The R.A.G. Files

Lost Bird takes us back to when things were simpler and we never had to pay bills and a washed up movie actors were president, you never had to wear socks, mullets rocked, and you never left home without folding your pantlegs...

I remember when...
-your first car could be bought with $50. It was a 1970 Gran Torino, brown and rusty. No exhaust, just straight out of the manifold.
-gas prices skyrocketed to .78 cents a gallon and I was delivering pizza bitching and moaning because that kind of price hike would use up my tip money.
-cell phones came with a brief case-sized battery and the receiver was the size of your head and only rich people had 'em.
-The quarter arcades. No blood no guts, just a yellow guy who ran the gauntlet to eat ghosts.
-MTV had music videos.
-getting an autograph from a professional athlete was free.
-Cassette tapes were the wave of the future.
-TV was free.
-Being called on to turn the filmstrip projector in class was "cool" (actually I don't remember that, it just makes me feel better).

Join us again when Lost Bird clears out more cobwebs in his memory warehouse and shares another exciting colomn in "I Remember When..."

Ohmaho. You've heard the Urban Legend. A guy walks into a bar/casino, gets loaded, goes back to hotel, gets ethered, wakes up, no kidney? Well, this reporter has lost his liver.
I have been afflicted with the painful back, right near the liver for awhile. Also, bloody urine, and the like. For awhile, I figured it was my wrestling matches with Captain Morgan, or the few boughts I lost with Jack and Jose. But looking at my back in the mirror, I noticed a small scar that I never noticed before.
After some x-rays and MRI's the doctors have concluded that my liver was missing. I thought to myself, "Self," I says, "Do you really think our little liver would just amscray on us just because we abuse it on a dialy basis?"
That was my conclusion until I find out that some big wig from Shrill Oil needed a liver and paid a little denero to be moved up on the liver transplant list from 150 to 1!
So I am on a quest to rescue my poor liver that's probably scared and homesick in some Suadi's carcass. I will remove it without anesthesia and without malice. So if you've seen my liver, it's a little beat up, black in color (to accessorize with my lungs) and he answers to the name of "Rummy" (favorite card game/really).

Faremount. The Faremount chapter of the Minnesota Valley Action Council found that an elderly woman was making 2.3 million dollars on social security.
One Gladness Richter, retired for 20 years, living on social security had applied for a grant from the Minnesota Valley Action Council to fix her roof. The roof has been leaking for the last 2 years into her living room, her bedroom and her eldest daughter's bedroom from damaged roof and old shingles.
After having her jump through the typical hoops and running her through the red tape gauntlet, their findings are that Gladness, makes way too much money to receive a grant. Too much money. Yep, an elderly woman of 84, receiving only social security and no other financial help makes too much money. An elderly woman who still helps support for her eldest duaghter, and struggles to get groceries makes too much money to get a grant. A grant designed to help people just like this.
It's good to see our tax money being protected from vicious system-robbing scandals like this. My God!

Faremount. After three years of playing with the highly popular band "Down Tyme", Lost Bird hangs up his guitar and microphone and gives up his dreams of becoming the next Chris Isaak.
"I don't know what the rest of the band is going to do," Lost Bird states. "But I just can't do this anymore. It's too much driving and too much stress to drive up from Nebraska and try to make it to these gigs all the time."
Finishing his last gig in Jewisville last weekend, Lost Bird ended up in another bar fight with resident barfly, known only as "Charley". Charley began an arguement with a friend about not showing up on time for pull-tabs and then it got heated. The little bartender and another short stout woman (as is the pattern for women of Jewisville), tried to haul Charley out of the bar before it got too heated. Lost Bird switched into Corrections Officer mode and tried to lend a hand. Putting Charley in an arm bar and escorting him to the door, the man wiggled out and popped Lost Bird in the kisser. Lost Bird having the fuse of Joe Pesci returned the gesture. One of the little fat women tried to step in the middle and Charley grabbed her by the throat and said he was going to kill her. The woman, by chance, happens to be his neice. Lost Bird decided to pop him again for good measure and knocked his glasses off. It was like a scene from LA Confidential with Russel Crowe. Charley went after Lost Bird again and then LB's cop buddy, Kevin Washer stepped in and booted hi ass out the door.
Yeah, I don't know what I'm thinking walking away from that.
Tonight is Lost Birds last gig with Down Tyme. At the Sir Loin House in Faremount. He will miss the band greatly, but is looking forward to time spent with Suzanne Spinner.
What will become of Down Tyme? Lost Bird states, "Y'know, karma hates me, so more than likely, after I leave, some hot shot resort owner will hire them to play in the carribean for a $1,000 a pop!"

Wasted All the Freakin' Time, Wi. Authorities say this is what happens when friends let friends act like idiots. On Monday Barry Spinner (known to his friends as "Spin") accepted the company of a young woman from the west coast who left treatment and needed a place to crash. Unfortunately, she also needed a place to burn...as in out...fast. "I'm an angel," the girl informed this writer. "They told me a poem about an angel, a little angel with a dirty face. Why would they say that to me if I'm not an angel? Why? I'm an angel, an angel. They told me that. They told me and its true. I'm an angel. They can't lie to me. I've been raped forty times, maybe forty million. Yeah, a million. I've been abused and beaten and tortured and lied to. How could that happen to an angel? Um...can I have a cigarette?"

Meanwhile, Little Bo displayed his talent for witty reparte. Little Bo, being a member of the Fond Du Lac Band of Ojibwe, invited this writer to attend a sweat ceremony with a medicine man. I asked Little Bo if that would be alright, since I'm a white dude and I don't have any Indian blood. "Thats fine," Little Bo responded without hesitation. "You'll have plenty of Indian blood in you after I bend you over and stick my prick in your ass! Daaaaaamn! Har, har, har!"

Across the table, Treatment Girl started yelling, "Rape! Rape Rape! I'm an angel! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Little Bo: "Shut up! You're ugly."

Treatment Girl: "You don't really believe me."

Little Bo: "I just think you're ugly, thats all. Daaaaaaamn."

"I'm the best fuckin' guitar player I know," chimes in Aaron. "The best! See that Fender there man. I dropped $1300 hunderd into that Fender. I sanded down the action and all the frets. Now its better than a Les Paul!"

"Arron, come on. These guys need a break," Old Spin interjects weakly.

"Yeah, " Arron continues, "that little bitch is so sweet now, I can do anything with it. Here, go take a picture! I'll sign it for when I get famous. Then you can cash in on it!"

Treatment Girl gets up and starts dancing and singing. "I was abused! I'm an angel!"

Little Bo: "Who fuck-in cares! Daaaaaaaaaamn woman! You look like my butt hole."

"You need to stop cryin' in yer coffee and just shut up and suck it up," advises Aaron. "We've all been through the same shit and we're all connected. This whole wide world man, this whole world. Its all full of shit and we're all full of shit and none of it matters so just stop whining--"

Spin has enough. "Alright you guys! Would you just stop. You're just making it worse." Treatment Girl looks close to tears.

"What the hell is wrong with you Spin? Can't you see we're helping her. Don't you want us to try to help her. Jesus Christ! She needs advice."

Little Bo: "I've seen whole vaginas that look better'n her, man! Har, har, har! Har, har, har! Daaaaamn."

Barry Spinner's hands are trembling as he lights a cigar. "Alright but not from you okay. Come on man, just settle down...please? My daughter is here. Come on. This isn't cool."

As soon as Spin has his back turned, Aaron starts in. "God he's such a prick. I don't even know why I bother coming over here! I've got a big house and a wife who loves me. Why does he have to be such a prick?"

This writer informs him: "I think he's under a lot of stress right now."

"Yeah but that ain't no excuse. I got a house to go to, a real house. I ain't put up with this kinda crap fer a long time. You know something man? Your girlfriend is fuckin' hot dude! You don't know how lucky you are. You're lucky I'm married, otherwise...who knows you know? Naw, I'm just kidding," he mutters through half a set of discolored teeth, "I ain't gonna put any moves on her. You ain't gotta worry! I could though... But I won't. God I can't believe someone as ugly as Spin could make someone as pretty as her. God Spin's a prick... Hey Spin? Can I have another beer?"

Treatment Girl suddenly becomes more active. "I have to go to Minneapolis. You guys don't know what its like down there. They have black men with large penises. They're all waiting to rape me."

"Why do you want to go to Minneapolis then?" asks Spin

"Becaaaaaaause, I just dooooooooooo! Come on! Come onnnnnnnnnn! I need to go there."

"No, its a bad place for you. Its too dark now anyway and you don't have anywhere to go when you get there."

"Noooooo, I wanna go!"

"Fuuuuuuuuck you!" says Little Bo.

"No, too dark. Too dark," repeats Spin.

"Black men! I need my black men!"

"No, can't do it."

"But..."

"Can't do it. Too dark out. Nope."

"I want to..."

"Yup, can't do it. Can't do it. Just, lets just drop it now okay?"

"I'm an angel you know."

"Yah. Can't do it."

Nice asks little Bo if she could go to the sweat ceremony too. "Hell yeah! Daaaamn."

"But I thought women weren't allowed in those things," Nice says.

"Only when you're having your moon. Thats your period, you know the time of month where--"

"--Okay Little Bo," says Spin. "I think we all know what 'moon' means."

"Yeah, if having your moon you can't do it though," says Little Bo.

"Okay thats twice," mumbles Spin.

"See its that..uh...'moon power' thing that--"

"Three," mutters Spin.

"--makes a lady dangerous. But if you ain't in your moon, then--"

"Four."

"--its all good. See, its only when your moon cycle...yer...daaaaamn...monthly period thing..."

"Five. Okay Bo, I think we can move on now."

"Hey Spin, I's jest tellin' her 'bout Indi'n culture man."

"Yeah, my uh...daughter doesn't need to hear that over and over again."

"Its just Indi'n..."

"Its okay, they just don't need to hear that stuff right now. Maybe later Bo. Maybe later."

"What you got against my culture Spin?"

"Yeah, later Bo. Later. Not right now. Later. My daughter... Geeez, I can't even fuckin' think. These people are driving me crazy."

"Forty five million billion times," declares Treatment Girl. "Guess what that is?"

After five hours of hanging out, everyone knows the answer. "Rape!"

In twenty minutes another redneck I never met before will join the party. He will tell me all there is to know about souped up go kart engines, and how snomobile engines makes go karts so much more fun when you're wasted. He will tell me how he drives that fucker fast as it kin go down dirt roads and how she almost flipped. Meanwhile, Barry Spinner will have almost flipped, worrying about what to do with Treatment Girl, who he suddenly thinks is his responsibility. Nice and I try to convince he to ditch her at the nearest psych ward with a story about how she is ready to harm herself and or others, which is almost true. But that won't happen. Right now I still have more listening to do. There is several hours left to go of idle bragging about abilities that don't exist, half-assed guitar demonstrations where even power chords are fumbled, begging for bear and food, and rambling ruminations that do not lead to actions taken. No, there is plenty more to learn about go karts. The night is still young.

Faremount. Dr. Haychew D.D.S. who operates his dental office out of the Mustard Health System Clinic in Faremount is world reknown for his excellent dental care, just don't miss an appointment.
One Suzanne Spinner, a single mom who seems to like having doors slammed in her face, missed a dentist appointment as she had just started a job and couldn't take off for her appointment. When she went to reschedule the Hygenist, nurse Frau Blukker, simply stated: "No appointment for you!!"
Taken aback, she asked why.
"Ve ave und polizee!" stated Blukker,"unt you vill follow it! You must give us 24 hours notice or you vill be blacklisted unt von't be allowed here again!"
"But I just started a job..."pleaded Suzanne, "...where are my kids going to go to the dentist at? Nobody takes U-care insurance?"
"Zat is not our problem! Ve ave a polizee, unt you must follow it! Now go!"
"But..."
"You must never return evah! Now go! No appointment for you!"

Nebraska/Minnesota. To all of you gas station owners who claimed that you only make a few cents per gallon on your gas you sold. And blamed the Gulf War, 9-11, Hurricane Katrina, and the breeze to having to raise your prices, your fuckin' busted!!
In Minnesota, Faremount in particular, gas went up to $3.06 per gallon. In Pankato it was $2.79. Then Minnesota state attourney general investigated the price hike and said that the gas prices are gouging the Minnesota consumers and the difference in prices around the state are unfounded and that they had better drop the prices or there would be hell to pay.
Similarly, in Omaha, Nebraska. Gas went up to $3.69 per gallon. Then, the senator of Nebraska said that he was going to investigate the reason for the gas hike and lo and behold, before the investigation started, gas is back down to $2.79.
No, this wasn't because a group of idiots decided to boycott the gas stations, it wasn't a letter to congress, it was the fact that gas station owners are afraid that the American public is going to start thumpin' some ass if something didn't change. I've personally worked at a gas station, I've been there when the tanker trucks fill up the tanks, I've seen the invoices. Back then, gas was hiked up to $1.75 from .98. When I saw the invoice, the station paid .48 cents per gallon.

Chaos erupted in Quadramont this afternoon when four skanks entered the Bimbo Bread Store. The propriator told the skanks that only bimbos were allowed in the store and skanks were not welcome. "Well a bimbo is a skank!" one of the skanks said. The propriator noted however, that while a bimbo may be a skank, a skank cannot be a bimbo. "Look," said a skank in the store who overheard the discussion. "We're all sluts here. Can't we just get along?"

If any readers think discussions of bimbos, skanks and sluts is sexist, the reader is urged to refer to the examples of Tommy Lee, Collin Farell, the husband of Britney Spears, Dennis Rodman, Axle Rose and Easy E for proof that skanks comes in all shapes, sizes, genders, colors and occupations.

His Holiness will be in Rearmount on Monday, Sept. 12 to discuss the value of tolerance. Not to be confused with His Holiness the Dalai Lhama, His Holiness the Dalai Lou-Ma rides motorcycles and has a worldly craving for good hot food and lots of it please! The Passion of the Lou resides in alimbing and felling trees with axes. Though he reprsents all Lous in the world, he was taught theology in the 7th Order of the Compassionate Stomach.

New Orleans. Crime has followed one of the worst hurricane disasters in American history. There is raping, looting and murder happening on the streets of New Orleans as you read this. As promised federal aid is still being awaited on by suffering survivors of the hurricane.
So where are you? Where is the promised National Guard? Where are the buses promised to take the starving survivors? As the tensions rise in New Orleans, news people have moved as for fear of being attacked by the growing mob of angry survivors.
Why is it, whenever another country has problems, our government seems to be right there right now? But this is right here. Could it be that the majority of the people stranded in New Orleans are democratic black voters?
I was thinking that maybe, the Federal government isn't responding because New Orleans isn't an oil-bearing area, but then, Gee Dubya said that gas is rising because of the Hurricane. So what's up?
And what about all the rich hollywood types? You know, the ones living in 12 bedroom mansions by themselves? Why aren't they stepping up? The majority of donations come from people like you and me, the people that can't afford to donate but beleive in karma and the "Golden Rule". My mother, who takes in foster kids since 1979, and barely makes enough to feed all the kids taken in, wants to drive down there with her mini van and pick up as many as she can and find them homes, emphysema and all!
Just another way to prove that you cannot depend on our federal government to come through for us in a pinch. Just give them your votes, and your taxes, and have a nice day!