Day: January 10, 2026

“You are the monkey children”, I uttered, muttered, under my breath, but no one heard behind the DIN of 1970’s ARENA ROCK on REPEAT.

The bar matron stopped for a moment to check on WHAT I was saying, then walked way to pour a glass of wine. But I continued there, at the bar … on the stool … like a fool.

“You spin tales of TRUCKER PARADISE, just down the road, where they’re picking oranges.”

“Your body is filled with water-lice and your mind festers from mold and separation anxiety.”

“You can’t stop loving how badly your heart is broken; you eat poop.”

“There were times when you strode the CASCADE MOUNTAINS, hunted by buffalo-yote and cougar-hawk. The trout streams flowed with lamprey disease, as harbinger seals migrated upstream to fire their cream torpedoes into the lost lover’s cavern. After several months, your disease spread to friends and neighbors, making a noise or scream that was heard in far off lands, beyond the sands of VORDROSS.”

“Tempted by the WITCH CAULDRON, you lost your faith and told management to go fuck itself, thoroughly. YOOB-SLAVES no longer tend to your monster garden, and your MOM has abandoned you and dad to the urchin merchants.”

“Now you find yourself immersed in trauma-foreclosure, your heart muscle strained from DEEP CHASM MASSAGE and your blood muscle torn by dirty lost diaphragms and old forgotten IUDs.”

“Your TRAUMA gave birth to the WHORE QUEEN, the machine bent your dad and stole his balls and left the halls empty. They ABANDONED BABIES as they lunged down the storm drains, because the glowing rectangle said “missiles inbound, kiss your ass goodbye”. None were held accountable, every child returned to the checkout line.”

Nothing made me happier than sitting here at CHUCK’S LIQUOR SHACK where the old drunks and COAST GUARD hangout, flirt, all looking for FAST STYLE CRAB FREE hookups. So YOU can sit there, but I see you and the freaks and the other jaundiced and vitamin D deprived souls walking by. Depraved and confused was the state of things.

Pleasantly, I gave up my dinner party reward; the singing of songs, the giving of speeches, the collecting of tithes and guilt payments. The HARBOR MASTER, his name is Joe, he smiled and pushed a soiled napkin my way, something brownish was stuck to it like the leavings of poorly wiped buttholes. He was sitting next to me at the bar, staring into his drink as I stared into mine.

“You want ESCAPE, try that!”, as the shaky finger of old Joe pointed at the diseased napkin. He pointed at a symbol, kind of like a crossbow or bird.

“That’s the sign of the SS JOURNEYMAN … she was lost in the BERING STRAITS several years ago”, old Joe finished and then took a drink from his glass, a glass filed with some nasty cigarette flavored BEER CLASSIC.

I’d heard the story before …

How VERN BURTON SR was stationed as OSS during WW2 at Port Angeles, WA. How VERN had cover as a “youth instructor”, when all the while he was recruiting for OSS, and then later for the CIA when the war ended. He used his cover as the famous BADMINTON expert and TOURED the WORLD investigating, operating, spreading guerrilla bandit nonsense in FAR EAST ASIA.

They say, some time around 1973, during that time of WATERGATE MADNESS, Vern was on a “badminton” trip to Alaska. What he was really doing was looking into the sinking of SSN 3435, “The Weasel”. The “Weasel” was monitoring Soviet submarines that were supposedly setting devices, they can trigger, to cut the pacific cables between Alaska and Japan. It sounded crazy when people told the story, but it gets worse; while monitoring a Soviet sub, the Weasel and the Soviet sub collided, underwater, both subs were lost. There were no Soviet survivors.

Supposedly, there was a survivor of this event from the Weasel and he was Skip Carlson.

Skip Carlson ate MONKEY CAKE, and baked his way to FRESNO when he was 22. He used to race fast cars and chase women, he’d hang out at the SURF SHACK on Friday NIGHTS and fling potatoes and pick his nose.

Skip’s uncle, David Carlson, sold corn cakes down by the wharf. He looked after the fallen goobers and Canadians. There were several cats surrounding him at any given time, each had a secret name.

This is you.

Now go make soup.