head Start, a successful federal program for children living without a basic emotional and educational environment, has been perceived and discerned in a myriad of ways. The empathetic GOP cries foul as funds are spent to give these kids a shot (while they bank millions through their ubiquitous, albeit shady dealings.). Shortcut liberals pat themselves on the back but do nothing to protect what they have created. The reality is that countless low-income children have been prepared for success in school with the kind of help inherent to the program. Considering the chain of poverty and the culture of losing, most would not get the assistance and encouragement at home, especially in single-parent households.
We better be damn sure we know what we’re doing when we give a leg up to one of these baby victims. If we don’t watch it one of them could grow up and be President one day.
Critics claim the program is chucked full of corruption while supporters say the proposed cuts punish poor children while trump and his darlings buy islands and yachts and jets and governments with money brazenly stolen from struggling Americans.
Police are investigating trump’s racist and hostile targeting of Head Start as a hate crime which carries with it increased penalties and prison time.
– Pepper Salte
