YANKILY DANKILY, NEIGHBORINO

The approach to Labor Day always reminds me of syphilis-ridden trailerparks out in the hinterlands with all the meth labs and slope-brows, which, if memory serves, describes most of Washington State, plus Port St Lucie (FL), Levelland (TX), Cedar Park (TX), Cheyenne (WY), and several other places, including the rearview parts of California.
Entirely because of racist dingoes on Yelp.

Never been to any of those places. They're probably paragonic.

I fondly imagine the average resident of those places waking up to pee in the midlle of the night, and stumbling to the corner store for a six pack of crappy beer (as advertised on their favourite television station, affiliated with Fox News) so that they'll wake up again when it's daylight to pee, just in time to go to work.

Labor Day upsets their routine. And requires more beer.
Plus they'll have to spend it with their family.
Including the non-beer drinkers.
In daylight.

So I can sympathize with people who decide to see the real America, by going on a roadtrip. To Black Rock City in northwestern Nevada. Nothing is more real than stoned naked people in hundred degree heat eating tofu dogs.

This year, as always, I shan't be going. I'm not dressed for it, and I hate tofu dogs.

What you need for the journey is two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers. And a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Plus a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, and sunglasses.


The mind recoils in horror.



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