• Chicago Recycles Stupidity
• Back on the Road
• Cont. on A26
• Hey Slagle
• Award
• An Editorial

CHICAGO RECYCLES STUPIDITY

Well you would think that the City Council would have learned with last years CO detector travesty(see: vol. 0 #4) that they best serve the city as holiday parade floats.  Anytime they try and make decisions for us, or improve our quality of life, legislation inevitably descends into farce.  Today December fourth, the City of Chicago celebrates the beginning of the Blue Bag Recycling program

Let me begin by saying that I am against recycling.  I know that we throw away enough garbage every minute in this country to feed Haiti for a year, but dammit that’s what makes America the nation we have to build walls around.  I like the fact that I can buy a quart of mayonnaise, take it home, eat it and just throw away the jar.  I don’t want to live in a third world country where you get your set of jars as a wedding gift that you keep for your entire life.  Once a week you hobble to the market with your wedding jars and wait in line for hours to have them filled up with suet.

I don’t want you to think I’m wasteful.  I wouldn’t dream of throwing away anything of value.  Jars in America just don’t fit into that category.  Jars are made of glass, which is nothing more than melted sand.  So what’s the problem with filling a landfill with jars?  they won’t leach into the water supply, and they’ll give archeologists in the year 3000 something to root through.  And it keeps jar makers off the dole and out of prison.

Aluminum cans on the other hand have value.  It only takes a fraction of the energy to recycle aluminum than it takes to make it from scratch.  An empty beer can is worth about two cents (Interesting footnote: the beer we drink here at Revolution Headquarters costs less than the cans it comes in).

When I’m at the bar, I try and remember to drink draft.  Nothing amuses me more than a bar that voluntarily separates its bottles for recycling (I know that some places are bound by law to perform this act of hypocrisy and I can forgive that).  They’re trying to show their patrons that they care about the earth so much, that they will pay to have a refrigerated truck haul heavy glass bottles from St. Louis, Milwaukee, Golden Colorado or Wherever, serve them out of an ice box, separate the empties, haul them back to a glass plant, crush them up, melt them down, and haul them back to the brewery, Rinse, Repeat.  In the meantime, you’ve expended enough petroleum to fashion thousands of 2 liter bottles.

Draft beer on the other hand is very enviro-friendly.  A keg is compact, lightweight, and 100% re-usable (which is better than recyclable).  Once its in the cooler, it stays there, and the refrigerator door stays shut.  The glass used for keg beer service is recycled with only two sinks of warm soapy water.  A truly Enviro-Friendly Bar would refuse to serve any beer other than draft.  Unfortunately, a lot of environmentalists only like their “Genuine” Draft out of a longneck bottle.(chuckle)

I was in the Last Act one evening (many of you are saying just one?), when I over heard an earth muffin complaining that they didn’t recycle their aluminum there.  So concerned, she wanted to take her Fosters can home to insure that it made its way into a recycling bin.  This poor Neo-Hippie was almost in tears over the thought of perfectly good aluminum being laid to rest in a landfill.  The bartender, was amused and stressed that Chicago Liquor Laws prohibited her from taking the can out of the bar.

“Why didn’t you just drink a draft?” I asked.

“I don’t LIKE draft beer, I only drink Fosters!”

Boy you don’t want to let the earth get in the way of your elitist brand loyalty.  You would think that someone so committed to saving the planet would make sacrifices.  But in the modern world, you don’t have to do that.  As long as I’m doing more than you are, I’m of Virtue and you worship the Cloven Hoofed.

I’ve recycled my aluminum for years.  And I don’t have to separate it or even rinse it out.  I just put it in with the rest of the trash, and let the alleyway entrepreneurs do the sorting.  Here in the city we have wandering flocks of Immigrants, Indigents and Winos who make subsistence collecting cans.  Cardboard too!

A month or so ago, I took a load of Black Label empties down to the “recycling” area, and was met by a scowl from a new resident of the neighborhood.  By the look on her face I knew that I had just done something that is taboo in the suburbs.  “Is something wrong?”

“You’re just going to leave those THERE?”

“Yep”

“You mean you don’t re-CYCLE?”

I knew how it must have felt to be a witch in Salem circa 1620.  Recycling has become a religion for the young urban professional and most of genX.  I shrugged my shoulders and walked away.  I thought I was doing somebody a favor by not throwing all the empties in with the stinky trash.

Within fifteen minutes, the familiar clatter of a shopping cart rolled down the cobblestone alley.  Mr. Recycling Man was here.  With soiled fingers, he cheerfully emptied the bag of cans into his cart.  You could tell he was very happy with the amount of beer my friends and I can consume in an evening.  My new neighbor must have been looking out the window at this routine and had a cognitive flash.  Next thing I know, she’s down in the alley with a couple of bags.

“Uh  Ex-CUSE me, I have some more cans for you”

“Oh um, thank you very much Ma’am”

“Do you take bottles and newspa-PERS?”

“No”

“Well what am I supposed to do with them?

He glanced at the trash can.  Nobody has a better idea of the value of garbage more than somebody in the business.  When we were kids we used to collect newspapers for the Cub Scouts.  Back then, nobody ever saved their newspapers and we could get a pretty good price for them.  It’s cheaper for the paper companies to mix a little old stuff in the paper.  Unfortunately, you can’t make paper 100% recycled.  Now that everybody’s recycling, old newspaper is virtually worthless.  Paper companies no longer pay for it, in fact municipalities are actually paying the paper companies to haul it away. (See: Supply/Demand, Econ 101).  Since the companies are hauling more than they could ever use, they end up dumping the majority of it into landfills.

Then why do we even bother to separate our newspapers from the rest of the garbage? Cause it makes us feel better  Guilt relief has been a popular product since the dawn of civilization.  Most religions have prospered by selling guilt relief to the masses.  “Be a Catholic!  Now you can relieve all your guilt just by saying a couple of Hail Marys!”.  Israeli-Americans have an annual atonement.  Scientologists make you confess, then use your guilt to keep you in line.

Ben and Jerry’s Ice cream is the biggest vendor of guilt relief in the modern world.  Health consciousness has forbidden the kind of fat laden, cholesterol rich delight that lives in those recycled paper tubs.  But who can resist?  Instead of relieving your guilt by promising 100% of your daily vitamin requirements, Ben & Jerry offer something a little more substantial,  Social Nutrition.  Sure your clogging your arteries and gaining weight, but never mind,  We’ll help save the earth with every mouthful.  Sure that was a mouthful of rich Swiss Chocolate, but it came from a chocolate company that never starved infants.  Yes our cream is 100% milkfat, but that milkfat came from family farmers, and was blended with 100% pure cane sugar in a plant where everybody makes almost the same wage.  Yum, was that a saturated fat filled nut I just sank my tooth into?  Yes but don’t worry, It was a brazil nut from the South American rain forest, every one you eat saves a little bit of forest..

The push for the electric car is another good example.  There are those clamoring for the development of electric vehicles because they are “non polluting” and “zero emission.”  They are also expensive, slow, unable to go more than sixty miles before a recharge, and have no heat or air conditioning.  But what does that matter as long as it helps the environment.  But does it really?  The electricity has to come from somewhere.  And in this country, the majority of electricity is created from the burning of fossil fuels, the same principle that propels automobiles.  The only difference is that the fuels are burned in a power plant outside of town, where the electric car owner won’t have to look at it.  Why can’t people get used to the idea that there is no natural way to propel yourself through the countryside at 70 miles per hour.  If pollution bothers you, don’t drive.

In this country we have too many guilt mongers.  People who are enjoying the party, but feel like the invitation was misaddressed.  Residents of the United States live better than most of the worlds population.  Financial equality is almost a mantra for these people.  The guilt mongers can’t come to terms with the fact that they are more equal than their foreign comrades.  Which in and of itself is no problem.  If they want to flagellate themselves for having CD players and Central Air, that’s fine.  Unfortunately these people have to haul their guilt into the public arena.  Its not going to save the world if just I separate my garbage, you have to do it too. (You mean you don’t re-CYCLE?) and if you don’t want to, we’ll pass a law to make you do it.

Hence on December Fourth Chicago embarked on the greatest feel-good program of the year, the Blue Bag Recycling Program!

Now the obvious solution to the problem as I see it would be to just designate separate bins in the alleyway.  The freelancers could then rummage through the bins and take whatever they think they could sell.  The remainder could then be picked up as trash.  Unfortunately, this would not qualify as a Recycling Program to the federal government.  (whose pressure has mandated most of the programs around the nation)  Most cities have purchased trucks and hired new employees to pick up the recyclables.  That would not go in a union town like Chicago.  I believe that we are the only city outside of the third world that still uses three man trucks.

For those of you unfamiliar with the science of garbage collection, let me give you a brief history.  In the days before polypropylene and her sisters, America’s garbage was very differently packaged.  Hefty was still only an adjective, and Rubber Maid was an inflatable novelty with a white hat and feather duster.  Garbage was put into metal cans.  Big heavy metal cans.  In order to get the refuse to the incinerator (we didn’t have landfills then)  it had to be dumped into a truck by a big smelly brute; usually an ex-High School Football Star.  These filthy men would walk behind the truck hauling up cans and talking about the year the Elmhurst Eagles almost went to the state finals, while the trashman with the most seniority would slowly drive the truck down the alleyway.

As petro-chemistry lightened garbage through space age packaging,  most municipalities switched to One Man Packers.  These vehicles had an auxiliary right hand drive and a side mounted dump.  One person could now zip through the suburb driving and tossing the putrid parcels into the truck.  ( some of my younger readers may not even remember the rear loaders)  Chicago unions were furious.  “How dare you make one man do the work of three?” they whined.  What industry calls progress, unions call an evil plot to eliminate the middle class.  If Unions ran the earth, phone messages would still be transferred from town to town by drums so that union communication workers would not have to be laid off.

In deference to the machine, no Chicago mayor has ever had the nerve to buy One-Man trucks in the 25 years of their existence.  In fact, the union contracts stipulate that all garbage trucks must be staffed by three employees, even though cans are now lifted hydraulically while the garbage men watch.  One can imagine the staggering cost of hiring an entire recycling fleet.  Hence, Mayor Daley hired some crony to develop the Blue Bag program (a name that would give Bevis and Butt-head a chuckle or two).

Instead of having to hire more collectors and trucks, you the consumer just buy yourself some blue bags, fill them with all your recyclables and guilt, and throw it away with the rest of the trash.  Don’t worry, you did your part.  Whatever happens from here on out is none of your concern.  They will then be thrown into the truck and mashed with the rest of the garbage.  The truck will then stop at a transfer station, dump its load, and a cheerful city employee will pull any blue bags fortunate enough to survive the trip out of the pile before sending the rest of the load on its way.  The City will then be able to sell these recovered riches to the highest bidder.

The cornerstone of the recycling plan is the four trash-sorting sites, which are located throughout the city and cost $15 million each. The city is paying Waste Management $350 million over the next seven years to operate the facilities, and has spent $3.5 million to publicize the Blue-Bag Program.  No word yet as to how much Waste Management is contributing to re-election campaigns.  Publicity includes a new radio jingle (Its in the BAG!) and refrigerator magnets for everybody!  Sure, $413 million might seem like a lot of money for a bankrupt, crime ridden, overtaxed city like Chicago to spend, but the money we’ll make from selling all this valuable recyclable material will more than pay for the implementation of the program.  If you believe any of that, I’ll bet you also believe that Kennedy really carried Chicago in the 1960 election.

I await the day that the department of blue bags realizes that the program is losing money and blames the problem on not enough people recycling.  It will then become mandatory, and the city will have to hire a force of Garbage Police to root through your can and fine you for non compliance.  “Vee haf fount a groshury receipt for a twelve packet oof Bier in zee trash und zere are no aluminums.  Vot haf you don vit der canse?”

“Somebody must have stolen them!”

“A likely story.  Mind if I search your apartment?  Und vhy are vee nervous?  Disposable diapers un der kinder perhaps?  Parasite Slime!  No vunder Chicago crumbles. It is der fault of undisiplined disposers like you!  12 months in a sorting camp should change your attitude!”

Mobs of militant, unwashed, underfed, environmentalists will march through the streets chanting;

“Death to those who refuse
to Recycle,
Reduce,
and Re-use!”

As I was mulling over the ironies of the system, I looked down at the alley and was relieved to know that Mr. Recycling Man had finally gone high tech.  He no longer had a shopping cart.  He skipped down the cobblestones towards the scrap metal dealer with three shiny new Blue Bags slung over his shoulder.  Maybe recycling does work for everybody.

BACK ON THE ROAD

I was in New York Last November working a string of community college dates.  Some of these can be a lot of fun, but on the other hand, they can also be a drag.  Community Colleges have no one around at night, so they run their programming during the afternoon.  In the lunchroom.  Even if the kids don’t know about or want to hear a show.  One gig gave me no more introduction than handing me the microphone and instructing me to walk across the cafeteria, plug it in front of the vending machines, and start my show.  All this, while a few dozen apathetic kids sat around eating mashed potatoes and playing cards.

After the show, there’s absolutely nothing to do.  When I work a club, there’s usually a comic or two to hang with all week, and maybe even a friendly staff.  And there’s probably a bar there to lean on and meet a few audience members.  When you’re done with a cafeteria gig, you’re done.  Here’s your check, Go back to the hotel room, and sit.  You can pace the length of the room if you like.  Watch Ace Ventura on cable.   Stare at the mirror and desperately try to hold onto your sanity.  Maybe I’ll slink down to the lounge for a little liquid recreation.

One Monday night I found myself in the hotel lounge watching Monday Night Football.  If you know me very well, you know that there are few things I care less about than Football.  Okay, Hockey and Basketball maybe.  I used to enjoy Baseball a little before the strike, and if it’s not over soon, I’ll probably never regain my interest in it.  Sports to me is a silly notion.  We give athletes all the wealth and respect due warriors of ancient tribes for doing nothing more than acting like children (albeit monstrous steroidal children).  But that is fodder for an entirely new column.

I took a seat on the bar facing away from the big screen.  I stared down at the ice cubes in my drink.  Its okay.  You’ll be home in a week.  I looked up as the patrons cheered.  I think their team must have scored.  For a split second, I thought they were laughing at me.

Across the bar was a familiar face.  I couldn’t remember where I’d met him.  He caught my eye, and smiled, and got up to walk around the bar.  God, I hope he’s not going to hit on me.  He pulled out the stool next to me.  “How you been”  he asked.

“Fine”

Okay great, I know him from somewhere.  Now I was forced to flip through the mental rolodex and hope I could come up with a name.  If I can just keep him talking long enough, I can probably latch onto one.  He sat down on the stool.  “Arrogant Nazi Thug, huh?”,.  He could see the puzzlement on my face.  “You called me an Arrogant Nazi Thug in your last newsletter”

I suddenly recognized him as the government agent from Oklahoma City (see: WAR STORIES, last issue).  “Yeah, so?”

“Well you didn’t actually call me that to my face when we met, but you told all your readers that you did.”

“Poetic License”

“More like fiction”

“Maybe”

“Is the whole newsletter fiction?”

“Some of it.  Some satire, some truth.  You’ve read my newsletter?”

“We all have.  I love ‘Hey Slagle’”

“Who’s we?”

“The guys at the office”

“DEA?”

“No, that was just your assumption.  CIA actually.”

“What brings you to New York”

“Same thing that brought me to Oklahoma City.  On a case.”

He smiled smugly, and ordered a round for the two of us. “Pretty rough gig you had today.”

I was shocked.  Here was this spook I had met last fall, suddenly acting like a fan.  Not only did he confirm my suspicion that the government has been reading the newsletter, but he must have been at the show this afternoon.  I asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“Let’s just say, I’m a little like your guardian angel”

I felt like I had just been pulled over for a speeding ticket.  My heart beat so fast that I could hear it.  “How long have you been following me?”

“A little while.  I broke cover in Oklahoma City because central office had finally decided that you were ‘minimal threat’.  There was no need to hide anymore.  Still they thought it best I follow you around on your college tour.  We don’t want another Kent State.  Some of my coworkers are concerned that you could spark another revolution.”

“Then why don’t you just have me whacked?”

“Too messy.  We try to avoid those jobs.   I know a paranoid like yourself might suspect we’re constantly doing that stuff, but we don’t have to.  There are so many things to lock people up for life anymore, we rarely use the wet boys.  If we decided you were too dangerous, we could just plant a little dope on you, audit your last 10 tax returns or have the EPA inspect your car.  Certainly we could find some reason to put you away.  Our last estimate is that 70% of all citizens have made some form of prisonable error on their income tax forms within the past seven years.”

I started slowly, “You’re going to arrest me...”

“Naw, we try to keep the prisons a little vacant.  Never know what’s going to happen, and we might need the space.  Besides, you crack me up.”

“You like my act?”

“No, I like your sincerity.  You really believe that you can make a difference.  You ever fake throwing a stick for a puppy just to watch him run out into the yard?  That’s the same thrill I get watching you do a show.  Meanwhile, half the audience doesn’t get your humor, twenty five percent get it but don’t like it.  You crack me up.”

“What about the other twenty five percent?”

“They think your nuts.  We did some research.  Nobody takes you seriously.”

“You should watch what you’re saying, I might print all of this in the upcoming newsletter.”

“And you really think anybody will believe it?  That you’re being followed by a CIA agent to make sure you don’t incite a revolution?  You might as well print that you have space aliens living in your brain.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“To keep Americans safe.  Every good rancher has a cattle prod.  And every herd has a troublemaker just waiting to start a stampede”

“You think we’re a herd of cattle?”

“I think it’s safer than a true democracy.  The majority of America is fast asleep.  If it doesn’t concern Sports or Hollywood, they’ve never heard about it.  Look at the OJ verdict.  And these people still insist on voting.  We can’t run a country with that kind of rampant ignorance.”

“Did you ever think you might have the guns pointed in the wrong direction”

Don’t get moral on me now.  If you were in a speeding car, and the driver suddenly lost consciousness, you’d be a fool to look for your driver’s license before grabbing the wheel.  Some times the lawful decision is not the most correct.  If we allowed this country to operate as a true democracy,  you’d be looking at President Michael Jordan, and Vice President Tim Allen.”

“I was suddenly reminded of that film where there was two classes of people: cannibals who lived in palaces, and the mindless masses that would march to the slaughterhouse when the dinner bells rang.  How did it ever get this far?  Have we become nothing more than livestock?  I gulped what was left of my drink.  “I think it’s time to go.  I don’t even know where I’m working tomorrow”

“You’re at Jefferson Community College in Watertown, NY.  Better get up early, it’s a bit of a drive.  I hope your going to do that Halloween/ tax thing, It cracks me up!”

“Thanks”

NEW SPECIES FOUND

Washington API  Scientists have confirmed that an previously undiscovered species of crab louse has been identified living in the groin of a Minnesota man.  His identity is presently being withheld to protect anonymity.  Right now entomologists are investigating all past contacts to locate the original host.

The arthropod looks like an ordinary crab louse, only it is almost twice as large, and has big red pincers on the front of his head.  It feeds by burrowing it’s needle like legs into the skin, and sinking its pincers under a hair follicle.  It breeds by laying its eggs under the skin of the host.

Immediately after identifying the insect, as rare and possibly endangered, the United States Fish and Wildlife Division declared the man’s midsection as a protected habitat.  He will not be able to eradicate the infestation by any unnatural means.  That would preclude insecticides, soap or shaving.  Scratching at this point is tightly controlled, and he is allowed two tightly monitored swipes every twenty four hours.  the rest of the day he must be kept in restraints as the itching seems to become unbearable.

Environmentalists have scoffed at the notion of getting the insects to breed in the laboratory to allow the man some relief.  “Although captive breeding programs have been somewhat successful in saving endangered species, we can’t rely on them entirely,” said Environmental Secretary Carnie Wilson-Simmons.  “Unless we defend habitats from the encroachment of man, all animals will end up in zoos and circuses.”

The man’s attorney has threatened a fight all the way up to the Supreme Court if necessary, but recent court decisions have allowed strict government regulation of private property in enforcing endangered species protections.  A court injunction will prevent any excessive scratching until the courts can decide whether pubic areas are private or privates are public areas.

Presently the Department of Environment is considering a reintroduction program to increase the genetic diversity of the species.  However, that would require the classification of some uninfested pubic regions as potential habitat, and that would raise a few sticky legal issues.  No word yet has been given on how the selection of hosts would take place.  “Right now we hope people would volunteer, although the idea of lying in restraints while being eaten alive by bugs is a little unattractive to even the most strident PETA member.  My aides are working on a draft in case nobody steps forward,” Secretary Wilson-Simmons claimed before stepping on a plane headed to Los Angeles for a reunion with( cont. on A26)

HEY SLAGLE

A regular feature of this newsletter where I will actually answer your questions.   E-Mail RevHdqrtrs@AOL.com.  For a confidential reply, hire a therapist and keep it to yourself.  This is a comedy rag dammit, and if you need  me to straighten out your life, you're already further gone than you suspect.

Hey Slagle,

I am a strong intelligent woman cursed by a world where we are despised by the men in power.  I wanted to be the most powerful person in the world, but the misogynist patriarch refused to let me rise above the glass ceiling.  So I married a spineless little redneck.  Not much in the brain department, but for some reason had an infectious charisma.  He would let me run things as long as I let him keep the astro-turf in the back of the truck.  He held the position, and I got the power.  He even would let me sleep with the little red button.  Little did I think that my past was about to catch up with me.

Sometime during the eighties, I began to realize that the being the champion of the underclass was not satisfying enough.  All around me, people were making money.  People who never even finished college were sporting nicer Rolexes than I.  I could resist no longer.  I had to have mine.  By pulling a few political favors, I was able to amass quite a fortune.  I couldn’t get enough.  I was literally robbing banks, armed with nothing more than law books.  But it was not enough.  I wanted the big time.  I went national.

Then one day the lid blew off.  I even had to have one of my dearest friends whacked to keep his mouth shut.  Now the whole house of cards is about to collapse.  I like women, but I don’t want to live with them for the next 50 years.  Help!

HRC
 

Dear HRC,

Why not let bubba take the rap.  You can testify that everything you did was under direct orders from the top.  Tell the press that no woman could ever dream of the power they accuse you of having.  For good measure, hold a press conference, and break into tears while you confess that he used to beat you.  You might still have to go away for a while, but turning evidence will get you a greatly reduced sentence.  The Republicans will thank you for guaranteeing them the White house in 96, and the Democrats will thank you for ridding them of their worst liability since George McGovern.  Good Luck!

Slagle
 

This month’s Government at work for you award goes to King County Washington.  According to National Public Radio the county has released a new list of endangered species that includes Bipedus Giganticus, none other than Sasquatch himself, AKA Bigfoot.  That’s right folks, not only can you be forced off your property when spotted owl or bald eagle makes a nest in your tree, you can now be evicted if a County Agent decides that your acreage would make a prime Bigfoot habitat.  The fact that nobody has ever verified the existence of the creature only proves how endangered the species is.  Once Unicorns, Fairies and Easter Bunnies are added to the list, we’ll all be moving.  Way to go King County!

EDITORIAL

The City of Atlantis and the Tower of Babel were both destroyed by a jealous god angry at man’s attempt to mimic his greatness.  I’m sure if that same god is still around, he must be furious with the United States Federal Government.

Recently,  Peggy Bargon of Monticello Illinois made the mistake of giving a present to our beloved First Lady, Hillary Rodham Clinton.  A less gracious woman would have probably sent a handwritten thank you note on personal stationary.  Instead, Hillary sent a group of armed Federal Agents to kick Peggy’s door down.

It seems that the Dream Catcher Mrs. Bargon had given to the Second in Command contained a few Eagle Feathers that she had found at the zoo.  This was enough to spend millions of taxpayer dollars having a surveillance team follow her.  Her line was tapped, and a sting operation was set up. Undercover agents approached her at a mall craft show.  A wired agent bought some owl, robin and blue jay feathers she had pulled out of road kill.  Now they had a case.  They then sent a dozen black masked G-Men to go get the feather trafficker

Twelve thousand dollars later, and after spending several months in the Federal Prison and Court system, Peggy Bargon is beaten and humbled.  She will not criticize her beloved government, but instead warns people of the dangers of picking up feathers.  She admits in public that yes, indeed she was very wrong, and is very very sorry.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they made her tape a couple of public service ads.  “Hi, I’m Peggy Bargon here to tell you to just Say No to Feathers”

Now feathers join the ranks of god created items which our government has decided should not exist.  Cannabis Sativa, Psilocybin Mushrooms, Peyote Cactus and Opium Poppies are all illegal to possess; apparent mistakes of a negligent god.  Meanwhile our wise leaders are trying to cleanse the earth of these errors through the miracle of modern legislation.

The Tower of Babel was scattered to the ground and the survivors were forbidden to ever communicate with each other.  The City of Atlantis sunk to the floor of the ocean.  I wonder what tragic demise he has planned as reward for our indignity.

TELEVISION SPECIAL

I will be taping my second video, “A NATION OF CRIMINALS” at Zanies, Chicago on the evening of March 31st, 1996.  If you weren’t part of the taping of “A WAKE”  this is your opportunity to be a part of video history.  I guarantee there will be a few surprises.  Call Zanies at 312-337-4027 to make your reservations early as space will be severely limited. Or contact Revolution Headquarters for more details.
 

QUOTH

If you love wealth better than Liberty, the tranquillity of servitude better than the animated contest of freedom, go home from us in peace.  We ask not your counsel or arms; crouch down and lick the hand which feeds you; may your chains set lightly upon you and may posterity forget forever that you were our countrymen.

-Samuel Adams