More from the Tulane Journal:

H+19 hours - Mama pajama rolled out of bed and she ran to the police station, and that's where everything started to go wrong. Never run directly to the Police; they are powerless to protect you in the face of True Evil, which is the only Evil I fear at this point. We're crossing some massive body of water that no one can name, definitely in LA, several hours ahead of schedule and full of coffee and breakfast buffet insta-meal. This Evil is insidious for it cannot be seen but must be guarded against at all times. For our decade it's name is Terrorism, and it is pure masturbation to think that any part of this bid to send our Drill Team against the best and brightest from the rest of the nation will aide in Mistah Bush's never-ending War on Tear-r.

Who would build a highway straight through the middle of a green swamp field? Americans, that's who, bubba, and if you've got any sort of problem with that you can take it up with the Federal Highway Commission and Department of Pork. That would be your Congress, yours and mine, bubba, you'd better believe we put those scumsuckers in power for lack of a less offensive alternative. Does that make it Right? Hells no, and not even less Evil. But perhaps there is no way to live in America without participating somehow in it's eventual destruction, when throwing away a tin can means putting rust directly into your children's drinking water. They have shots to deal with that sort of poisoning, but how long will it last? Don't think about it. Throw up another Sams Club and move on to the next hillbilly enclave.

When the sun intruded into my eyeballs this morning we joked that we'd inadvertantly driven to Hawaii, what with the palm trees and warm air. Oh, you rotten bastards! Traffic on an interstate at 9 A.M. is never a good sign, but there is jack-all to be done about it. Take a deep breath, glance idly at the brick home neighborhood that runs down Lamb Lane just off to your right, accept your fate. Boys will be boys, and not even a busload of Warriors can move the deadly results of their youthful indescretions in Speed off to the side of the road in time to make a difference. Perhaps this will put us back on time, in the wrong direction.

H+24 hours - We're actually staying in a new gym on a reserve air force base, where large expensive raptors take off overhead every half hour. There are clean, modern facilities, and so far we haven't had to share them with anyone else. We're also getting cots, which is quite an upgrade from our last stay in the bleachers. There are basketball hoops and climbing ropes and a lounge equipped with a soda vendor and plenty of hot sauce. Marines need their Hot Sauce.

No comments: