Ash Tray Surplus Undressed

(Paradox, CO) The abundance of unused ash trays currently serving as memory knick-knacks will be decreased significantly thanks to several suggested recycle programs adopted at the highest levels today. The ash trays, once a major component of the smoking culture, are no longer in demand with the demise of puffing and diminished tobacco use.

Suggestion #1: Get the government involved. Persons anxious to rid themselves of these items are instructed to send them to the thousands of tobacco lobbyists currently working in the nation’s capital. Maybe they can give them as gifts to the Congress.

Suggestion #2: Take action yourself. Many of the ash trays are plastic which make for easy recycling, whereas glass and metal cinder keepers present a more serious problem due to the length of decomposition. Antique and classic ashtrays, as well as spittoons and earthenware creations often fetch a high price and can be sold to collectors.

“We are happy that so many have given up smoking,” said one health official whose expertise appears essential to the cleanup. “We all remember the smells associated with dirty ash trays. Some day our descendants will perceive these objects as disgusting and negative yet historically important mementos, and may store everything from keys to candy to safety pins in them.”

Up till now authorities had been concerned that the ash trays might fall into the hands of terrorists or used by marijuana smokers.

Anyone bogged down by the presence of these soot and ember depositories can now recycle safely and easily. It’s the patriotic thing to do,” said the source. – Ripple Van Winkle

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Not a lot of ‘em in Stringtown much cared for Ma MacElliot or any from her whole pestering clan for that matter. They found the old lady (Ma) to be abrasive, petty, callous, loud and whiny. They didn’t like her because her dogs were mean and her sons were meaner. They didn’t like her because she constantly spit tobacco juice, often on their shiny shoes, nice green lawns and acutely swept Stringtown sidewalks.

And personal hygiene may have just as well been a French greeting. Rashes found a warm welcome in her every crevice, while matching socks would have been a coordinated victory. She broke wind at the most erratic times and in the most inappropriate places. She never washed her hair and her Rambler Ambassador smelled of rotten eggs and sour milk.

She wore a stained Bronco jersey, with some player’s name faded on the back. Ma’s mere presence at the grocery, a stroll through the second-hand store or a prowl at the dump she could anger and embarrass large swaths of humanity.

Nora Goode explained that resentment hatched because Ma had once been a blue blood and, like the other MacElliots had fallen on cumulative faces and now were just as broke as everyone else on the south side of the unraveling town’s bucolic social networks. They were has-beens and in less than two generations had fallen from Brahmans to bums.

Ma cursed as a mouse shot across the floor. She wished she had kept one of the feral cats that used to inhabit the place. She had exiled them, meows and all, to the barn where they now set up house, ignoring the purge of the rodent proletariat at the old home doublewide.

“Bet there’s no mice prancing around inside that barn,” she groaned. “They’re all over here.”

When Ma got her fifth DUI George W. was still President. Now it was her sixth arrest on drinking and driving. She had been coming back (doing the speed limit with at least one headlight on) from a tractor pull in Utah when a cow elk jumped onto the highway in San Miguel Canyon and collided with her pickup. During the ensuing investigation it became apparent that Ma had been sipping. Her low profile/high alcohol level was easily enough to win her a spot at the Montrose jail for the night.

“I only had a six-pack. That’s what I get for doing the damn speed limit,” said Ma. “If I’d have been speeding I’d never have hit that elk. Oh well, jail won’t be so bad. At least I’ve earned a few months away from my worthless relatives.”

Then she said, “It’s a conspiracy. The cops are hiding out and waiting for me! When I still had money it was different, more formal…all the lawyers and bail, the plea bargains and alcohol classes,” she sighed. “But now they tell me I’m some kind of indeegent, which means they can’t squeeze no more dollars outa this one!”

“Six offences I see,” said the judge and no sense of remorse…that’ll be 120 days or 160 days in lieu of fine.”

“King of the Blues”

Interview Part IV

“The Swan Song”

Sunny: Like I said, I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: Your roots reach deep into the Mississippi Delta, into the South Chicago scene, into Motown. That’s quite diverse.

Sunny: Yeah, man. I’m the king of the blues, baby, the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: Our sources tell us that you’ve released over 50 records and CDs since the Forties.

Sunny: I’m the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: You’ve been pickin and singin for over 70 years. Sooner or later you’re gonna drop dead. How do you feel about the hereafter?

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: After reviewing several of your songs it appears that you concentrate on simple, repetitious themes that could become annoying after a while.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: We see that you travel with a complete orchestra. Are all these members really necessary or do you just like to be extravagant?

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: There are plenty of musicians, such as Muddy Waters, B.B. King, John Hurt, John Lee Hooker and others who might claim to be the king of the blues.

Sunny: But I am the king of the blues, baby.

Horseshoe: According to your agent you received that boom box as a gift from Yassar Arafat after a performance in Palestine.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: It’s really loud. Can you turn it down so we can talk some more?

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: He also told us you were the tenth of eleven kids born to sharecroppers around the turn-of-the-century. How old are you anyway?

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: You don’t look that old.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: One would think that all the drinking and partying would take its toll on a fellow your age.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: The liner notes on your King of the Blues album say you’ve been married eight times and have fathered more than 40 children.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: What did you and all of those wives find to talk about.

Sunny: Ain’t you been listenin’? I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: Read any good books lately?

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: Here, eat these guitar strings.

Sunny: I am the king of the blues.

Horseshoe: Nice day. You think it’ll rain this afternoon?

Sunny: It’s possible.

THE NINE LEAST INFLUENTIAL PEOPLE OF THE LAST MILLENNIUM

By Ken Currie

Special from our archives 1999

As a handful of calendar-clutching fanatics proclaim that our beloved Millennium is drawing to a close, second-rate journalists are scrambling to write pieces scrutinizing the last 1000 years with every possible angle. Now I am fond of this particular Millennium, having spent most of my adult life in it, but if it must be scrapped in favor of a newer, bigger one I hereby promise that I will not stand in the way. As others list and write about the great events and people of the past 1000 years, I too have compiled a list…not of important people, nor of lesser known greats. My list does not contain the forgotten or the obscure, but is rather a roster of complete nobodies. Here then is my contribution to posterity…last and least influential.

Alfredo Veducino (1102-1168)

Alfredo served as a monk in Spain. He maintained strict silence for fifty-five years although he never really took an official vow to that affect. The monastery where Alfredo lived was one where fellow monks unearthed and translated what was believed to be the grocery list of the prophet Isaiah. In later years the entire ordeal was downplayed when a senior monk pointed out that chicken chow mein was not available during that primitive Biblical period. This discovery and the subsequent dismissal of the said document shook the religious world of the time. Luckily for Alfredo he had had nothing to do with the research from the onset. He was bust keeping silent adhering to his daily regiment of sleeping until 3:45 in the afternoon and spending the remainder of the day engaging in what fellow monks called esucha de conejos or listening to rabbits.

Stefanos Meridan (1460-?)

Born the son of a destitute Portuguese eel trapper, spent his early years living on the beach with his father. His mother, a stout woman, would not allow either of them in the house do reportedly to the presence of an icky eel slime aroma. At age 11 a desperate Stefanos stowed away on a large merchant ship. After three days it became apparent that the ship had been abandoned. On the fourth day he returned home, cold and hungry, only to be locked out of the house by his mother who complained of a musty shipwreck stench that mysteriously followed the lad about. Later, as an adult, he claimed to have discovered a swift ocean-going route between Portugal and Spain. He set sail, bankrolled by the Italian court, centered in the city state of Sinatra, and three years later was swept ashore along the rocky coast of Scotland. He quickly claimed the land for the queen of Portugal and renamed in Stefanoland, after himself. Almost twenty minutes later red-headed Picts in plaid skirts made him sail away by hurling jagged rocks at his head. He was never seen again. Some one hundred years later a rough map surfaced at some insignificant Renaissance yard sale in a familiar writing style common to Stefanos. The map featured England and Ireland carefully drawn to scale, but named Meridanland and Stef’s Isle.

Ping Hi Pong (1225-1324)

As a philosopher in China, Ping taught meditation to children six- years-old and younger. He is credited with two metaphysical sayings. One was “The man who can boil a rooster’s egg will accomplish an impossible task” and the other, “To hear a beautiful woman sing, now that’s really something.” To this day no one has proven Ping wrong on either saying. As Ping neared his one hundredth birthday, an acolyte asked him for the secret of longevity. He smiled, settled back into his easy chair and said “To live a hundred years one must…” and before he could finish the sentence, he dropped dead.

Ivan Ivanivan (1850-1923)

As a distant cousin of Czar Nicholas, Ivan was extened privileges not often enjoyed by young men of his time. He got two extra potatoes per month and a full equestrian scholarship to Kiev Community College. While at school he penned Czar Wars…The Empire Strikes Us. This was considered controversial by the three people who actually read it (oddly enough they made up the majority of literate people in Russia at the time). He also wrote a collection of poems which the same three people began to read but found to be too controversial to complete. Ivan was traded to a Siberian minor league franchise for a warped landscape rake and lived in that barren place for his last 60 years because, as he put it: “In Siberia nobody expects you to grow a garden.”

Dr. Lisa Blackhart (1801-1888)

As the first female doctor in Boston to refuse to touch newborn infants, Lisa was encouraged by her brahman family to hit the Oregon Trail. After two difficult months in the saddle she decided to turn around and try heading West. She settled for a time in Kansas City doing odd jobs like radical amputation and liver transplants. Soon she became shocked by the illiteracy rate among two-year-olds. Determined to start a school to cure these social ills, she found her dislike of children to be a formidable obstacle. She moved on to Denver but found young children there to be equally annoying. She finally landed in Sacramento where she began a medical practice again. However, after only two months as a frontier doctor, she initiated a stern policy of refusing to see anyone who was sick or injured. With no patients to treat and no children to teach Dr Blackhart described her golden years as “the most fulfilling of my career.”

Wolfgang Jack VonStein (1679-1735)

As a boy in Hungary, Wolfgang (a long shot to make anyone’s list) longed to play the piano. Sadly, his parents could not afford to purchase such an expensive instrument but they did provide him with two chicken bones which he carried with him at all times. All over the village Wolfgang could be heard tapping the bones together to create increasingly complex rhythms. After a chance meeting with John Sebastian Bach at a local cafe the maestro offered to tutor the prospect free of charge. Once, at Bach’s home, the great musician demanded that Wolfgang rinse the chicken grease from his fingers before touching the piano. An enraged Wolfgang stormed out of the house never to return. In the years that followed he composed several symphonies to be performed entirely on poultry bones. Today a noted virtuoso, Rupkin Mensonich, performs VonStein’s work outside a sushi bar in Prague free every other Thursday unless it rains or something. Mensonich is number seven on our list.

Marcia Kreep (1821-1891)

Born in Vancouver on the wrong side of town, Marcia perspired to be an inventor. Among her drawings are elaborate schematics for what she called her “clock dismantler” and her similarly designed “pocket watch smasher”. Her early inventions were not well received and she found herself embracing poverty. Plus she was quite poor. This never changed. Other designs by Kreep were the “mechanized digital book dropper” the “self-sinking ponga boat” and one curious concept entitled simply “the thing that doesn’t work right”.

Jeff Singlehair (1946- )

A Flint, Michigan native, the idealistic Singlehair rejected his father’s offer to join him as a partner in an environmental engineering firm. Jeff said: “You engineers are wrecking the world with all that train smoke and other ungroovy stuff, um, man!” Jeff then joined the hippie movement but became disillusioned when, at age 20, all of his hair fell out. He attended a small Everly Brothers concert at Windsock, N.C. in the summer of 1969 mistakenly thinking (to this day) that he had been a part of the largest, most famous rock and roll event of his generation. Jeff currently lives in Chevy Chase in a Chevy van and makes candles for aromatherapy workshops around Southwestern Colorado.

Watch for our Nine Billion Most Average People of the Last Millennium in next month’s special insert and see if your name is mentioned!

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

Postcard from the Butte!

The variable schnook winds are at it again. With more snow on the horizon winter appears to have landed.