Running with Scissors
Since 19
99


An e-journ
al documenting modern culture as it manifests on or near that hotspot on the surrealistic powergrid known as Spokane, WA and/or the known or unknown universe
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Stik Mann's
Past Writings

La Busca Homepage
Trip to Mexico
P
hotos/Stories

Project 2005 Setlist
Sarcastic Applause

TheOTHERSpokane
-- an e-zine

Prototype Project

Judy Roger's
Sarcastic Pantyraid 2000

E-Borne
StikArt

The Martyrdom
of Magoo
#1 - #2

My meeting with
Stacey
#1 - #2

Dewd-ling --
Coversations with Dewd

RealDreams

Arp Xigar's
Malevolent Bovine

Paranoid-Critical
Letters

Correspondence

Stiklinks

Speak to me
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Gooder Paper

MaGoo in Me on the Sea of Cortez____



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________________________ Independence Day, 2001
_____________________________________ Number Seventeen

Greetings, faithful readers, and welcome to this very special issue of Stik Mann's OtherSpokane. A very special issue, I say, because a great revelation has been made to most folks within a $40 Indian rez rocket shot of downtown Spokane: terra firma isn't very.

On June 25th, a 3.4 magnitude temblor jolted the Inland Empire, sending an oil painting of a peaceful pastoral scene crashing down upon the unsuspecting skull of your humble narrator. Little damage was done (and my head's fine too). A series of 20, sub-3 aftershocks added to the fun.

Scientists theorize the Latah fault near Spokane, quiet for over a million years, may have issued a mere gurgle of the geo-gut, with definite possibilities of a much bigger belch.
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One would think the above is the Big Story; but, it could turn out to be a mere sidebar to a much greater mystery...
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The Spokesman-Review printed my Letter to the Editor a few weeks ago (written under an assumed name, of course). I reprint it here, and include the final paragraph (in italics) which the S-R gatekeepers chose to snip off.

Dear Editor:

Can we all finally move beyond the lowly, Lenoesque cheap shots about presidential daughters Jenna and Barbara Bush?

I don't blame them for their recent troubles with the law. I don't blame their parents, even papa Dubya, who no doubt passed on the pray-to-the-porcelain-god gene to the dear things. No, I blame Ronald Reagan!

Yes, the power-drunk Gipper, who in 1984 rammed the Uniform Drinking Age Act down our good nation's throat. With fistfuls of federal highway money, he bribed every state in the nation, giving them the choice of raising the drinking age from 18 to 21 or being condemned to a pothole-hell world of crumbling, road warrior-like infrastructure.

These girls are not criminals. They are intelligent, adult, career-pursuing college students who should be able to have a damn margarita if they want.

Jenna, you lovely woman, Barb, honey, if y'all ever up near Spokane, drinks are on me.
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Pungent punditry: My friend, Roger of the North, saw the above letter and immediately e-chastised me about my familiar spelling/grammar/double-checking-your-sources sins. (He should have seen it before the Review editors got it.) I admitted that my intention was not to change anyone's political opinions, but, in fact, to score with one of the presidential siblings.

This he finally accepted, and added, "About time we had first daughters to lust after. It was just too much of a stretch with Tricia or Julie, and while fairly reasonable with Susan Ford, she didn't stick around long enough. Less said about Amy Carter the better. And, while I think Chelsea will turn into a devastating 25-year old, as a teen she wasn't."
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Did Californians look with amusement at our post-earthquake reactions, as we do them when an inch of snow threatens to shut down their cities?
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My latest obsession is with this painting by Heindrick Heerschop (1627-?), The Alchemist's Experiment takes Fire; from the late 17th century.

We confront the alchemist's startled face. A creepy, devil-like face appears in the blasts of smoke, and we are sucked up into the swirling, clockwise movement that dominates the composition, introducing us to mysteries as we circle-slip into the vortex -- What exotic dusts and potions in the strange urns on the wall? And what is that distant woman doing? Changing a baby's diaper? Is she spanking the infant? Is it even a baby? What is that forbidden text he's reading that has produced all of this madness? -- We're still spiraling inward, over his left hand and up his arm, detouring up the shadow of his right arm, the hand of which pathetically tries to block the force, encircling his head, around and around, and ultimately bringing us dizzyingly back to the alchemist's agape mouth in the very midst of the first word of his two word utterance, "Whoa, dude!"

But...that plate -- the large, shining plate at the bottom of the picture....

Yes, the plate acts a balance device, as well as the true beginning of the swirling composition. But there seems to be something more to it. Something about its reflective qualities, perhaps? Is Heerschop suggesting that the face in the smoke is not of supernatural origins but an illusion caused by the dancing play of light?
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From the new Stik Mann's OtherSpokane section, Dewdling -- Conversations with Dewd:

"Your 'I-sat-on-the-plug' agape confirms indignity exposed; and, to your apparent surprise, it's your 'limpy-bean short story' that again almost arose. While your itemized deductions compare to boudoir seductions, your sweaty-knitted underware has unraveled, and indeed your butt smells like cattle." -- Dewd

"Ad word of vice: a sexy hex on you and your girlie blouses, your pancreas of beer smoke, your Buddha urine and your Mary Poppins dishwater. I nose hair the salad bar of your stinking-of-fish, Canadian lovefest. I slaughter a vague vegetable in your corny, cigar-is-just-a-cigar cowboy sweat. May lice spell out the name of your dentist in an inappropriate location." -- Stik
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Did you hear that Newsweek is preparing to launch a Polish version of the magazine this fall? It will contain original reporting by Polish journalists, and not a mere translation of the English edition of the magazine, according to editor Tomasz Wroblewski. He said the office lighting problems will be resolved later this summer when the rest of the staff reports for work and they can finally get all of the light bulbs screwed in.
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Before I went to Mexico, Britta K. from Metaline Falls asked me to bring her a refrigerator magnet to add to her collection. When I failed in my mission, she didn't accept my observation of a general lack of refrigerators there, which means few refrigerator doors, which means the demand for things to stick on those few doors is severely limited.

She wrote: Nice try, Stik Mann. I've heard of people bringing home alien limbs, two-headed pigs and bearded children from Mexico. Don't tell me there ain't no magnets there.
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Late one night, I conducted a literary experiment, which I believe you'll find quite interesting. I began with the old Rodney Dangerfield joke:

"I went to a psychiatrist and said, 'Doc, you gotta help me. My wife thinks I'm a dog.' He told me to get off the couch."

Well, I exchanged the role of psychiatrist with that of a U.S. Forest Ranger, and exchanged that diminutive form (Doc) of the formal title (Doctor) to the even more personal "Larry." Here are the results:

"I went to a U.S. Forest Ranger and said, 'Larry, you gotta help me. My wife thinks I'm a dog.' He told me to get off the couch."
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Fun Facts:
A) New Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle tossed a $5,000-per-person fund-raiser on top of George Washington's head at Mt. Rushmore.
B) The view from atop George's head is quite nice.
C) Pigs don't fly out of people's butts.

C, again) Well....I guess what I'm trying to say is this: In the scanky environment of D.C., stupidity and arrogance, put in the same pond, will, as always, breed like toads. It would be much easier to make sense of the loathsome creature that oozes from the goo if, in fact, actual pigs did randomly fly, of their own accord, from unknowing peoples' butts.
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Any bets on how long it'll be before the Feds are forced to borrow to pay for the scheduled tax rebates?
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A big sarcastic thanks to my friend Phopaw for sending me this musical mental virus and causing me to forever exchange the words of that old American favorite The Flintstones Theme Song with those of Jesus Loves Me.

Jesus, Jesus loves me. Jesus loves me loves me this I knoooooow...
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Iraqi producers are planning a television version of the novel Zabibah and the King, a tale of a king who falls in love with a poor, married woman.

It was published anonymously late last year, but its bizarre political references, and the unusual publicity it received on Iraqi television, radio and in newspapers, have led some to believe that it was written by Saddam himself.

The CIA will no doubt be studying the book for insight into Saddam's political thinking, such as when Zabibah burns the roast and the king expresses his displeasure by gassing a Kurdish village.
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Isn't it strangely and wonderfully ironic that we sneak onto Indian reservations and illegally buy fireworks to celebrate Independence Day?
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Secretary of Defense "Giggles" Rumsfeld is pressing for a Hail Mary Missile Defense System by the end of Dubya's current term, whether it works or not. He'll get no flak from the Defense Policy Board kingpin, Richard Perle. An Assistant Secretary of Defense with the Merry Madmen of the Reagan gang, Perle was Chief of Big Toys for Reagan's Star Wars fantasy. Carl Sagan once called Perle "the Prince of Darkness."

As an added bonus, look for Giggles and Dick "Thumper" Cheney to start whining about the need to end the nine-year moratorium on testing nuclear weapons. Were talkin' big-time earthquakes here, folks.
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Garage Degree: Seattle inched a bit nearer the deep end of the Wacko Pool, where West Coast buddies San Fran and LA have been hot-tubbing for years, when the Higher Education Coordinating Board of the state of Washington authorized Kepler College of Astrological Arts and Sciences in that rainy city to issue BA and MA degrees in Astrological Studies.
Why, yes, I majored in the stars -- and I have a minor in bending keys with my brain.
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"Soliciting sex from youngsters online...Next on All Things Considered."
--- NPR 6/19
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Certain UN representatives are licking their chops as they prepare for the World Conference Against Racism.

Southern African nations plan to ask former slave-trading Western nations to cough up billions of dollars, for "past mistakes," as if slavery was a phenomena of bloated, rich plantation owners in the U.S. South. Will Egypt have to pay up for centuries of human rights abuse? The great civilizations of China were built on the backs of slaves. They could probably round up some Mesopotamians to blame. Wasn't Mohammed cool with bondage? Ancient Israel? Will they go after the tortilla money of the poor, indigenous descendents of the Aztecs, Incas, and Mayans? What about the descendents of Africans who enslaved other Africans?

And who would be getting this "reparation" money anyway? The Heritage Foundation recently released a report declaring that more than half of the 42 sub-Saharan African countries to be "mostly unfree" -- and a good percentage of those are just downright nasty.
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One of Florida's 20 celebrated "New Millennium Schools," Hernando Lakes High School, presented its graduates diploma cases with the words "New Millenium School" printed proudly on the front.
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I don't get it. You can shack up with a harem of willing women, and nobody cares. But Tom Green, a 52-year-old Utah man, who dutifully marries five wives, cares for their 29 children, and does so while claiming a genuine religious tradition, is facing 25 years in prison.

How does that old song go? "Congress shall make no law..."
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And finally, I offer you this site. Hope it doesn't leave a bad taste in your mouth...
I sent it to Phopaw who quickly returned choice quotes he found there, along with his own comments in italics:

"I loved the picture of the Indian Holy Man drinking his own urine out of a human skull - although I prefer a ceramic cup, or a coconut shell. "

"Drinking your own urine makes you think seriously about what you eat"

"I tried drinking my own urine on a few occasions about 20 years ago."

I tried drinking my own urine too. I was 6 and it was icky. I stopped after one try.

"If you believe in me, you will never thirst....Rivers of living water shall flow from your bellies."
- Jesus (in John 7:38)

Priceless. Just goes to show how with a little skill you can use the Bible to justify all kinds of vile behavior. Now if you'll excuse me, I've a stoning to attend.

Thirsting for more? Go to Stik Mann's WebFinds for Issue 17

Next issue: It all depends on Magoo.


Please read the OtherSpokane DISCLAIMER

Stik Mann's Other Spokane and all content within
Copyright 2001, Steven J. St.George
(unless otherwise noted or as obvious as a kick in the butt).