This was originally published at www.krazylarry.com/longinsult.html
Imagine receiving one of these...he certainly has covered all the bases. LOL
You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As they say in Texas. I'll bet you couldn't pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you.
You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.
You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformation. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?
Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly.
You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.
And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meat slapper.
On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.
You smarmy lager lout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oink artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.
You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away.
I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh.
The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped away most of what you wrote, because, well... it didn't really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.
P.S.: You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful, cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable, belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal, fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic, brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame, self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, satanic, fraudulent, libelous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking, devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic, fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased, suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim, crazy, weird, dystopic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim, unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive, mind-numbing, arassive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive, abusive, socially-retarded, puerile, clueless, and generally Not Good.
(yes, I'm done now)
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Hot Rod Mota' Home
"Because of Dubya and Bin Laden's hard work, the economy is thrashed. Rent is devouring the workingman's paycheck. Many young working people wonder, will I ever achieve the dream of owning my own home? Not likely. But, you can own all the amenities of a home with zero rent. It's my way and it's the highway. It's the mota'home lifestyle."
Subject: Code Evasion & Living in the Streets
Laren wrote: "Some people have really strong opinions about
alternative housing:
Log onto http://lylebarkley.blogspot.com/ for complete information.
http://tinyurl.com/ncb8
.............And I was thinking about building in that county."
==========
These are the confrontations that get innocent people killed. We had
one of those "show-downs" here in Idaho and Randy's wife and son (and one FBI not-so-sharp-shooter) were killed over it and he STILL can't live in the house he built with his own hands (not that he would ever want to after two days of his wife lying dead on the dining room table in front of his daughters). My grand uncle was shot and killed by police in the doorway of his mobile home in Pasadena, CA for supposedly pointing his .22 at an officer. (Word to the wise: if you have a weapon in your hand -- pointed at the police or not -- and they decide to take you out? You're dead already . . . and those
freakin' dog lickers (thanks, Chris) will LIE to support each other's
testimony till the cows come home.)
==========
As much as it suits my rebel nature to engage in various flavors of "code evasion" -- I guess I just don't have the stomach for it anymore. It is sad beyond words what our nation has become -- where the "haves" dictate what is acceptable housing for the "have-nots." I think they'd rather have someone sleeping in the street than living in a mobile home on their own land and that requires a level of rash reasoning and limp logic that I'm incapable of and would never aspire to.
==========
So my intent is to comply and sleep in the street -- in my camper --
and keep moving around as needed to stay one step ahead of those who claim in their infinite wisdom to know more about what is good for me than I could ever know. (I used to dream of having my life so "together" that I could spend all my waking moments telling others how to live their lives, but then I turned 20.) Of course, I'll spend most of my free time out in the boonies where the idiocy density isn't quite so high. (I think it's because bears
and cougars EAT all the stupid ones.) This reminds me of a GREAT
article which appeared in our local Boise Weekly -- the only true "alternative" paper in this rapidly-expanding Yuppiedom. Title is "Hot Rod Motor Home -- Mota' Home Lifestyle." Here's the whole article from my top-secret-krypto data base:
==========
Oh . . . it's written by Conrad Evarts (definitely MY kind of people). Illustrations are by Ben Wilson (but I guess you can't see those -- author standing at his BBQ with his mota'home parked between two lamp posts; his cat swatting at a butterfly -- and another one with author posed next to his quote: "Rent is devouring the working man's paycheck...") Hope you enjoy it as much as I have!
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART I (of 3)
==========
Because of Dubya and Bin Laden's hard work, the economy is thrashed.
Rent is devouring the workingman's paycheck. Many young working
people wonder, will I ever achieve the dream of owning my own home? Not likely. But, you can own all the amenities of a home with zero rent. It's my way and it's the highway. It's the mota'home lifestyle.
==========
For under five grand you can have yourself an inhabitable hot-rod motor home and live free in any state in the United States. I've
lived and worked in comfort and style on the streets of Washington,
California, Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana and Montana taking a cue
from the blue hairs and keeping the rubber on the road while chasing
the bizarre.
==========
I've lived in all these places without packing a box or renting a U-
Haul. In fact, I'm sitting at my dining room table right now, just a
few miles from downtown Seattle and my dishes are in the same
cupboard they were back in Albuquerque. My clothes are hanging
unwrinkled in the same cedar closet as in Baton Rouge. The same
damned cat that I can't get rid of is sleeping on the sofa I took
with me when I bolted from California after a mix up with a Chilean
business associate. Amazing? Yes! Impossible? No! It's the
mota'house lifestyle.
==========
HERE'S HOW:
Get cash . . . get a motor home. Finance nothing. If you need five
grand quickly, get renter's insurance, buy a DVD player, digital
video camera, Bose Wave Radio, etcetera. Video tape it along with
some of the junk in your home. Include your yard sale dishes, rusty
bicycle and costume jewelry to retain credibility. Return said gear
for a refund, then call the cops and report a burglary. If you're
not stupid, you'll have a check in a month. Don't sweat the story
you're going to tell the police, you'll never see them.
==========
Pick up R.V. Trader magazine. Start looking at motor homes, house
hunting. Find the features you like. Find one with style. Think
Shazaam. I'm somewhat of an entertainer so I prefer Formica tables,
icemakers and a bed built for three, and that's just what I have.
==========
There are a couple tricks to having the comforts of home without
forking out the loot. What do you want? Narrow it down. Hot
showers, cold liquor and an entertainment center, right?
==========
Electricity makes entertainment and a generator makes electricity.
No less than 4,000 watts if you want to run the A/C all day while
watching Rocco flicks and getting high with Miss La Mesa and Miss
Santee on Fiesta Island in San Diego.
==========
Up north it's a bit different. Now that I'm hiding in the woods west
of Seattle, I'm relying on a built-in propane furnace to keep my sun-
shy sheet shredders toasty. If you're north of Arizona ya' must have
it.
==========
Showers are healthy and water heaters are included, but supplying the
water for your showers can be a bitch and the showers are so damn
small that I can only fit one size three with a medium bust in with
me. It's my cross to bear. If you're living for free, you have to
steal the water and it's irritating. But you must, so here's how:
get a long hose, find a discreet spigot, and after hours fill 'er
up. Office complexes work great, tire stores, paint stores, anything
that is dead on Sundays or after seven, there's a beauty parlor in
Morgan City, Louisiana, that I cotton to. Again, don't stress about
law enforcement, Officer Friendly has raced past me and my garden
hose dozens of times while responding to a call of hot, fresh maple
bars at Krispy Kreme. If you see me standing alongside one of
America's byways after dark with a loud shirt, garden hose and a
cocktail, honk and wave. Damn, stop for a drink.
==========
Where to park? Skip the R.V. parks. You'd think there is a scene
like in the film "The Long, Long Trailer" starring Lucille Ball and
Desi Arnaz. Freindly Aryan travelers rushing out of shiny aluminum
pods wearing orange vests and carrying steaming hot casseroles to
help you back your behemoth in. Well there's not. Most of the
senior citizen R.V.ers are about as sociable as a Klansmen at the
Million Man March. If it's a choice between rescuing a woman who's
been backed over by her motor home and solving the Daily Double,
they'll stick with Alex. If you're under 95-years-old they assume
one of three things: you're a rolling meth lab, you're a sex offender
that doesn't want to register or worst of all, you're one of those
damn-hot-shot-dot-commers that somehow avoided selling the best 40
years of your life to the man.
==========
And the price! I'm sorry but a piece of frosty grass with an
electrical outlet in Hays, Kansas, is not worth 21 dollars a night.
Supply and demand, man! We were the only ones there in November.
Fool!
==========
So now that you're avoiding the leering eyes of Earl, Bessie and
Snowball the poodle, where to sleep, cook and chill? This is the
best part. If you're on the run, as I was recently, Wal-Mart. They
love motor homes. They encourage motor homes to overnight in their
parking lots, although they don't encourage dumping your dishwater
all over their lawn as I've seen some rude outlaws such as myself
do. Some of the high dollar diesel mota'houses push the welcome to a
two-week stay. Two weeks of free rent, if you're living in your
motor home, is a two- to three-hundred dollar savings. Saving three
bills while junking up the parking lot of a multi-billion dollar
leach isn't just savings, it's a political action. Just don't shop
there.
==========
What are the drawbacks to wallowing in Wal-Mart's selfless
generosity? There's no scene, no community. If you think the
silence is golden among the "Golden Girls" set, get ready for a
slightly more hotstile version of an R.V. park. For some reason your
mota'house takes on the characteristics of a large planet among
asteroids at Wal-Mart. If you're just trying to kick it for the
evening you'll notice that every teenager's car is pulled by some
anger gravitating directly toward your foundation-free home at speeds
rivaling the space shuttle. I park next to light posts, but it's
still nerve wracking to be mixing a drink and look out your kitchen
window as a multi-colored Honda CRX hurtles toward you only to veer
off right after you drop the ice cube tray on the floor and duck
behind the stove.
==========
I personally think Wal-Mart is jinxed, and I got this message
straight from Jesus, or Allah, Or Gaia or Buddha or maybe the Dali
Lama. His/her signature was very twisty and I couldn't read it as I
ran for my life. We were on our way to Grand Isle, Louisiana, (isn't
everyone?) and stopped for the night at a Wal-Mart in Denton, Texas.
I was making a stir-fry, while one of my crew took a shower and the
other got loaded on catnip and chased a rubber ball up and down the
mota'house. The rain came down and I mentioned that the rainstorm
was more severe than anything I'd seen growing up in the Republic of
Hillyard. The only other English-speaking crewmember yelled from the
shower that gully washers happened all the time in the desert, the
other crewmember stared at the wall and slurred "meow." I continued
to stir-fry, then stopped to look out the window. I saw in the not-
so-distant distance something I'd only seen once, in "The Wizard of
Oz." "Uh, that looks like a funnel cloud out there!" I let everyone
know. Two responses lulled me into false confidence, "I can't hear
you, I'm drying my hair," came from the bathroom. "Meow," came from
the sofa. So I stir-fried. Then an alarm blared and sticks and beer
cans and other debris started pounding the mota'house windows. I
looked toward the Wal-Mart tire center and saw savvy Texans lining
their trucks up against the cinder block wall. "Get dressed it's a
@#%#* tornado," I yelled as I stopped stir-frying. I jumped out the
door while my cat batted an imaginary monarch butterfly around the
air in front of her. When I was outside and the door closed, that's
when God made it real clear how he/she felt about Wal-Mart. A branch
whacked my head and rain soaked me as I ran across the lot and an air
raid siren cheered me on. I pounded on a Ford's window and the sweet
old woman waved me in. Fifty loaves of white bread she collected for
her cow that had died three days earlier (it's true, it's Texas) sat
on the seat and blocked my path to safety. "What should I do?" I
screamed. "Move the bread and get in," the seasoned tornado survivor
yelled over the wind as she fiddled with the radio. The funnel cloud
danced closer. I said I'd be right back and ran, much like Dorothy
but with worse hair, back to our mota'house. "Get the cat and come
get in this truck!" We ran. We moved bread. It got quiet. I
suggested deep prayer and meditation, Granny Cowbread informed us
there was no need, she'd survived 17 tornados. I did some basic
statistics in my head and realized we jumped in the wrong truck, so I
prayed and God talked again. The twister came through and it all cut
loose. The truck rocked, we watch our motor home waddle across the
way. Big things that usually only fly outside the grip of gravity
raced past the tire center wall, really big things. Then the radio
announced that the twister had moved on to twist another part of
Texas further east. I'm extremely superstitious so many things in my
life changed that night. I now avoid Wal-Mart, low fat Asian food,
white bread and my pet is attending Catnip Anonymous.
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART II (of 3)
==========
"So, where to park, where's the love? Everywhere that retail
commerce isn't. Seattle: Along the water under Alaskan Way and
certain portions of Capitol Hill. San Francisco: The industrial area
between the Mission District and the Bay. Los Angeles: Screw that!
You want to sleep on the streets of Los Angeles? You're a nutcase
and you're on your own. San Diego: Mission Bay by day, Morena
Boulevard by night. The great thing about some of these locales is
you get nicely landscaped waterfront property for the low price of
nothing.
==========
San Diego is the best. (Hats off to you, Jim Wroten!) You have the
choice of about eight huge parking lots and Fiesta Island right on
Mission Bay (don't swim in it, San Diego has more sewage leaks than
Nairobi). It's close to bus lines, shopping and several coin-op
laundries. At bedtime just drive over I-5, find a level spot in the
Action Thrift Store parking lot or on Morena Boulevard and shut her
down.
==========
San Francisco and Seattle have recently passed laws against living in
your vehicle. To avoid further penalization of the poor just
remember the difference between a legally parked vehicle and an
illegal habitation. The difference is you answering the door, so
don't. And remember, the number one secret to getting by: if you're
cool, other folks will be cool. In San Francisco one of the reasons
cited for outlawing the lifestyle was that mota'homes were getting
their mail delivered to nearby factory mailboxes and business owners
didn't like strangers rifling through their mail. So be cool.
==========
Whichever city you like, look around, you'll spot the outlaws. Look
for tagged motor homes that have a window or two covered with plywood
and a pet food dish on the sidewalk.
==========
The best part of urban motor homing is there's more of a scene in the
parking lots than most apartment complexes. I've had more parties,
BBQs, tool loans and, "How was your day?" with my kickback
neighboring gypsies than any apartment house.
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART III (of 3)
==========
Important: buy a big block V-8, 460, 454, 440. You don't want to be
that a-hole that's jamming The Grapevine, I-8 East to Alpine,
Snoqualmie Pass, I-5 from Medford to Shasta, I-70 westbound out of
Denver. Just get a big block with balls. I've driven it all from
South Dakota to New Orleans to Montana to Seattle and back to Mulege
B.C.S. and my 454 smokes all them speed bumps.
==========
Now what's funny is that I know a lot of folks are going to be
distressed by a defiant young American whose found a way out of the
tedium of stationary living. An American that chooses not to
subscribe to the stagnant immobile lifestyle imposed on us by the
hounds of industrial capitalism can be upsetting. There are going to
be those readers that object to the notion of robbing those that rob
us. And during their sputtering outrage as they voraciously consume
this column along with a bad cup of Folgers and another box of
Entenmanns that they don't need, they will justify their choice to
submit to the dominant paradigm by picturing me and my crew huddling
outside a food bank waiting for a can of pork and beans, or
panhandling one step ahead of the S.P.D. or the L.A.P.D. or the
S.F.P.D. or the LMNOPQ or eating dandelion salad from some
city park. Well, just so you know, that ain't me. At our last jobs
in San Diego my crew and I made a combined annual income of over
$100,000 at professional jobs while living for nothin', and we saved
it in the bank and we partied like freakin' rock stars!!!
==========
Finally, when you see my bug-eyed face in your rear view mirror and
I'm leaning over my super-sized steering wheel and flashing the
headlights of my rusty, swerving Chevrolet, when I'm chewing on your
rear bumper and sparks are flying, when you hear the throaty voice of
Satan roaring from my dual exhaust pipes, know this: a man's home is
his castle, and that makes him king, and The King loved his pills and
guns.
==========
Courtesy of Pulp Syndicate
==========
END OF ARTICLE
==========
sail4free
==========
Subject: Code Evasion & Living in the Streets
Laren wrote: "Some people have really strong opinions about
alternative housing:
Log onto http://lylebarkley.blogspot.com/ for complete information.
http://tinyurl.com/ncb8
.............And I was thinking about building in that county."
==========
These are the confrontations that get innocent people killed. We had
one of those "show-downs" here in Idaho and Randy's wife and son (and one FBI not-so-sharp-shooter) were killed over it and he STILL can't live in the house he built with his own hands (not that he would ever want to after two days of his wife lying dead on the dining room table in front of his daughters). My grand uncle was shot and killed by police in the doorway of his mobile home in Pasadena, CA for supposedly pointing his .22 at an officer. (Word to the wise: if you have a weapon in your hand -- pointed at the police or not -- and they decide to take you out? You're dead already . . . and those
freakin' dog lickers (thanks, Chris) will LIE to support each other's
testimony till the cows come home.)
==========
As much as it suits my rebel nature to engage in various flavors of "code evasion" -- I guess I just don't have the stomach for it anymore. It is sad beyond words what our nation has become -- where the "haves" dictate what is acceptable housing for the "have-nots." I think they'd rather have someone sleeping in the street than living in a mobile home on their own land and that requires a level of rash reasoning and limp logic that I'm incapable of and would never aspire to.
==========
So my intent is to comply and sleep in the street -- in my camper --
and keep moving around as needed to stay one step ahead of those who claim in their infinite wisdom to know more about what is good for me than I could ever know. (I used to dream of having my life so "together" that I could spend all my waking moments telling others how to live their lives, but then I turned 20.) Of course, I'll spend most of my free time out in the boonies where the idiocy density isn't quite so high. (I think it's because bears
and cougars EAT all the stupid ones.) This reminds me of a GREAT
article which appeared in our local Boise Weekly -- the only true "alternative" paper in this rapidly-expanding Yuppiedom. Title is "Hot Rod Motor Home -- Mota' Home Lifestyle." Here's the whole article from my top-secret-krypto data base:
==========
Oh . . . it's written by Conrad Evarts (definitely MY kind of people). Illustrations are by Ben Wilson (but I guess you can't see those -- author standing at his BBQ with his mota'home parked between two lamp posts; his cat swatting at a butterfly -- and another one with author posed next to his quote: "Rent is devouring the working man's paycheck...") Hope you enjoy it as much as I have!
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART I (of 3)
==========
Because of Dubya and Bin Laden's hard work, the economy is thrashed.
Rent is devouring the workingman's paycheck. Many young working
people wonder, will I ever achieve the dream of owning my own home? Not likely. But, you can own all the amenities of a home with zero rent. It's my way and it's the highway. It's the mota'home lifestyle.
==========
For under five grand you can have yourself an inhabitable hot-rod motor home and live free in any state in the United States. I've
lived and worked in comfort and style on the streets of Washington,
California, Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana and Montana taking a cue
from the blue hairs and keeping the rubber on the road while chasing
the bizarre.
==========
I've lived in all these places without packing a box or renting a U-
Haul. In fact, I'm sitting at my dining room table right now, just a
few miles from downtown Seattle and my dishes are in the same
cupboard they were back in Albuquerque. My clothes are hanging
unwrinkled in the same cedar closet as in Baton Rouge. The same
damned cat that I can't get rid of is sleeping on the sofa I took
with me when I bolted from California after a mix up with a Chilean
business associate. Amazing? Yes! Impossible? No! It's the
mota'house lifestyle.
==========
HERE'S HOW:
Get cash . . . get a motor home. Finance nothing. If you need five
grand quickly, get renter's insurance, buy a DVD player, digital
video camera, Bose Wave Radio, etcetera. Video tape it along with
some of the junk in your home. Include your yard sale dishes, rusty
bicycle and costume jewelry to retain credibility. Return said gear
for a refund, then call the cops and report a burglary. If you're
not stupid, you'll have a check in a month. Don't sweat the story
you're going to tell the police, you'll never see them.
==========
Pick up R.V. Trader magazine. Start looking at motor homes, house
hunting. Find the features you like. Find one with style. Think
Shazaam. I'm somewhat of an entertainer so I prefer Formica tables,
icemakers and a bed built for three, and that's just what I have.
==========
There are a couple tricks to having the comforts of home without
forking out the loot. What do you want? Narrow it down. Hot
showers, cold liquor and an entertainment center, right?
==========
Electricity makes entertainment and a generator makes electricity.
No less than 4,000 watts if you want to run the A/C all day while
watching Rocco flicks and getting high with Miss La Mesa and Miss
Santee on Fiesta Island in San Diego.
==========
Up north it's a bit different. Now that I'm hiding in the woods west
of Seattle, I'm relying on a built-in propane furnace to keep my sun-
shy sheet shredders toasty. If you're north of Arizona ya' must have
it.
==========
Showers are healthy and water heaters are included, but supplying the
water for your showers can be a bitch and the showers are so damn
small that I can only fit one size three with a medium bust in with
me. It's my cross to bear. If you're living for free, you have to
steal the water and it's irritating. But you must, so here's how:
get a long hose, find a discreet spigot, and after hours fill 'er
up. Office complexes work great, tire stores, paint stores, anything
that is dead on Sundays or after seven, there's a beauty parlor in
Morgan City, Louisiana, that I cotton to. Again, don't stress about
law enforcement, Officer Friendly has raced past me and my garden
hose dozens of times while responding to a call of hot, fresh maple
bars at Krispy Kreme. If you see me standing alongside one of
America's byways after dark with a loud shirt, garden hose and a
cocktail, honk and wave. Damn, stop for a drink.
==========
Where to park? Skip the R.V. parks. You'd think there is a scene
like in the film "The Long, Long Trailer" starring Lucille Ball and
Desi Arnaz. Freindly Aryan travelers rushing out of shiny aluminum
pods wearing orange vests and carrying steaming hot casseroles to
help you back your behemoth in. Well there's not. Most of the
senior citizen R.V.ers are about as sociable as a Klansmen at the
Million Man March. If it's a choice between rescuing a woman who's
been backed over by her motor home and solving the Daily Double,
they'll stick with Alex. If you're under 95-years-old they assume
one of three things: you're a rolling meth lab, you're a sex offender
that doesn't want to register or worst of all, you're one of those
damn-hot-shot-dot-commers that somehow avoided selling the best 40
years of your life to the man.
==========
And the price! I'm sorry but a piece of frosty grass with an
electrical outlet in Hays, Kansas, is not worth 21 dollars a night.
Supply and demand, man! We were the only ones there in November.
Fool!
==========
So now that you're avoiding the leering eyes of Earl, Bessie and
Snowball the poodle, where to sleep, cook and chill? This is the
best part. If you're on the run, as I was recently, Wal-Mart. They
love motor homes. They encourage motor homes to overnight in their
parking lots, although they don't encourage dumping your dishwater
all over their lawn as I've seen some rude outlaws such as myself
do. Some of the high dollar diesel mota'houses push the welcome to a
two-week stay. Two weeks of free rent, if you're living in your
motor home, is a two- to three-hundred dollar savings. Saving three
bills while junking up the parking lot of a multi-billion dollar
leach isn't just savings, it's a political action. Just don't shop
there.
==========
What are the drawbacks to wallowing in Wal-Mart's selfless
generosity? There's no scene, no community. If you think the
silence is golden among the "Golden Girls" set, get ready for a
slightly more hotstile version of an R.V. park. For some reason your
mota'house takes on the characteristics of a large planet among
asteroids at Wal-Mart. If you're just trying to kick it for the
evening you'll notice that every teenager's car is pulled by some
anger gravitating directly toward your foundation-free home at speeds
rivaling the space shuttle. I park next to light posts, but it's
still nerve wracking to be mixing a drink and look out your kitchen
window as a multi-colored Honda CRX hurtles toward you only to veer
off right after you drop the ice cube tray on the floor and duck
behind the stove.
==========
I personally think Wal-Mart is jinxed, and I got this message
straight from Jesus, or Allah, Or Gaia or Buddha or maybe the Dali
Lama. His/her signature was very twisty and I couldn't read it as I
ran for my life. We were on our way to Grand Isle, Louisiana, (isn't
everyone?) and stopped for the night at a Wal-Mart in Denton, Texas.
I was making a stir-fry, while one of my crew took a shower and the
other got loaded on catnip and chased a rubber ball up and down the
mota'house. The rain came down and I mentioned that the rainstorm
was more severe than anything I'd seen growing up in the Republic of
Hillyard. The only other English-speaking crewmember yelled from the
shower that gully washers happened all the time in the desert, the
other crewmember stared at the wall and slurred "meow." I continued
to stir-fry, then stopped to look out the window. I saw in the not-
so-distant distance something I'd only seen once, in "The Wizard of
Oz." "Uh, that looks like a funnel cloud out there!" I let everyone
know. Two responses lulled me into false confidence, "I can't hear
you, I'm drying my hair," came from the bathroom. "Meow," came from
the sofa. So I stir-fried. Then an alarm blared and sticks and beer
cans and other debris started pounding the mota'house windows. I
looked toward the Wal-Mart tire center and saw savvy Texans lining
their trucks up against the cinder block wall. "Get dressed it's a
@#%#* tornado," I yelled as I stopped stir-frying. I jumped out the
door while my cat batted an imaginary monarch butterfly around the
air in front of her. When I was outside and the door closed, that's
when God made it real clear how he/she felt about Wal-Mart. A branch
whacked my head and rain soaked me as I ran across the lot and an air
raid siren cheered me on. I pounded on a Ford's window and the sweet
old woman waved me in. Fifty loaves of white bread she collected for
her cow that had died three days earlier (it's true, it's Texas) sat
on the seat and blocked my path to safety. "What should I do?" I
screamed. "Move the bread and get in," the seasoned tornado survivor
yelled over the wind as she fiddled with the radio. The funnel cloud
danced closer. I said I'd be right back and ran, much like Dorothy
but with worse hair, back to our mota'house. "Get the cat and come
get in this truck!" We ran. We moved bread. It got quiet. I
suggested deep prayer and meditation, Granny Cowbread informed us
there was no need, she'd survived 17 tornados. I did some basic
statistics in my head and realized we jumped in the wrong truck, so I
prayed and God talked again. The twister came through and it all cut
loose. The truck rocked, we watch our motor home waddle across the
way. Big things that usually only fly outside the grip of gravity
raced past the tire center wall, really big things. Then the radio
announced that the twister had moved on to twist another part of
Texas further east. I'm extremely superstitious so many things in my
life changed that night. I now avoid Wal-Mart, low fat Asian food,
white bread and my pet is attending Catnip Anonymous.
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART II (of 3)
==========
"So, where to park, where's the love? Everywhere that retail
commerce isn't. Seattle: Along the water under Alaskan Way and
certain portions of Capitol Hill. San Francisco: The industrial area
between the Mission District and the Bay. Los Angeles: Screw that!
You want to sleep on the streets of Los Angeles? You're a nutcase
and you're on your own. San Diego: Mission Bay by day, Morena
Boulevard by night. The great thing about some of these locales is
you get nicely landscaped waterfront property for the low price of
nothing.
==========
San Diego is the best. (Hats off to you, Jim Wroten!) You have the
choice of about eight huge parking lots and Fiesta Island right on
Mission Bay (don't swim in it, San Diego has more sewage leaks than
Nairobi). It's close to bus lines, shopping and several coin-op
laundries. At bedtime just drive over I-5, find a level spot in the
Action Thrift Store parking lot or on Morena Boulevard and shut her
down.
==========
San Francisco and Seattle have recently passed laws against living in
your vehicle. To avoid further penalization of the poor just
remember the difference between a legally parked vehicle and an
illegal habitation. The difference is you answering the door, so
don't. And remember, the number one secret to getting by: if you're
cool, other folks will be cool. In San Francisco one of the reasons
cited for outlawing the lifestyle was that mota'homes were getting
their mail delivered to nearby factory mailboxes and business owners
didn't like strangers rifling through their mail. So be cool.
==========
Whichever city you like, look around, you'll spot the outlaws. Look
for tagged motor homes that have a window or two covered with plywood
and a pet food dish on the sidewalk.
==========
The best part of urban motor homing is there's more of a scene in the
parking lots than most apartment complexes. I've had more parties,
BBQs, tool loans and, "How was your day?" with my kickback
neighboring gypsies than any apartment house.
==========
HOT ROD MOTOR HOME (Mota'home lifestyle) by Conrad Evarts
==========
PART III (of 3)
==========
Important: buy a big block V-8, 460, 454, 440. You don't want to be
that a-hole that's jamming The Grapevine, I-8 East to Alpine,
Snoqualmie Pass, I-5 from Medford to Shasta, I-70 westbound out of
Denver. Just get a big block with balls. I've driven it all from
South Dakota to New Orleans to Montana to Seattle and back to Mulege
B.C.S. and my 454 smokes all them speed bumps.
==========
Now what's funny is that I know a lot of folks are going to be
distressed by a defiant young American whose found a way out of the
tedium of stationary living. An American that chooses not to
subscribe to the stagnant immobile lifestyle imposed on us by the
hounds of industrial capitalism can be upsetting. There are going to
be those readers that object to the notion of robbing those that rob
us. And during their sputtering outrage as they voraciously consume
this column along with a bad cup of Folgers and another box of
Entenmanns that they don't need, they will justify their choice to
submit to the dominant paradigm by picturing me and my crew huddling
outside a food bank waiting for a can of pork and beans, or
panhandling one step ahead of the S.P.D. or the L.A.P.D. or the
S.F.P.D. or the LMNOPQ or eating dandelion salad from some
city park. Well, just so you know, that ain't me. At our last jobs
in San Diego my crew and I made a combined annual income of over
$100,000 at professional jobs while living for nothin', and we saved
it in the bank and we partied like freakin' rock stars!!!
==========
Finally, when you see my bug-eyed face in your rear view mirror and
I'm leaning over my super-sized steering wheel and flashing the
headlights of my rusty, swerving Chevrolet, when I'm chewing on your
rear bumper and sparks are flying, when you hear the throaty voice of
Satan roaring from my dual exhaust pipes, know this: a man's home is
his castle, and that makes him king, and The King loved his pills and
guns.
==========
Courtesy of Pulp Syndicate
==========
END OF ARTICLE
==========
sail4free
==========
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Off Topic?
==========
A post to my boondocking group:
==========
In a word, Jerry -- BRAVO!
==========
You've captured my sentiments perfectly . . . but you've worded it so much better than I might have. Energy and Passion -- that's a keeper. When folks are able to cuss and discuss without making it personal or taking it personal or attacking the person whose beliefs are different, that's REAL and productive for all parties involved. We all have infinitely more in common than we'll ever have in difference. And we can all take turns: student one day . . . teacher the next.
==========
I understand a group having a "focus" or general theme -- it's part of what pulls like-minded souls together. BUT -- beyond that -- real conversations around a campfire would be about a lot more than JUST boondocking. So let the legalists take their sterile conformity to the cold, windy and barren slopes from whence it came -- there is no joy there -- that they may gorge themselves with their lack of flexibility and suffer alone.
==========
sail4free
==========
Jerry posted: "I hear a lot of talk about standing up for America or Canada, but what about standing up for where we are: I mean this list.
If information on boodocking became widely known to everyone; if it was easy to access; if there were 50 lists just like this on the topic; if all the problems of the lifestyle were easily resolved, the energy of this list would go way down. It would be a shell of what it is now.
If the energy of this list ever dies and boredom sets in because the people and the information about boondocking is so easy to access, we'll all be longing for the days when a few people carried-on with passion about something arguably off-topic.
The energy and the passion are what's important because that's the glue that makes the sub-culture powerful. It comes out of caring about something.
Moderating is about managing the energy of a list.
As long as people care, and no one's verbally abusing anyone, and no one's trying to dominate the list with their agenda, this list will continue to operate at a high level of interest. It's an excellent list. Keeping it at that level requires a special kind of moderation.
There's a reason some lists start and die and others start and thrive with energy and passion. It might be worth figuring out what's behind the difference and applying it to this discussion on a particular thread that some think is off-topic.
Jerry
A post to my boondocking group:
==========
In a word, Jerry -- BRAVO!
==========
You've captured my sentiments perfectly . . . but you've worded it so much better than I might have. Energy and Passion -- that's a keeper. When folks are able to cuss and discuss without making it personal or taking it personal or attacking the person whose beliefs are different, that's REAL and productive for all parties involved. We all have infinitely more in common than we'll ever have in difference. And we can all take turns: student one day . . . teacher the next.
==========
I understand a group having a "focus" or general theme -- it's part of what pulls like-minded souls together. BUT -- beyond that -- real conversations around a campfire would be about a lot more than JUST boondocking. So let the legalists take their sterile conformity to the cold, windy and barren slopes from whence it came -- there is no joy there -- that they may gorge themselves with their lack of flexibility and suffer alone.
==========
sail4free
==========
Jerry posted: "I hear a lot of talk about standing up for America or Canada, but what about standing up for where we are: I mean this list.
If information on boodocking became widely known to everyone; if it was easy to access; if there were 50 lists just like this on the topic; if all the problems of the lifestyle were easily resolved, the energy of this list would go way down. It would be a shell of what it is now.
If the energy of this list ever dies and boredom sets in because the people and the information about boondocking is so easy to access, we'll all be longing for the days when a few people carried-on with passion about something arguably off-topic.
The energy and the passion are what's important because that's the glue that makes the sub-culture powerful. It comes out of caring about something.
Moderating is about managing the energy of a list.
As long as people care, and no one's verbally abusing anyone, and no one's trying to dominate the list with their agenda, this list will continue to operate at a high level of interest. It's an excellent list. Keeping it at that level requires a special kind of moderation.
There's a reason some lists start and die and others start and thrive with energy and passion. It might be worth figuring out what's behind the difference and applying it to this discussion on a particular thread that some think is off-topic.
Jerry
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Only 11% Are Satisfied With U.S. Health Care System
==========
This is a bit of a cross-post from one of my other favorite groups = boondocking. The following thread got started with the "Rush vs. Reality" post about American Health Care which stated the U.S. ranked lowest of the top ten industrialized nations as to satisfaction with our health care system. Only 11% of us are satisfied.
==========
hdorst posted: "Japan rates #1 at 81 point something and Vancouver British Columbia ranks #2 at 8." (Hankster in BC)
==========
I'm assuming BC ranks #2 at eighty something? (Instead of just 8 -- for their satisfaction rate?) Would this apply to all of Canada or just BC?
==========
IF it is a satisfaction rate of eighty something percent and we're at 11 percent here in the U.S. and our northern neighbors are simply on the other side of a line somebody drew on a map somewhere, how can it be such a stretch to imagine their system might work for us too? Are we really that much different from them? I think our current system makes a LOT of money for doctors, hospitals, drug companies, insurance companies and lawyers and -- via their collective contributions -- politicians. Until something about THAT equation changes, the resulting answer will NOT change.
==========
Which makes me wonder -- treading furtively on rice paper here . . . not wanting to cross over into that forboding "political post" realm -- if 89% of our population did NOT vote (as a result of their DIS-satisfaction with our health care system, for example), would it make any difference? Or would the politicians still ebb and flow with the tide as they do now when already a majority of our citizens don't vote -- all the while audaciously claiming they've received a majority of the vote ("landslide victory" and all that BS) -- completely ignoring those of us who don't vote because we believe the system long ago deteriorated beyond repair? Is there any point -- short of violent revolution -- when the government would realize the voice of the people is NOT being heard?
==========
sail4free
==========
This is a bit of a cross-post from one of my other favorite groups = boondocking. The following thread got started with the "Rush vs. Reality" post about American Health Care which stated the U.S. ranked lowest of the top ten industrialized nations as to satisfaction with our health care system. Only 11% of us are satisfied.
==========
hdorst
==========
I'm assuming BC ranks #2 at eighty something? (Instead of just 8 -- for their satisfaction rate?) Would this apply to all of Canada or just BC?
==========
IF it is a satisfaction rate of eighty something percent and we're at 11 percent here in the U.S. and our northern neighbors are simply on the other side of a line somebody drew on a map somewhere, how can it be such a stretch to imagine their system might work for us too? Are we really that much different from them? I think our current system makes a LOT of money for doctors, hospitals, drug companies, insurance companies and lawyers and -- via their collective contributions -- politicians. Until something about THAT equation changes, the resulting answer will NOT change.
==========
Which makes me wonder -- treading furtively on rice paper here . . . not wanting to cross over into that forboding "political post" realm -- if 89% of our population did NOT vote (as a result of their DIS-satisfaction with our health care system, for example), would it make any difference? Or would the politicians still ebb and flow with the tide as they do now when already a majority of our citizens don't vote -- all the while audaciously claiming they've received a majority of the vote ("landslide victory" and all that BS) -- completely ignoring those of us who don't vote because we believe the system long ago deteriorated beyond repair? Is there any point -- short of violent revolution -- when the government would realize the voice of the people is NOT being heard?
==========
sail4free
==========
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)