It’s a Hell of a plate you’ve got in front of you, son”

I’ve had this happen a lot in my life and I know what he’s saying. Cop #2 basically was told who I was or figured out who I was through the situation that was presented to him. The story I told em about how I became the godfather, what was going on in the basement of the antagonists place, and what “base” said on the radio about me. Cop #2 and Cop #1 together with all of the cops and police officers serving and protecting the dam shitty rules are the ones with a hell of a plate in front of them. Selecting the vocation of undamming the rivers is actually the most exciting, satisfying and challenging work one could undertake. My rewards while alive in this skin suit are far more rewarding than that one would experience as a law enforcement officer or cop. See, he’s the one with a Hell of a plate in front of him. Cop #2 doesn’t understand that he’s gonna be eating it forever too. I actually have a Heaven of a plate, a Christmass, not a dam mess.

Cop #2 doesn’t understand eternity, how time last forever, and complicity with an obvious abortion attempt is a crime and he’s gonna pay. He could sell his dam home, get a sailboat on the lake, commute to work by bike, request “the beat” and write tickets to people parking infernal combustion machines on potential living space, claim he’s a fisherman, catch carp and eat them reducing his dam and ditch agricultural demands, control exotic invasive fauna, write the whole thing off of his taxes, quit paying for the dam ages, pick up his pen or pencil and start taking notes and sending letters, speak at town hall, start getting the word out, knocking on the dam door and attacking the dam shitty problem. He’d be in much better shape, mentally in particular. They dropped me back off and politely asked, “Which way ya going boss’? I motioned up over my shoulder and they pointed the other way and said, “We’re going this way and we don’t want to see you again”.

I grabbed what looked like a botulism free vacuum sealed pork tenderloin off the ground, slapped it in the case, found an organic fruit drink fermenting in the shade for a delicious sparkling wine, and had a fried banana desert at the diner on the corner while questioning the waitress about the area. Hell of a plate? I’m basically the only law enforcement officer on the planet. I get paid by the government, too. I get to drink on the clock, chat with cute waitresses, bust the crime of the millennia, smoke doobies… hanging out at the café eating sweet sautéed bananas, what a life. What’s cop #2 doing now, driving around on the dam broad innocent road with his same sex partner, going to hell? I’m canvassing the food district. A few people, 4 I think, came out just to take a picture of me and meet me, they were cute girls too. Eat your heart out cop #2.

I’m not sure how the picture collectors found out about me, Twitter, cell phone? I was wondering if the police sent them (if they did then Cop #1 and Cop#2 were actually police officers), I also thought some of them could have been the press. I wasn’t sure, they were all kind of “spell bound” or something. Two of them actually approached for a picture and seemed to get spooked, change their mind and depart. With the others who wanted pictures of me, as usual, I always say, I’ll make a deal with you. I tell them this because I suspect they’ve considered the possibility that I’m actually the Devil, which is about 1/3 correct, and not God like they were told, which proves they were at least thinking. Of course I always try to get them to agree to the deal before I tell them what the deal is. I’ll let you take a picture of me if you let me take a picture of you, we can use your camera for both pictures.

I do this of course so the other person realizes they’re important, and they’re gonna have to “man up” too, in order to solve the problem. I won’t be able to end the dam ages and accomplish the installation of the celestial city myself, there’s too many dams to fluidify for starters, to many cops keeping me from doing it, too many toilets to replace and cisterns to install. The people are still in love with the whole dam shitty idea. I was encouraged to have some interested females. It surly would be more effective to attack the dam problem with dames by my side, at least one. I need an army of dames to fix this.

ALL I WANT FOR MY BIRTHDAY IS A CHICAGO STOP SIGN
THE CHICAGO POLICE OFFICER OWNED ITALIAN RESTUARANT
Saturday Night and I’m cruising NW from the loop singing Ina Kamozie’s “Hotstepper”, the lyrical gangster remastered, and I pull up to Chicago and Western for a slice of pizza. I was looking for the “worst food” in Chicago. Keep in mind, on a dammed planet, the best guy might get stuck serving the worst food. The guy out front on a bicycle rickshaw taking a break and eating a slice copped a bad attitude, was rude, and disrespectful towards me. This was unusual. I wonder what was eating him up?

I walked into the place and was simultaneously struck by three things. It felt as if it were 120 to 130 degrees inside the joint. Exhaust fans exhausted? Framed pictures of Hollywood mobsters on the wall, and a surly, yet not rude proprietor, a big Italian guy. I suspect he knew exactly who I was, how bad his pizza was, knew it was the bad seed distributors and farming methods fault, and didn’t want to serve me a slice. Usually pizza guys don’t verbally assault you when they want to sell you a piece. It looked like I’d hit the bull’s eye for bad food.

It was the biggest cheapest slice I’d ever seen, he was practically giving them away. Within seconds of my just after midnight arrival a dark dangerous looking possibly Sicilian Italian shadowed me in and hollered directly a me , now I’m getting hollered at in both directions, “This pizza’s hot!” It ain’t like they didn’t tell me, unlike the seed manufacturers, farmers, distributors, and government pushing the stuff. I figured just from looking at the map that the “hottest” food in food city would start at Western on Chicago which dead ends at Austin. I ordered the likely Imperial Valley vegetable Sicilian, and a likely GMO fountain drink, self serve, 25 cent refills.

I went outside and ate ¼ of the pizza. Hmmm, me thinks, I’d better go back inside get a GMO drink refill, and demand the antidote, hot pepper and oregano. The place had hot pepper sauce that wasn’t hot (likely no capsicum) and virtually “blank” oregano. They didn’t serve the antidotes here, another clue. I covered another ¼ of the slice with the “doomadotes” and swallowed it down, saving half the slice for later, “evidence”. I sat on the bench along Western, took notes on the paraphernalia in the area, and waited for the dam food to take effect/affect.

Directly across Chicago from the pizza joint was a stainless steel power box with the remnants of someone else’s flyer taped to it. Someone had ripped the flyer off but a narrow strip of the top of it was still attached. English house sparrows, the same style I’d had on my original flyer were there. I put up my flyer here and returned across the street. A Chicago Tribune newspaper truck drove by and I chased after it on foot as if to board it and highjack it. I thought about this and realized this might not be a good thing to do. It may have been something I ate.

I left headed west on Chicago walking my bike and got to a place with a graffiti of a skeleton throwing heart shaped hand grenades towards a cop parked in a SUV across the street. This was the weirdest part of Chicago, a real spooky abandoned commercial area. There was some kind of Cooper’s storage place on the corner with restaurant equipment stored out front. I was casing the place and a large mullato man came out with a 12” knife. I gave him my flyer through the fence. A Chinese guy drove by wearing a surgical mask really checking me out. I raised my red bandanna over my nose. At this point it was several hours after I at the half slice of pizza. It felt like I’d dropped from a 100% cognizant level to 2%, a 98% loss. Even at 2% I’m relatively able, but I was mentally lost and a bit fatigued. It was the worst case of “hot” food poisoning I’d ever had, not puking or diarrhea, just loss of awareness and fatigue.

I leaned my bike up against something and walked on Chicago west. This is where the black people lived. I thought it was ironic that with a black president doom food would be getting served here. It started raining and I added wet and clammy to unaware. It was Sunday and it seemed appropriate to visit some of the local theological shacks where I fed them a quarter for a minute of revelation. The preachers were basically talking about getting revenge for what was taking place at the time. It’s unfortunate they don’t make the congregation aware of the dam shetty problem and the solutions.

I called that which lies below Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, SUBPACCOM, Los Angeles Class and did some preaching of my own. I left a message on the rape/ sexual assault hotline. It’s no coincidence that these U.S. Navy Submarines, the Los Angeles class, hold the tools to fix the problem. Considering the situation I laid out three options. Launch projectiles at the dam targets. Surface, abandon ship, swim to an island and start observing the laws of thE manuel. Next time they’re ashore they should remove their own feet at the ankles, their hands at the radii and ulna, gouge out their eyes, cut off their tongues, lips, and ears and put their parts in a bag with some mustard seeds and fruit, vegetable, and herb seeds push themselves down to the nearest body of water rubbing their noses off in the process and plant the seeds and fertilizer nearby and then roll themselves into the water and drown. The first option is the best, fix the dam problem like we know the angels would. If they get out of the boat maybe the next characters will launch. The turd option is good practice for what they will experience for the rest of time if they continue to uphold the currentless dam abortion scheme.

NEARLY PASSED OUT FROM DEHYDRATON AT AUSTIN’S WHOLE FOODS, BLACK WATER SECURITY OPS, AND ARRESTED BY ITALIAN RESTUART OFFICER
PEOPLE IN CHICAGO ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SEE THE SUN RISE OVER THE WATER, BUSTED TALKING TO A FEMALE MALLARD WHILE ROLLING A CIGARETTE
I’d just about run out of food and was searching for a digestible meal. I was attempting to enter the nearest deli for a sandwich. A large man who had been watching me sprinted over, forbade me to enter the structure and offered to make me a sandwich and serve it outside. This was weird. I didn’t feel like hikin all over town (burning energy) while trying to get some. I decided to go to the grocery store nearby. I was set upon by a couple of cops. The two of them were acting strangely. They were arrestin me for nothing and I asked them if they were police officers or cops. They said they were cops. I of course refused to be forced into the back of the cruiser until a police officer showed up. When one did I got in the cruiser.

My stay at the Loop precinct was short and I used the opportunity to further infiltrate the decimated crooked Chicago Police Department through the few on staff with a brain. They were letting me go with another misdemeanor charge requiring a court appearance and I was at the front desk getting my valuables returned. I was relating a story about how I grew up in Palm Beach County surfing with the likes of Colonel Sanders (KFC’s) grandson “the Kernel”, Charles Schwab’s Grandson (when Charles Schwab talks people listen), Tommy Sullivan, Richard Petty, Charlie Brown, the gangs all here… I was body surfing and they were always nearly running me over. I’d duck below the surface, turn, open my eyes, and watch their sharp trifinned floatation aid pass over head. They decided to confine me in Northwestern Hospital for tellin this story.

When I got there I stepped on the electronic scale and weighed in at 66.6 kg, 146 lbs. I checked my weight and wrote it down several times a day. I refused the medication my doctor, Dr. Hellme, insisted on. I was attempting to gain weight and was only slowly gaining with a single portion food serving. I requested a double portion and started actually losing weight eating practically twice as much. Judging by the stool in the toilet it was evident the food was not being digested properly. One of the regular patients (an aware character) told me they’d rigged the food to cause those who ordered a double portion to lose weight, what I’d already discovered. I challenged the staff about the sickening horrible experiment I’d noted. Meanwhile, the toilet quit operating properly in my room. In addition to the new no flush problem, the toilet had been rigged with a box that covered the pipes on the wall and kept the seat from staying in a raised position.

Super Mario Bros. (the plumber) showed up to fix the toilet. The plumber “fixed it” so it constantly flushed, and resilicon gasketed the back up for the hundredth time. This was obvious from all the old gasket material layers. I knew the plumber was obviously going to have to return to repair it again and was curious about what was behind the box behind the toilet. I calmly pulled the box off the wall and set it to the side (no harm done). The box had obscured the pipes and kept the toilet seat from operating properly nothing more. Except for hiding the French style bedate (water fountain ass washer) that was installed upside down and a penciled caricature that looked like Obama and said, “KKK”. Perhaps you always wanted to know what was behind the commode at Northwestern…

A Chicago female nurse “Ratshit” (One Flew Over the Cookoo Nest) who was actually a XXX chromosome carrier ordered me to be given the “shot” and a dozen goons assembled themselves to administer her pronouncement. I showed no signs of needing sedation at all. I kept calling them out for their sick food scheme experiment in addition to the other junk they were knowingly complicit with and they basically couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I busted the creeps and they knew it.

ARRESTED IN THE LOOP LIBRARY, BLACK WATER SECURITY OPS

Genuine City of Chicago Police Department Cappellini Restaurant extremely well flavored Lasagna, Caesar salad and delicious coffee was my last meal in Chicago. I got the tiramisu to go from an attractive, very agreeable nice to talk to waitress and walked across Michigan up 13^th into the back alley and up to the third floor, packed up my stuff and moved out of the storage shed. The taxi driver dropped me off at Chicago’s Greyhound and immediately when I went inside the security guard started giving me a hard time. For me this was extremely bizarre but expected. It’s hard to imagine what he thought I was going to do here, at a bus station with 600 lbs. of gear. Buy a $150 bus ticket with another $150 in additional luggage charges, i.e. his paycheck. The Chicago Greyhound security guard was probably the biggest most intimidating security guard I’d ever seen in my life, an awful beast, and if one knew anything about history one would figure he’d be at this location. He said, “I’m gonna snatch ya”! and rudely forced me to immediately buy a ticket, but the electronic ticket kiosk “went down” as I stepped up to it.

Later, after a pleasant ticket purchase from a live person, I walked outside for a smoke and hooked up with a character who’d just got to Chicago from Kansas City. He was wearing a sweat shirt that said, “Feeding America”, I told him to be careful with that idea. He told me he was going to hang out in Chicago for a while and asked directions to the mission. I told him about a much better “mission” than getting in line for free dam and ditch, drain the well dry, GMO food and gave him my blanket, and directions to the “cove” down by the lake, and told him there was plenty of food in the trash cans in exchange for many pulls on a hog leg of a ganja blunt he was carrying. For me it was enticing to finally score some bud in Chicago minutes before I left. I wondered if I would ever see Chicago again or even if I wanted to.

The bus pulled into the Twin Cities and I walked a block or so away to eat some lasagna at a chain type restaurant. Two police officers came in and sat down at the table next to me. The lasagna sucked, however they microwaved water for me so I could make Turkish coffee. Something that hasn’t happened to me in so long I can’t even remember when it last occurred, time got away from me, as if 30 minutes just vanished and I missed my bus departure. There goes my luggage. I bought another ticket for 35 additional dollars, the charge if you miss a bus, they used to be $10. I tried to get on this bus a few hours later but the bald headed mustached securtity guy wouldn’t let me on, he was enraged, practically violent, and said I couldn’t get on the bus because of the two pencils in my beret, “they could be considered weapons”. This is so bizarre, how we can’t get on a bus if we have pencils in Amerika? I called the police, they said there was nothing they could do about it.

I cased out the town, of course, as a result. The first night I spent cruising around the main part of town eventually settling into a red themed Chinese restaurant, it appeared as though the town was having some kind of hormonal problem or homosexual thing. A sign of the times, perhaps something in the food? The next day I bought another additional ticket and took a nap on the floor. I hadn’t really slept in weeks and the lack of good food was starting to get to me. I was rudely awaked a couple of hours later when a security guard kicked me in the side two minutes after my bus left, the security guard knew it too. Twenty years ago the security guard (janitor) would have gently awakened me and told me my bus was about to leave, nowadays they kick ya after the bus leaves, tell ya you missed your bus, make another $35 for Greyhound and provide more security. The new business 101 in Amerika.

I went downtown again and went into a porn shop. I made a beeline back to the bargain reading material box, reached into the very bottom as if pulling a needle from a haystack and came up with a 2006 Playboy containing Joey Breslin’s “Mob Tales” which listed and gave background material on my new partners, “The Choir” and included the lowdown on the crooked dirty cops. This was a diamond in the rough for sure and exactly what I was looking for, $2. I always travel with a copy of Playboy and this was the exact issue I wanted. Next to the place was an outdoor beer bar and when I walked outside some creep quaffing a beer told me “You better pray to Jesus for forgiveness”. Obviously you have no idea who I am, you’re the one holding the rotten bread in your hand. I just picked up the exact manuel I was looking for.

Strolling down the main Blvd. I came upon an informal parade. It looked like the local sorority girls, about 70 or 80 of them in gaggles or flocks of 8 to 12 were walking toward me on the sidewalk on both side of the road. Every one of them had a pink construction paper cutout of a half way flaccid penis or a limp erection pinned to their shoulder. Each limp pink paper penis was exactly alike and they were all pinned to their shoulders. It looked like the message was that there was an erectile dysfunction problem in town, they were pinning the problem on themselves and willing to shoulder the burden. From there attitude they weren’t unhappy about it, looked like they were quite pleased actually, they smelled liberated. It wasn’t a protest.

I of course talked to as many of them about it as I could, taking full advantage of the situation present to try and figure out what was “going on” in this town. They didn’t really have much to say about their display, as if there couldn’t possibly be anything else to add. Naturally I made a pass at all of them or as many as I could. They showed no interest, obviously. I know inherently I’m the most viral man ever to be on the surface of this planet, bound by law, basically, to be the most productive. It’s ironic or horrifying, a least noteworthy, how uninterested the dames are in myself or the genetic information I have to share. It’s as if the last thing most the dames really want is to be productive. I understand this, with 7 billion humans overburdening our planet. I didn’t want to get one of them pregnant and in no way suggested intercourse with the intention of having children. I did however mention to them that we could undam the planet, convert the eaves to supers and collect that which falls from the heavens, the fertilizer making flush toilet replacement, build space ships and keep procreating forever. They didn’t seem interested in this either. It looked like these particular women enjoyed the status quo, an unexciting death by dam toilet.

The next morning I found myself at the “green market” (most green market people usually hate me) where I attempted to collect signatures in pursuit of the presidency, while giving a lecture. It lasted about 2 minutes and then a 55ish white bald man who looked like a former Desert Storm I army colonel and 2 private black water security guys from Desert Storm II, rudely threw me out, it almost got violent. Since when is it illegal to open up one’s valise, pull out a page of written material, a notebook and begin talking about a benevolent idea? I was even on public property, the area between the sidewalk and the street, not even on the green market property. The green colonel and his henchmen were rabid, manic, and paranoid skitzofrenik.

I finally got out of this hormonally challenged town on the last seat of a Trailways bus, they even let me on with my pencils. I sat next to the bus driver’s wife, a Cambodian woman who was keeping an eye on him while he worked. We changed buses in Fargo and I got back on another Greyhound. I sat down in the second row, behind an extremely pretty Canadian woman. She immediately turned around and asked me a queer question, “Could you please go to the back of the bus and exchange seats with one of my friends?” I was the last one to get on and was pretty sure I’d got the last seat. She insisted as if…? She started to raise a big stink. I’m not sure why she did this, she didn’t say.

If you’ve ever ridden “the dog” than you realize one could get on the bus in Miami and go to Seattle, maybe a week or more on the bus. They don’t have showers at the Greyhound stations. There isn’t a motel or hotel nearby either. It’s hard to find a creek next to a Greyhound bus station, too. This is no accident, it’s deliberately designed this way. “Cleaning up”, sponge bathing, or washing of any type is extremely discouraged all around the country, in particular they’re trying to keep one from washing oneself at the Greyhound bus station. There is no reason for this, it’s bizarre. A culture that dams the rivers, severely limiting access to these “temples” by creating a rocky tailrace or muddy reservoir, builds “watering holes” on top of practically any natural water seepage and charges you (if they don’t refuse the right to serve) for the pleasure, captures all the water in pipes, even goes to all the trouble to put spigots everywhere but then removes the valves, and points a finger at those who won’t pay for the damages… as if they stink.

I hadn’t showered in 5 weeks, although my natural flora is stabilized and I bathed every few days by swimming in Lake Michigan. I’d surreptitiously taken a spongebath and changed my socks and underwear in the Twin Cities just before I left, plus I’m covered in Chinese 5 star spice and cigarette smoke. She might have thought I was gonna burn a hole in her for the entire bus trip. Naw, darling I’m gonna burn a hole in your soul for the entire length of time for what you’re doing. I began singing a song I wrote in Chicago, “There’s a rat in the kitchen watcha gonna do?” She got the attention of the bus driver and demanded I be put off. The bus driver was a huge heinous white broad who immediately threw me off no questions asked.

I called the police and rightly complained that selling people tickets for transport and not providing the transport should be illegal. I slept in the bushes in Fargo, there was nowhere else to stay and had breakfast at the break of day at a diner where I was well received and enjoyed a meal with a few hot chicks, the females counterpoint to the last evening. Back at the Greyhound station I was charging my phone, went outside for a smoke and spoke with an Indian man who was more interested in my idea than anyone I’d talked to in months. He said his “people” (pointing with his thumb to the north) were still collecting wild rice down by the side of natural lakes and getting along. I shared an idea with him that he not only enthusiastically received but knew all about, how the best way to eat rice is in a “prestuffed duck”. Let the duck collect the rice, catch the duck, remove the last half of alimentary canal and cook the rest of it.

When I went back in the bus station my phone was gone. I walked up to the “security desk”, they don’t hardly sell tickets or handle baggage anymore, it’s all security, and I could see my phone back on the counter. I motioned towards my phone and asked if I could get it back. The security guard wanted me to prove it was mine and said I was lucky it didn’t get stolen. I told him I’d been traveling all over Amoralca and it looked like the cops and security guards were doing most of the stealing, plus he could have at least plugged it in to the outlet that was right behind it. I got on another bus, when we got to the place where I was to transfer to the next bus, the next driver, a fat black woman wouldn’t let me on. I hadn’t done anything.

After getting run around the station by the security guard I got out on a west bound bus. The bus was hot and on board were a bunch of oil drillers. They liked my idea and I circulated my flyer while telling them global warming (which they’d heard enough of) was a phenomena caused by the burning of fossil fuels to install faulty dam water control structure scheme and it wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t heard this before and they really liked it, kinda like having the heat they said they were tired of hearing about taken off of them and applied at the proper target. I told em we’ll undam the planet cut back fossil fuel use 90%, charge em 10 times the current rate and make the same amount of money. We’ll build beer can spaceships, big ones, solve the world’s population problem, and give em all the power they want in a nuclear “casino/ whorehouse” spaceship. “Yes, yes, yes”, they said. They got a poker game going about the time the bus started overheating bad. I told em I was the best poker player in the world. I didn’t start playing right away, they weren’t paying for high stakes, they were playing an unusual version and I only had 2 to 3 dollars. There’s nothing like being on a seemingly endless bus trip without money.

At the last stop, a bowling alley, I scored a half a plate of dam French fries and half a GMO coke somebody didn’t finish and had left on a table, found a few cheesy Arby’s roast beef sandwiches in the dumpster out back, a European style porn magazine in the trash can out front and a bunch of half smoked cigarette butts in the ashtray. The oil drillers were telling me how their bosses were firing them or no reason, stiffing em the last paycheck and replacing them with Mexicans. In addition they said that Greyhound had been driving em around in circles and at present they were headed back to where they’d started for the second time. I told them my “reserve the right to refuse service” story and we found another thing we could agree on, the country was f*(&%>d up, some real weird stuff was going on. I asked if they remembered the scene from the Indiana Jones movie where they pop the top off the lost Ark of the Covenant. It’s gonna be worse than that if we don’t get the dams off the rivers, Banzai! I slid into the poker game, played one hand and won the biggest pot of the trip, enough for dinner, drinks and smokes. The overheated bus blew up, and we just barely limped into a gas station. After 5 or 6 hours another bus pulled up.

As the bus cruised through the crop circles of Eastern Washington’s dam and ditch and drain the well dry well dry desert agricultural areas the frequency of grain and other crops, food processors, and food laden 18 wheelers increased. We pulled off the highway for a rest/ dining experience at a gas station located around a food shipping/ processing/ storage hub. After refilling my water container in the restroom I microwaved a corndog, grabbed some mustard, a package of peanut M&M’s and headed outside. The wind was howling and I took shelter for a smoke in the lee of an 18 wheeler rig where I could observe the bus so it didn’t leave without me.

After I inhaled the corn dog and got a smoke lit I entered into a conversation with two guys about my age who appeared as though they were the drivers of the rigs. I quickly explained to them I had a degree from the College of Agriculture, University of Florida, had paddled a canoe across the continent taking notes on the dam food growing operations and had just left Chicago, the nation’s #1 food city after an extensive, in depth, food centered note taking experience.

I told them how I’d been picking up plastic trash, reading the ingredients, checking the dumpsters behind the stores, taking notes on the info on the cardboard boxes, checking the shelves, reading the names on the trucks along with license plate #’s and talking to the food delivery drivers themselves and relating all of this gathered info to the cognizant ability, awareness level, communicative ability, and general health of the people obviously consuming the stuff. After all, you are what you eat. I’d found that there was some wacked shit going on. Locals where the people were “in the zone”, others where they were “zombies”, places where they were acting like “vampires”, “braindead” areas, areas where they were homosexual or tending to the feminine, hormonal problems… all kinds of weird stuff.

I told the truck drivers that I suspected the new GMO laboratory food. I figured the stuff had side effects which were known through experimentation on mental patients and prisoners initially. I explained how it looked like these corporations in this country, which the Amerikans had “sold out” could take a batch of “hot” food from a known percentage GMO food pile to processing plants, process it, package it and deliver it to a specific neighborhood, and literally wipe out a specific part of town or the shoppers at a specific store, sporting event or wherever they wanted. One of the drivers said, “You know what, that’s exactly what I’d figured, I’m writing a book about that exact idea. That’s exactly what I’m writing a book about”.

I gave him my http://infinityproject.wordpress.com business card. I told him the same creeps who own the food creep show own the publishing companies. The only way to solve the problem was to get the dams off the rivers. I recommended he man up and focus is energy on dam fluidification first and foremost. As a reader one needs to know that while this particular driver didn’t say exactly how he arrived at the same conclusion I had, it’s usually pretty simple.

Often times these characters, in addition to delivering the processed food to the neighborhood store, deliver the crop to the processing facility, and deliver the seeds and chemicals to the farmer, did in the past, or communicate with those who do. Just like he and I exchanged info at the gas station, the stuffs all obvious anyway. Often times the fields have a sign out in front by the road advertising the new crop type. Maybe it’s “Kandy Korn” or some crazy name. Also, if one is aware of the culture of the stuff a driver could pull up to the farm and see with his own eyes that there isn’t a single weed in the field, indicating a strong likelihood of a GMO herbicide resistant crop. Plus, the farmer or one of the field hands will tell you. Then the driver takes the stuff and puts it in a pile and notices that there is another pile where they’re stacking up a different kind. Then after harvest time a driver might switch hats and start taking the piled up food to the processor. Then the driver might start delivering the suspect product to town, return later and observe its effects. Maybe he observed half the idea himself, heard the other half “on the grapevine”, and was able to put 2 and 2 together.

Communication, as a result of the info he shared with me I went from 99% sure to as close to a 100% sure as I could be what with all the smoke, fog, concrete and condensate from the dam problem obscuring the view. The GMO food is certainly the “devils’ food of the gods’”, case closed. This is related to the dam problem because with people in any kind of food related stupor, even if it’s just from eating too much, they are reluctant or unable to be aware or do anything.

Wow, I made it to Seattle. The Greyhound station had bathroom police. I barely dragged a wet rag around myself and changed my socks and underwear without causing an international incident, lots of drama in the restroom here. Just think they could solve this problem with a vertical sewer pipe with a manhole covers welded to either end under the downspout of the building and a fertilizer machine. Think how much money they’d save just in security. They’d probably get a “volunteer” to guard the valve on the filtered water for free. The water fountain was broken and I returned to the bathroom to fill my container under the disapproving glare of the creep can cop. When I got to the bus the male driver refused me service. This was the 4^th driver that wouldn’t let me on the bus.

I decided to find out how hard it is to hook up with herbs in Seattle. It took about an hour. I made a bunch of copies of my flyer and headed down to Seattle’s waterfront to disseminate them this night. The green market was the first place I hit and I stuffed a flyer behind what looked like a water pipe going into a locked restroom. I walked a few paces away and took a knee to fish a Sharpie marker out of my valise. Suddenly I became aware of someone circling behind me, it was a creepy white punk cop who looked like he was about to foil the heist of the millennia, about to draw out his piece and gun me down, psycho. Paranoid police and the dam Obama nation of desolation, how bizarre that one can’t disseminate what basically amounts to a fruit, vegetable and herb, native plant and river idea at a green market without the possibility of getting shot. I guess if one isn’t hiding in their home nowadays their chance of staying alive in the garden is basically the “luck of the draw”.

It takes a lot of energy to travel around and it’s not like me to not return the favor to all the creatures that created the fossil fuel and not deliver this message, but I was exhausted and so close to getting in my canoe where I foresaw the possibility of a respiteful nap down by the river, that I “folded” and decided not to disseminate the info in Seattle. This was the first time, ever, I didn’t hit a town to save my own skinsuit. I felt ashamed but directed my seething bitterness towards the cops. They’ve been chasing me around directed by the cell phone equipped nazi communist block watchers for so long. Fortunately, the next bus driver was gracious enough to honor the ticket his company had sold me and delivered me to my destination where my baggage was waiting for me, Portland.

I called up my buddy “the Duke” who said he’d pick me up when he could and I moved all my gear towards the road to facilitate transport. Of course within minutes the thieves (cops) were circling like buzzards, threatening me with false arrest (to justify their paycheck and support the prison staff, thE buddies) and separate me from my goods which of course they would dispose of later (waste management’s cut), insuring that I’d be destitute (get in line at the mission) and perhaps buy replacement goods (stimulate the local economy). Business 101 in post 9/11 Amerika. An hour later different cops showed up, twice as creepy.

This is about a letter I sent to Chicago.