March 22nd 2002
On the advice of a gun guru who seems to know more than me, I have taken down my instructions for modifying the Wasr. I now have reasons to beleive my plan would not work anyway.
I spent my spring break at my parent's house while they went on vacation to Fla. My sole duty was taking care of their aging St. Bernard, Bonnie, who now has bone cancer. Fortunately the FDA is not nearly as vindictive against animals as they are to you and I, so it was found that Bon is a perfect candidate to be the first to undergo a new treatment that will suposedly disolve away the tumor somehow, saving both her leg and a couple more years of life. Don't worry they'll probably be allowed to begin human trials in a decade or two.
While sitting around the house, becoming increasingly bored with MTV and History Channel re-runs of "Yet Another Nazi Secret Exposed!", I lifted an inconspicuous peice from my dad's pipe collection and puffed away on his stash of harsh Turkish tobacco. Excellent stuff, I hereby forswear cigarettes in favor of this far more distinguished path to cancer. Speaking of which, I'm none too worried by what the health fascists have to say about smoking and other assorted demons of the PC world. I'm a relatively light smoker, which means in the unlikely event that I am struck by cancer, it will be in the golden years around 50-60. If there's not a simple cure for bad lungs by the year 2035, then the world has bigger problems than previously imagined.
I was checking email today in one of the many campus computer rooms, when a 40ish lady sits down next to me despite many other open seats. She is dressed rather haphazardly and is wheeling around a number of battered suitcases lashed together. I notice she occaisonally looks over my shoulder as I am reading the latest good word at anti-state.com. Then finally she asks innocently enough, "Can I show you something?"
I didn't see why not, but wished I had, when she launched into a 60 words a minute memorized chant against Freemasonry. "Freemasonsareasataniccult.theyarecommunistswhosecretlyruletheworld.theyaretryingtodestroythecatholicchurch.
I made sure she knew that I agreed that communism is no good, then excused myself in order to get to my fictitious next class, before she could unload pages of "authenticlibraryofcongressdocumentsobtainedfromex-freemasonsontherunfromthenewworldorder" literature on me.
I just hope she doesn't get beaten too severely by the yellow jacketed campus fuzz.
Speaking of tin cops, last night I got a fucking speeding ticket. 42 in a 30 at about midnight with no other vehicle on this shitty road except for me and the donutmeister. At the completion of this armed robbery (just because he doesn't actually pull the gun doesn't mean the threat's not there) my farewell was a snide, "I hope this helps your quota". No reaction from Officer Baumhoff other than a perfunctory "Good night, drive safely". Bastard.
So I am considering 3 plans:
1. Get a lawyer and try to get out of it using the best possible legal angles my counsel can come up with. The most practical option.
2. Defend myself in court and make an outlandish case invoking the 10th Amendment and insisting that govt does not have a right to own roads to begin with, and therefore no right to set regulations for their use. Supreme Court here I come.
3. Ignore the court date entirely and see how long I can go before getting arrested. The most anarchic option.
Anyway, during my Ryo Ohashi hour of cheerful calculus insanity, I composed the following, "Ode to Swine"
There once was a pig named Baumhoff
Who always got his fill at the trough
His radar's accuracy was uncanny
But he gave one ticket too many
And this speeder finally had enough!