Monday, January 5, 2015

Toodle oo, Flying Bird...


The new year traditionally marks a time for new beginnings.

New promises await on the horizon...new hopes and dreams abound in our hearts... It is a time for reflection...for hope...for promise...for family and friends to come together...for drinking too many hot-buttered rums and telling your cousin to go fuck himself and then falling down the front porch steps and lacerating your left pinky finger and then waking up in the same shirt, covered in dried vomit and Ritz cracker crumbs and three missed calls and a voicemail on your cell phone from your aunt asking if you made it home ok…

Unfortunately, the promise that was 2015 has died as quickly as a baby seal left alone on Alki beach...

Ladies and gentlemen...The Kalakala (Or "Flying Bird" in Chinook) is in trouble. She's set to be torn apart...rivet by rivet...stripped down to her bare bones...plundered, raped and pillaged...all so you and your white collar, capitalist 1% friends can have a few more 12 piece toasters in your McMansions and a fancy new metal mini replica Bertha in your stocking every single Christmas. 

Have you no soul, Washington? What the fuck is wrong with you?

More importantly…Where the fuck will Harry Wappler’s giant-headed ghost live once Flying Bird is scrapped? Who's going to take him in?



 - Clambaker

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