RushGoober!

[Lorraine]

I prefer Grinder Chicks really!

 

See HPL. Maybe he can hook you up with one of the Borgia women.

[Tombstone Mountain]

Nope - nobody was wondering. Those who care to know, already were well aware

And yet, the seed of knowledge must be planted

 

It already has been planted, in the RS thread. You Grinder dudes have shamelessly commandeered this thread. Do we need two of these?

Grinder Dudes

[HomesickAlien]

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, a cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused, the crowd mere putty in his hands. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

[HomesickAlien]

A Yukon Blade Grinder Exclusive

The Scorned Women Edition

Part II

 

 

Before leaving for the Vatican, The Yukon Blade Grinder issued the first portion of this interview.

 

Where we left off...

 

YBG: Your story is indeed fascinating Robin. Making such sacrifice to give your best, making sure the band would never regret choosing you as a “Seven Cities of Gold” dancer shows great care and personal commitment. Tell me…the two months in the Yukon, surviving on the land, rehearsing as a group on the frozen tundra, what was that like?

RR: For the Canadian women it was a chance to revisit our younger years. You see, all female natives of the Great White North have a rite of passage that we go through. Learning how to survive in the cold is a must for people who live in Canada. So at a certain age, every female goes to the Yukon to learn how to be an “Ice Chucker”.

 

Very primeval stuff we’re talking about. Living in the elements is a challenge. Let me give you an example. Learning how to keep our legs and armpits smooth without a razor is one of the first things the “Bitches of the Snow” teach us. I mean, what if you’re isolated from civilization living in an igloo community, and don’t have access to such luxuries as a razor?

 

YBG: Wait, wait—“Bitches of the Snow”?

RR: Yeah, the instructors at the Yukon Institute of Kinetic Energy Survival.

YBG: Oh okay, just wanted to clarify…just for the sake of our readers, how do you manage to keep those areas smooth and attractive?

RR: With no modern equipment ya gotta go with what mother nature provides. That’s what they taught us. We use pine bark to keep them moisturized and hairless, just rub the bark on your skin. There are different techniques you can learn. The sap is so good for ya! And, as for our real sensitive lady parts, we just go au natural!

YBG: Hmmm. Why so?

RR: We may need it for desperate measures. It makes excellent tinder for starting fires.

YBG: Neat. How did the British and American members of the troupe handle that aspect of the training?

RR: Rough at first, but they figured it out. Now, speaking for Lyndsey and Babycat, they’re from Britain…and it was obvious they just didn’t have it in them at first. They might have been able to hang at Stonehenge for a couple of hours and sip some tea in the past, but this? Took some time, but they hung in there. Showed what troopers they are (gently tugging on their leashes)—I’m so proud of them!

 

YBG: That’s just mind blowing. What about food? Did you bring any with you on this outing?

RR: Oh, in the name of William Shatner, no! Y.I.K.E.S training prepares us for those times in the wild. We used modern hunting equipment, by that I mean bows and arrows. Using a firearm is considered the “easy” way out, and really isn’t that sporting. Snares and traps are of critical importance. There’s also a technique you can use on animals with a low IQ—the Death Stare. Another timeless Y.I.K.E.S secret. Say you come upon a moose or bear and they won’t back down, you can use that. It’s pretty effective.

YBG: Pardon me, but that sounds like poppycock. Can you show me what it looks like?

RR: Sorry, it could kill you, and as you can tell by my GPS tracking collar I’m already legally embarrassed. However I did almost use it on Alex at the Orbit Room the night of the Battle of the Bands. When he told me about the Todem natural male enhancement he’d been giving the dwarfs, that about did it.

YBG: No problem. Imagine the headlines if you did use it on him? So, what other techniques did you use?

RR: The Fox Plunger!

YBG: What’s that pray tell?

RR: Our noses are quite sensitive, as is our sense of hearing. Under the snow pack you can hear all kinds of critters crawling underneath if you pay close attention. All you do is isolate the sound and jump headfirst into the snow, just like the Yukon Snow Fox. It works well in a pinch.

 

YBG: Interesting. Now let’s go back to Neverland for a moment. What about the connection to Megadon? You know, the stone formation, the pagan symbol in the woods used for the initiation, why was Megadon mentioned?

RR: To show our unified frustration. It was a huge blow for everybody, especially the dancers to get canned after what we’ve been through.

YBG: Seems a bit hostile. A message to a fabled world. You know, to a place that doesn’t exist outside of a few Rush fans imaginations. “f**k Megadon”. Why not “You suck” or “Bugger off you bloody old trouts”? But Ok…whatever.

 

YBG: Next question. The leader—Rush Goober. What’s he like when he’s not incarcerated?

RR: Oh he’s just a lovable mass of contradictions I guess…like the rest of us.

YBG: Anything odd? Anything that just seemed a bit off? C’mon Robin, he gave you the nose of Michael Jackson—to eat! Something must’ve been pear shaped about this man, out of the ordinary.

RR: Well…he’s three feet tall. So he’s short. During rehearsals for The Wreckers we noticed something. By we, I mean the dancers. That song has a different requirement for us. That’s when we get to jam. But, we noticed a huge bulge in his pants as he was performing as the cabin boy. You know we just had to find out about it. Turns out to have been a can of peas. He literally carries a can of peas with him everywhere. When we asked him about it, he just kept muttering the word “Woyzeck” over and over again. I think it’s a Werner Herzog film, not sure. Tony, the pirate captain, made hay outta that all during rehearsals. Those guys have a long history you know?

 

YBG: Anyway, let’s talk TURDL. Tell me about them and their role in the grand scheme of the Clockwork Angels tour.

RR: Well TURDL is an acronym. Toronto Urban Resources and Developmental League. It’s Mayor Rob Ford’s inner-city rehabilitation program for children. They were dressed as veggies during the performance of The Garden. I guess it seemed a really a good idea at their marketing meeting, but real world application? Not so much. The corporate world must have their acronyms I suppose. Before they joined the production we were briefed about protocol in dealing with them. Anthem Entertainment came up with TURDL’s as a playful term of endearment. Take off the L and you would have a more cogent picture of what they really are.

YBG: Sounds like a workplace hazard if you ask me.

RR: Watch your wallets around those kids

 

In Closing…

 

 

Now loyal readers, we take a breather from a long day of hard news, and other worldly revelations. We are approaching the trial of the century. One thing for sure, we know won’t be easy to swallow, but we trudge onward. The Yukon Blade Grinder looks forward to sharing the last of this interview next time. We do indeed thank the Seven Cities of Gold dancers for their hospitality.

 

Glowing in my dreams like hallucinations,

Glitter in the sun like a revelation.

Distant as a comet or a constellation

[HomesickAlien]

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Black Friday Edition

 

 

11.27.13

Santa Barbara Courthouse

 

After the Thanksgiving holiday there’s much activity in the public square of Santa Barbara. As the wheels of justice turn, rumors circulating among the elite media have turned out to be true. While most people in America are out shopping till their hearts content, the Yukon Blade Grinder is hard at work swimming with the sharks of the media elite.

 

The story of the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” cult continues to asphyxiate mainstream North America like the wafting aroma of a fart, but no worries, the Yukon Blade Grinder has it in the bag. Nitty-gritty details have been leaked by several sources close to the action, as former cellmates have stepped forward eager to shovel more dirt on the grave of one Rush T. Goober. To the members of the British Repertoires Acclaimed Wee Legion, the “T” stands for “turncoat”, to Santa Barbara’s recent veterans of their highly esteemed penal system—it’s “Twinkles”—as in Robert Pattinson’s vampire role in the Twilight saga. Now the story creeps forward.

 

Yes, the Yukon Blade Grinder has all kinds of news to report. Santa Barbara Sheriff Ron Howard’s press conference offered a quite a resounding end to the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Though a once spiraling, out of control situation, the city has taken a problem by the horns and handed it off to another country, but more of that later.

 

It’s hard to predict an outcome with so many levels of legal complexity, but there are telltale signs. Superstar lawyer/prodigious novelist John Grisham issued a statement before today’s press conference confirming his business decision to abandon his client due to “improbable odds of victory”. The Yukon Blade Grinder knows why.

 

After 20 days of unpredictable events, there’s a modicum of closure, but it appears the scars inflicted upon the community will last for some time. Once seen as a potential revenue stream for cash strapped Santa Barbara, plans for making Neverland Ranch a state landmark have been put on hold since the rise of this grisly situation. However with today’s events, they are one step closer to realizing that vision. Sheriff Howard’s press conference helped clear the air and establish new developments in the cultic drama sweeping the world. Here’s the transcript from his 8 am presser:

 

Sheriff Howard: Ok folks, today marks the end of our journey involving the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. After much debate with the city council, and careful consideration of potential legal ramifications, we’ve decided to drop all charges against Rush Goober, and extradite him to Canada to face their legal system for the crime of “impersonating a Rush fan”. This is very serious business up there.

 

Thorough reflection led the city to its decision based on a treaty the county made with Canada back in 1910, when we had an influx of Canadian criminals at the time. So we decided to rid ourselves altogether of this issue and give it over to Toronto city Mayor Rob Ford to deal with. Believe me when I tell you, he’s salivating to get Rush Goober in country. They approached us, so it just kind of fell in our laps, talk about divine providence. Mayor Ford could use the political points at the moment.

 

Charges have also been dropped against the Seven Cities of Gold dancers. They will be key witnesses for the prosecution in Canada in exchange for their release. Since their arrest and incarceration, they’ve been model citizens and have proven beneficial to Mr. Larry Flynt, who can now walk because of a special treatment he received from the dancers.

 

So, before I take any questions, I can say with confidence this story is behind us, and we move forward. We appreciate all the support during the dark times, with wild animals running amok and the abundance of freaks invading our town to exploit this situation. Okay I’ll start with you:

 

Catholicism Wow! Magazine: Did the recent Papal mass have any influence on the county’s decision to extradite Rush Goober?

Sheriff Howard: Umm kinda. If God is against him, who can be for him? Pope Francis did show up big time. Next question.

 

David Fricke RollingStone Magazine: Will this story eclipse the debacles of the past in regards to the life and memory of Michael Jackson? And, if that’s the case, will Neverland Ranch be a positive experience for those who visit?

Sheriff Howard: We don’t know and we really don’t care. This is about revenue.

David Fricke RollingStone Magazine: Can we put an end to the mystery to actual flesh fed to the Seven Cities of Gold dancers? What was it?

Sheriff Howard: It was either a nose, or a snipped foreskin…we couldn’t tell which. Either way, we’re done with it.

 

American Journal of Medicine: Correct me if I’m wrong, did you say the Seven Cities of Gold dancers used a special therapy to help Larry Flynt walk? You mean they cured his paralysis?

Sheriff Howard: Yes I did.

American Journal of Medicine: Well this is big news in the field of medicine, like Nobel Prize worthy. How did they do it?

Sheriff Howard: The leader, Robin Redbreasts, said that reversal was achieved by a variation of the “Miyagi” technique, as in the Karate Kid. You know, the one used on Ralph Macchio? They gave me a demonstration and I hope my wife doesn’t find out about it. Next Question.

 

The Yukon Blade Grinder: Can you tell us about the arrest of the Yukon Blade Grinder reporter, Lorraine? She was arrested outside of the Thistle Dew motel on Thanksgiving Day. What was the charge?

Sheriff Howard: Well this was bizarre in of itself. You’ve all heard the modern vocabulary terms such as twerk and selfie I assume. When we received calls about her odd behavior on the street we sent Deputy Fife to check it out. Upon arrival, he found her in the middle of the street in some curious Norwegian pose. Fife asked her what she was doing. She said “Fjording”. He had no clue what that meant at the time, and we still don’t, but it didn’t look right to him. We brought her in, found she ate some bad turkey. Basically she was tripping out from food poisoning. She’s ok and She’ll be released after the press conference.

The Yukon Blade Grinder: Good news then. A Rush Goober related question. Is he still a resident of your jail?

Sheriff Howard: No, we released him to Canadian Mounties yesterday.

The Yukon Blade Grinder: Did he leave anything behind to give some insight into his condition, perhaps more rationale for this mess?

Sheriff Howard: No, none at all. However, he did leave a manuscript he wrote on toilet paper for a sequel to the Twilight series. It was titled Beautiful Fangs: Edwin Bites Back. Apparently he’s a big fan.

 

Thank you all for the thoughtful questions and attention to this sad and confusing case. Santa Barbara can now return to normal. Happy Days are on the way!

 

 

 

 

--End Transcript--

 

So, a door closes and another door opens. The way of life the Yukon Blade Grinder reckons. As we prepare to make our way to Toronto brace for impact rabid readers. Canadians don’t take kindly to the notion of impersonating a Rush fan, and Mayor Ford is the poster boy for the Canadian workingman. Like the substantial girth of their beloved mayor, so is their appetite for punishing those who dare cross the thin blue line of Rush blasphemy. The Grinder will be there, on the scene, and ready to dole out the truth. Until next time dear followers, keep an eye out for our return as we venture to the land of Ice Chuckers, Poutine, and Labatt’s beer. Should be tasty!

[HomesickAlien]

Yukon Blade Grinder Exclusive:

 

Metal Damnation via

 

The Orbit Room

12.1.13

Toronto

 

Canada Braces for Impact

 

The Yukon Blade Grinder knows a thing or two about pressure. It thrives on deadlines. With a howling press surrounding Canada’s biggest international to-do since the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies, the arrival of Rush Goober has certainly caused a deafening uproar in her greatest city. The Blade Grinder is on the set, prepared for the money shot, and ready for the director to yell action!

 

Toronto, home of Anthem Entertainment, has literally transformed itself to show an even greater measure of support for their most beloved export, and national treasure. Oh, how the legend is growing. As if images on postage stamps and currency weren’t enough, the band now ascends to a higher level of prominence in Canada’s history with the trial of the millennia. Nowhere in her lengthy history can one remember circumstances such as this, save the great “Otter Pelt” rebellion of 1785. Freshly obtained from the states with little or no trouble at all, the perpetrator of the most heinous of crimes is now in the Great White North.

 

Pope Francis gave the now legendary homily that bridged all faiths last Sunday. Delivering the ultimate Rush tribute entitled “Closer to our Hearts” from the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica. The Sermon on Mount Nerd opened up the minds and conscience of the world regarding the depraved phenomenon of “Impersonating a Rush fan”. A papal decree is no laughing matter, regardless of which belief system one endorses intellectually. As Pope Francis stood in plain view for the masses to see, he lit an international firestorm that is now burning hotter than ever, with the epicenter residing in a jail cell in downtown Toronto. One can honestly say that when you get the attention of the big guy of Vatican City, something is on the horizon.

 

Seizing the moment and gaining points with his new political football on the opposite side of the Atlantic, Toronto city mayor Rob Ford was all too happy to jump on this gravy train with biscuit wheels. A press conference set for Friday promises to be HUGE—no pun intended. Since media reports surfaced from Santa Barbara about the extradition, the media has now shifted locations.

 

The weekend news cycle has been somewhat slow since last Friday’s news dump. However, The Yukon Blade Grinder did get a sniff as to the word on the street surrounding this case without even seeking it out. One of Canada’s most famous hangouts, the Orbit Room, had a band onstage Saturday night that paid homage to your humble news outlet, while roasting the Goobs.

 

The Crotch Crickets of East Tennessee is their name, but for that gig, they dubbed themselves “The Yukon Blade Grinders 5”. Sporting one of the biggest mullets Canada has seen in some time, guitarist Rolph De’dawg said “anything we can do show solidarity with Canada, we’ll do it! Dishing Vapor Trails is just plain wrong!” after a sweaty night of East TN ass kicking. That’s the spirit young man—Welcome to the Great White North.

 

Admittedly all-American, but now honorary Canucks, the Crotch Crickets doled out their own brand of molten metal, dedicating three songs to the damnation of Canada’s most notorious criminal. The songs were indicative of the current national vibe—a Judas Priest cover, “Between Hammer and Anvil”, an instrumental called “South of the Belt Buckle”—written by the band that day, and the Queen classic “Stone Cold Crazy” a la Metallica. The misfit collection of talented guitarists and a relentless rhythm section showed they belong in Maple Leaf country.

 

Always eager to help musicians get their name out, the YBG was given a video clip by security to share for all of Blade Grinder Nation to see. Here’s a link to the event as it ended:

 

 

Now, as we see the tidal wave of support approaching one must wonder—how is this going to end? The YBG is not speculating, but the Grinders have dropped the hammer on the anvil. We believe Mayor Ford will do the same on Friday. Until then, enjoy the Crotch Crickets, er, the Yukon Blade Grinders 5, froth of anger directed at Rush T. Goober…it’s just plain crazy!

[Ancient Ways]

Is it wrong that, even though I'm not a grinder dude, I kind of like it and might want to be one?

 

 

Where do I join?

[Lorraine]

Is it wrong that, even though I'm not a grinder dude, I kind of like it and might want to be one?

 

 

Where do I join?

 

This will make Tombstone very happy.

[Lorraine]

He's always on the lookout for more recruits to take through the looking glass.

[Pars123]

I'm so happy I made this post! Haha.

[Lorraine]

I'm so happy I made this post! Haha.

We're happy you're happy.

 

Everyones happy.

[Tombstone Mountain]

Yukon Blade Grinder Exclusive:

 

Metal Damnation via

 

The Orbit Room

12.1.13

Toronto

 

Canada Braces for Impact

 

The Yukon Blade Grinder knows a thing or two about pressure. It thrives on deadlines. With a howling press surrounding Canada’s biggest international to-do since the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies, the arrival of Rush Goober has certainly caused a deafening uproar in her greatest city. The Blade Grinder is on the set, prepared for the money shot, and ready for the director to yell action!

 

Toronto, home of Anthem Entertainment, has literally transformed itself to show an even greater measure of support for their most beloved export, and national treasure. Oh, how the legend is growing. As if images on postage stamps and currency weren’t enough, the band now ascends to a higher level of prominence in Canada’s history with the trial of the millennia. Nowhere in her lengthy history can one remember circumstances such as this, save the great “Otter Pelt” rebellion of 1785. Freshly obtained from the states with little or no trouble at all, the perpetrator of the most heinous of crimes is now in the Great White North.

 

Pope Francis gave the now legendary homily that bridged all faiths last Sunday. Delivering the ultimate Rush tribute entitled “Closer to our Hearts” from the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica. The Sermon on Mount Nerd opened up the minds and conscience of the world regarding the depraved phenomenon of “Impersonating a Rush fan”. A papal decree is no laughing matter, regardless of which belief system one endorses intellectually. As Pope Francis stood in plain view for the masses to see, he lit an international firestorm that is now burning hotter than ever, with the epicenter residing in a jail cell in downtown Toronto. One can honestly say that when you get the attention of the big guy of Vatican City, something is on the horizon.

 

Seizing the moment and gaining points with his new political football on the opposite side of the Atlantic, Toronto city mayor Rob Ford was all too happy to jump on this gravy train with biscuit wheels. A press conference set for Friday promises to be HUGE—no pun intended. Since media reports surfaced from Santa Barbara about the extradition, the media has now shifted locations.

 

The weekend news cycle has been somewhat slow since last Friday’s news dump. However, The Yukon Blade Grinder did get a sniff as to the word on the street surrounding this case without even seeking it out. One of Canada’s most famous hangouts, the Orbit Room, had a band onstage Saturday night that paid homage to your humble news outlet, while roasting the Goobs.

 

The Crotch Crickets of East Tennessee is their name, but for that gig, they dubbed themselves “The Yukon Blade Grinders 5”. Sporting one of the biggest mullets Canada has seen in some time, guitarist Rolph De’dawg said “anything we can do show solidarity with Canada, we’ll do it! Dishing Vapor Trails is just plain wrong!” after a sweaty night of East TN ass kicking. That’s the spirit young man—Welcome to the Great White North.

 

Admittedly all-American, but now honorary Canucks, the Crotch Crickets doled out their own brand of molten metal, dedicating three songs to the damnation of Canada’s most notorious criminal. The songs were indicative of the current national vibe—a Judas Priest cover, “Between Hammer and Anvil”, an instrumental called “South of the Belt Buckle”—written by the band that day, and the Queen classic “Stone Cold Crazy” a la Metallica. The misfit collection of talented guitarists and a relentless rhythm section showed they belong in Maple Leaf country.

 

Always eager to help musicians get their name out, the YBG was given a video clip by security to share for all of Blade Grinder Nation to see. Here’s a link to the event as it ended:

 

https://www.youtube....e&v=WPUGvlcXLjk

 

Now, as we see the tidal wave of support approaching one must wonder—how is this going to end? The YBG is not speculating, but the Grinders have dropped the hammer on the anvil. We believe Mayor Ford will do the same on Friday. Until then, enjoy the Crotch Crickets, er, the Yukon Blade Grinders 5, froth of anger directed at Rush T. Goober…it’s just plain crazy!

BTW Tombstone actually plays bass in this video—no kidding.

[Pars123]

I'm so happy I made this post! Haha.

We're happy you're happy.

 

Everyones happy.

I'm happy that your happy because I'm happy.

Edited March 25, 2014 by Pars123

[1-0-0-1-0-0-1]

Is it wrong that, even though I'm not a grinder dude, I kind of like it and might want to be one?

 

 

Where do I join?

 

It pretty much means you have to be a disciple of Tombstone Mountain. Follow him around and stuff.

[Tombstone Mountain]

Is it wrong that, even though I'm not a grinder dude, I kind of like it and might want to be one?

 

 

Where do I join?

 

It pretty much means you have to be a disciple of Tombstone Mountain. Follow him around and stuff.

Not true. Foul...foul...you are write whatever contributes positively to the story, even parallel to it. Ask the editors and reporters.

[HomesickAlien]

Upon learning of the unfortunate incarceration of our hapless comrade Goober, Lorraine and I immediately rushed to stage a protest in Santa Barbara, where Tombstone was kind enough to pay for our lodgings at a creepy fleabag motel called the Thistle Dew. In order to keep my sanity I wrote a nightly journal entry to relate the events of the day. If reading these missives leaves you dazed and confused, don't worry, I've been in a dither for months.

 

READ THE ORIGINAL THREAD FROM THE BEGINNING.

[HomesickAlien]

Against my better judgment, and for the benefit of the h̶u̶n̶d̶r̶e̶d̶s̶ six people who bother to read this thread, here's an update on the goings-on at the Thistle Dew.

 

When we returned from the news conference we were greeted by Norman, the enigmatically creepy proprietor of the Thistle Dew. He told us that our room had been fumigated while we were out, and that despite the foul odor, it was perfectly safe for occupancy. Fortunately, Lorraine had the incense from the Hare Krishnas.

 

As we luxuriated in the odor of sandalwood and patchouli, we reflected on Goober's news conference. It was comforting to see that he was apparently in good health, although we were shocked at his lilliputian stature. We decided that the worst charge against him was impersonating a Rush fan. Although a simple misdemeanor in California, it's a felony in Canada, and carries a hefty prison sentence. Our only hope is that Canada doesn't call for his extradition after the trial.

 

When the evening drew to a close, we realized that Tombstone was late. He was supposed to bring us more smoked ostrich for dinner, but never arrived. This isn't surprising, since we saw him standing next to Lakeisha at the news conference, and we've heard rumors that he's been spending an inordinate amount of time with the 7COG dancers at Flynt's compound in the Hollywood Hills. God knows what he's up to there.

 

Hunger got the best of us, so we decided to go to the local Hungry Jack's, where we spotted the bedraggled Kato, sitting in a junky old Ford Bronco, muttering to himself. Such a sad sight.

 

The hour was late, so we returned to the Thistle Dew. We were exhausted, so the thought of a few surviving rats didn't even keep us from a sound sleep.

 

 

 

As the setting sun brings another day in Santa Barbara to a close, I thought I'd take the opportunity to post a brief summary of the day's events.

 

Lorraine has yet to return from her lunch with Norman's mother, although this isn't surprising. I think our seemingly jinxed mission to assist Goober is beginning to take it's toll on her. A quiet afternoon tea with Norman's mother may be just what she needs to bolster her spirits and strengthen her resolve.

 

Strangely, I haven't seen Norman since Lorraine left. He was always nervously puttering about the place, checking locks and peeking in windows, but he seems to have disappeared. I did notice something bizarre when I was at the vending machine earlier today. There was an extensive collection of wigs behind the reception desk. Could Norman be a cross-dresser? This is California! Maybe Lorraine can shed more light on Norman when she returns. After all, parents do like to brag about their children.

 

After days of fighting for Goober's freedom all on our own, we've been joined by Greyfriar. Despite his initial ambivalence, he's now committed himself to the cause full throttle, going so far as to start a petition drive to bring attention to dear Goober's plight. With any luck, he'll be able to rally the European contingent of Goober fans. Very soon, the cries of outrage from across the Atlantic will be so great that Sheriff Howard and his cohorts will reconsider their folly.

 

I was successful at adding 200 signatures to that petition myself while at Neverland this afternoon. You'd be surprised how enticing a stick of incense looks to those crystal-gazing loons. Lorraine will be happy to learn that I didn't have to relinquish her precious bottle of patchouli oil.

 

Tombstone was able to pry himself away from Flynt's whoratorium long enough to bring us dinner, so I dined on smoked eel tonight, which I washed down with a tall glass of carrot juice in Goober's honor.

 

I do hope Lorriane returns soon. Cold smoked eel is so unappetizing.

[HomesickAlien]

THE THISTLE DEW: DAY 5 (or is it 6? )

 

Due to the fact that the Grinder's accounts seem to be bereft of funds, I spent the day in the hot California sun replacing stucco tiles on the roof in exchange for accommodations at this fine establishment. Norman claimed he was acrophobic, and issued instructions from the lawn. Thankfully, we ran out of tiles by mid-afternoon, whereupon he departed for the local Home Depot to purchase more. He's yet to return.

 

Tombstone informs me that Norman may have a foot fetish, but I fear his interests may extend to other appendages. I'd no sooner gotten on the roof when he encouraged me to remove my shirt. He said that it would be a shame for my vintage Vapor Trails t-shirt to become sweat stained, adding that my pallid midwestern skin could use a California tan. I reluctantly complied, and as the sweat dripped from my brow as the day progressed, I noticed Norman leering at me from below. I have to get that chain lock installed on our door.

 

I'm beginning to think that Lorraine's commitment to Goober's cause may be wavering. She's young, easily distracted, and impressionable. She spent most of the day in bed recovering from what she claims was an innocent night at Flynt's infamous compound. As I write this, she's prancing about the room in a 7COG dancer outfit that she purchased at the prodding of Lakeisha and her cohorts. At least I know her whereabouts tonight. If she insists on exploring our surroundings tomorrow, she'll have to be chaperoned.

 

I'm also beginning to question the loyalty of our European comrades. Greyfriar was suspiciously silent today, and I fear he may have abandoned his petition drive. H.P.L. has shown a curious indifference to Goober's plight, despite the fact that Tombstone offered to bring him to Santa Barbara in the Grinder's own Gulfstream V (how do they afford it?) if he could only make his way to Vladivostok.

 

There'll be no smoked eel for dinner tonight, as Tombstone works feverishly to uncover the dark truth behind the Neverland cult at the "safe house", otherwise known as Larry Flynt's Whoratorium. I suppose I could send Kato to the Hungry Jack's drive-up window. He does appreciate those Canadian quarters.

 

We endure all this for poor little Goober, all alone in that dank cell, with nothing but his delusional thoughts to keep him company. His mental state must be deteriorating by the hour. So sad.

 

 

 

THE THISTLE DEW

 

-Yet another pointless update

 

Forgive me for posting such a late update, but it's been a busy day here in Santa Barbara, and the lights are burning late at the Thistle Dew. In an effort to unwind, Lorraine is presently watching Forbidden Paradise, the Pola Negri film she won in the poker game with Larry Flynt the other night. I'm not a fan of silent films, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to recount the day's events.

 

I had a brief, and somewhat curious, encounter with Norman this afternoon. As I retrieved more vintage Milk Duds from the vending machine for Lorraine, I found Norman in an uncharacteristically affable mood. He informed me that I wouldn't be required to perform any more chores around the motel, and that we could stay as long as we liked. When I asked if he had been successful in extracting payment from Tombstone, he returned a lecherous smile and said I shouldn't concern myself with such things. I would soon learn the reason for his change of heart.

 

Lorraine spent the afternoon exploring some of the shops in the area. While she was searching for finger cymbals to complete her 7COG dancer ensemble, she stumbled across a boutique that deals exclusively in Pez dispensers. Aware of Goober's obsession with them, and unable to find the elusive Vapor Troll model, she settled on a two-headed Vivian Leigh/Clark Gable dispenser. Cheap trinket in hand, she returned to the Thistle Dew to prepare for our candlelight vigil at the jail.

 

We arrived at the jail shortly after dusk, and were surprised to find the grounds deserted. I didn't expect the media to be there at night, but what happened to all of the new age types who were enamored of the Neverland cult? Could it be that Goober was truly seen as a self-important little troll? A post made on TRF earlier in the day by LIX suddenly sprang to mind: "Wake me when I should give a shit." Were we alone? If only those hippie progsters hadn't gone off the cliff. . .

 

Undeterred, we spread our blanket under a date palm and lit our candles. I put the boombox we found in our room in the center of the blanket and placed the Vapor Trails Remixed CD into the machine. Miraculously, my spirits soared as OLV rang across the courtyard. It must have had a similar effect on Lorraine, as I noticed a tear running down her cheek. Our spirits were sufficiently buoyed after several hours, and since it was getting late, we called it a night and returned to the Thistle Dew.

 

Upon our return, Lorraine said she wanted to search online for finger cymbals, so I decided to take a short walk around our neighborhood. The hour was late, so forgive me if some of the details of my experience escape me, but it may be relevant to Goober's quandary.

 

As I made my way along the sidewalk not far from the entrance to the Thistle Dew, I noticed a diminutive man ambling toward me in the glow of the streetlights. I approached cautiously, as I've learned to avoid strangers in this town. He appeared to have been drinking, and asked if I could give him directions to the Best Western. I told him he wasn't in the vicinity of such luxurious accommodations, and suggested he call a taxi.

 

This didn't appease the little fellow, and he went on to say that his name was Warwick (I forget his last name), and he not only claimed to have been in a film with Jennifer Aniston, but also to have once played an ewok. He said he had heard about Goober's case on the news, and had come to "collect his fee". In the midst of his lunatic ravings, he mentioned something about being shot out of a canon during Headlong Flight, and called Goober a filthy liar. At this point my only desire was to be within the comparatively safe and sane confines of the Thistle Dew, so I immediately sprinted toward "The Dew", expletives cutting through the crisp night air behind me.

 

I was never so happy to see the reception area of our lodgings. As I walked past the counter next to the vending machine, I noticed several shirtless photos of a decidedly familiar man spread across the surface. Norman had been taking photos of me while I was working on the roof! The reason for his sudden pleasant demeanor became apparent. Since our only alternative place to stay would be the seedy Soak and Poke, I decided to keep Norman at arm's length, and hope for the best.

 

The trial has yet to begin, and loyalty to our hapless Rush brother Goober is being tested beyond comprehension. I certainly hope our mission isn't a fool's errand.

 

 

 

 

I understand this doesn't sound like such tripe if you read it in the voice of Orson Welles.

[HomesickAlien]

DISPATCH FROM THE DEW: Day 8

 

As the first week of our protest against the unfortunate incarceration of Goober comes to a close, our efforts remain unrewarded, and second thoughts about our mission have begun to creep into my mind. The bulk of our fellow TRF members remain indifferent to his plight, and the familiar refrain "what has he ever done for me" now rattles in my own head. Why is it that we're so anxious for him to return and make his 30,000th post? Tombstone said that it will probably be a big letdown, and I'm afraid I must concur. Are we really on tenterhooks, waiting for him to review the new live cd? I'm sure his greatest contribution will be to remind us of Geddy's "steadily deteriorating voice". It's all so disheartening, yet we carry on. . .

 

This morning some interesting news came over the wireless. Several crop circles had mysteriously formed in a couscous field on the outskirts of town. Who knew it was cultivated like wheat? I always thought it grew on vines. I immediately remembered that Goober had an affinity for these unfathomable formations, so I saw this as an opportunity to remove the nagging doubts I had about our undertaking. I packed up the goodies we'd purchased for Goober and headed out to the pasture in question.

 

I nearly tripped over a 2 x 4 attached to a rope as I made my way to the middle of the nearest circle, where I sat in silence clutching that damned stuffed llama. I played Floyd's Interstellar Overdrive on the boombox; I thought space rock was an appropriate choice, and it's Goober's favorite song. I closed my eyes and pondered our situation. . .

 

I woke up four hours later only to find that a passing emu had defecated on my brand new Salvatore Ferragamo silk shirt. The only thing I learned is that you should never fall asleep in a crop circle.

 

Lorraine continues to be distracted from the task at hand, and spent most of the day with the 7COG dancers, helping them sift through applications for a seventh dancer. It turns out the poor girls are illiterate, and Lorraine graciously offered to teach them to read using the trove of material available from the Hooked on Phonics program. All she asked in return is that Lakeisha teach her how to play Tiny Bubbles on the ukulele. Who said Don Ho was irreplaceable? She may be losing interest in poor Goober, but she's now embarked on her own mission of mercy.

 

I'm not particularly optimistic about the news coming from the European front. Greyfriar tells us that he knows a psychologist willing to consult with Mr. Grisham on Goober's insanity defense, although considering the fact that he abandoned his petition drive, I'm skeptical that we'll be hearing from Herr Greyfriar soon. Of course, it's possible that I'm being "an impatient cat", and we may receive good news tomorrow.

 

Our only hope may be a rather dubious plan that was hatched by H.P.L., who tells us that the Bishop of Rome will be appealing to a higher power for Goober's salvation this Sunday before a gathering of his followers. Rumor has it that the man has some pull. The Bishop of Rome that is, not H.P.L., who is so concerned with Goober's fate that he can't bear to return to this thread until Monday.

 

It's late Friday evening, and Lorraine has yet to return from her jog to Neverland. Considering her propensity for finding trouble, I hope she's taking ukulele lessons from Lakeisha, and hasn't been kidnapped by the Hare Krishnas.

 

You'll have to excuse me, because Norman has asked me to help him alphabetize his collection of Greco-Roman wrestling tapes. I hope Goober appreciates what we must endure.

 

 

This is all very wearying.

 

 

http://media.tumblr.com/090278cafeebcdd6183742745983bd83/tumblr_inline_mgg03xSkjn1qabw0a.gif

 

 

 

DOWN AND OUT AT THE DEW: Day 9

 

With our patience, not to mention sanity, quickly approaching the breaking point, tonight's missive will be mercifully brief.

 

There was no news on the Goober front today, and with my precious Ferragamo shirt in ruins, we decided to throw caution to the wind and go for an afternoon drive with Kato. He's a bit disheveled, but basically harmless, and we needed to get away from the dreary Dew for a while. As we drove through Brentwood, he regaled us with tall tales about celebrities he claimed to have once known. We even treated him to a meal at the Sakana Sushi Bar, where we ran up quite a bill. I'm sure we'll be reimbursed by Tombstone. Lorraine said she can't bear to watch Forbidden Paradise again, so we also stopped at Blockbuster to rent a movie.

 

Upon our return, we found that a gift had been delivered for Lorraine from Losingit2k — the finger cymbals she had been lusting after. Despite the fact that her attempts to teach Lakeisha and the girls to read were met with insults and ridicule, she does enjoy donning her 7COG dancer outfit, and the finger cymbals were just what she needed to complete the ensemble.

 

Tombstone has flown to Rome, no doubt accompanied by that chimp. He probably attempted to purchase a seat for the beast; I hope Alitalia stashed it in the cargo bay. He's there to meet H.P.L., who is convinced he can persuade the pontiff to intervene on Goober's behalf. Considering how TM likes to mix business with pleasure, he'll most likely make Silvio's villa his base of operations. I understand the extracurricular activities there are similar to those of Flynt's "safe house".

 

We've decided that Goober's fate is out of our hands, and that the best we can do for our lovable little troll is await word from TM and H.P.L. Perhaps tomorrow will bring good news, although I do hope this situation is resolved before Thanksgiving. The thought of sitting with Norman at the dinner table is too disturbing to contemplate.

 

Lorraine has Psycho cued up, so I must be going. I thought it was an odd choice, but Lorraine said that this place reminds her of a Hitchcock movie!

[HomesickAlien]

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 10

 

-Jorge was no help

 

 

Dark days have descended on the Dew, folks. I fear Lorraine and I may have to go shopping for pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce.

 

We should never have pinned our hopes on the Pope. Late word came from the Vatican that Jorge had not only refused to come to the aid of Goober, but took the opportunity to denounce him in his Sunday address. Unbeknownst to us, His Holiness is a huge Rush fan, apparently even of Roll the Bones (there's no accounting for taste). I suspected his worst crime may have been impersonating a Rush fan; today my suspicions were confirmed. Not only do we have to worry about his possible extradition to Canada should he miraculously beat the rap in California, but he may also pay for his transgressions for an eternity in the hereafter. . . and he was so proud of his 'Vapor Trolls" moniker.

 

We received a curious communique today from Greyfriar via Western Union (if there can be a Hungry Jack's outside of Australia, Western Union can still be in the telegram business). It was rather confusing and fragmented, but we were able to decipher that he was still feverishly working with the psychologist on Goober's insanity defense, and that his petition drive had garnered no interest at all. It did end rather cryptically: smoke in eyes, f***ing hell. We're still working to interpret that one. It's at least some comfort to know that someone in Europe other than H.P.L. is concerned with Goober's fate.

 

This morning Lakeisha graced us with a visit. She said that she knew someone who had a vast collection of Pez dispensers, and would be willing to part with the sought after "Vapor Trolls" model, for a price. What price? Lorraine would have to give up her precious Michael Jackson action doll. Knowing how much Goober would appreciate such a gewgaw, Lorraine reluctantly packed up Michael and left with Lakeisha. She's been gone all day. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she likes spending time with Lakeisha. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of the Dew.

 

I had a taste for smoked emu tonight; fortunately, I was able to find where Tombstone obtains this delicacy. It's a place called Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill. They deliver, and imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find little Warwick holding a bag of the bird in question. Not surprisingly, his recollection of our previous meeting was hazy, but he did say that he was working to raise money for airfare back to England. It seems he's fallen on hard times since he's no longer employed by a comedian named Ricky. You meet some strange characters out here.

 

Our lonely, and possibly misguided, quest to free poor little Goober is about to enter it's eleventh day. With no help coming from the heavens, our only hope is the legal wizardry of Mr. Grisham. I think I'll light a stick of incense and play Interstellar Overdrive while I wait for Lorraine to return.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

"Wake me when I should give a shit." -Lost In Xanadu

 

Perhaps the most insightful post made in this thread.

 

 

 

DAZED AND CONFUSED AT THE DEW: Day 11

 

As we await the trial of our bantam comrade Goober, the tribulations of our stay at the Dew have taken a heavy toll on Lorraine. After returning from a nearly twenty-four absence this morning, presumably to retrieve a simple Pez dispenser for Goober with Lakeisha, she suddenly announced that she would be departing for Rome. She frantically packed her belongings, and kept repeating the phrase, "what has he ever done for me". As she stumbled toward the door, she mentioned something about rolling in the brambles and talking to the birds. I fear for her sanity. Perhaps she'll spend the night at the airport hotel and have a change of heart in the morning.

 

If fretting about Lorraine roaming the streets of Southern California in a disturbed state wasn't enough of a burden, I now find myself saddled with Tombstone. His "interview" with the 7COG dancers now complete, he's most likely persona non grata at Flynt's manse. I'm sure he'd much rather stay at the Soak and Poke, but I suspect he's installed himself here in order to shower me with bogus reassurances that my rather hasty decision to come to Goober's aid wasn't a monumental blunder.

 

Naturally, Tombstone brought along his constant companion, that wretched chimpanzee. My earlier fears that he was engaged in some unspeakably debauched activity with the poor creature appear to have been unfounded. He seems to have some strange rapport with that animal. When they frolic together it's as though Tombstone is lost in a world all his own, as if their minds were operating on the same level. He's presently teaching it to use the finger cymbals Lorraine forgot to take with her. I just hope it's not one of those feces throwing primates.

 

It's some small consolation that Tombstone travels with an extensive collection of Herzog films, and I may have spied a few packages of dehydrated morels among his possessions, so perhaps the day won't end on such a sour note after all.

 

Maybe a rejuvenated Lorraine will even turn up at our door tomorrow.

[HomesickAlien]

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 12

 

Did I say 12?

 

 

As day twelve of operation Justice for Goober comes to a close, and the number of protesters at the jail dwindles to something akin to the number of people who read this thread, I find myself overwhelmed with despair and regret.

 

Lorraine, my erstwhile traveling companion and fellow protester, now finds herself detained by Homeland Security at LAX. Her nervous behavior and refusal to surrender the Michael Jackson doll triggered a more extensive search by TSA agents, who found the Vapor Trolls Pez dispenser. Convinced that the candies the little curio contained were a new designer drug called the Vapors, they subjected her to an exhaustive background check. At last word she was muttering something about hopping an ocean liner to Italy. She's paid a heavy price for her allegiance to Goober.

 

Since I try to spend as little time as possible at the Thistle Dew, today I went to the largely deserted jailhouse grounds to "protest" Goober's incarceration. What I really planned on doing was propping my "Justice for Goober" sign against the nearest fig tree and spending the day reading a good book. At least it would appear that I was still making an effort. As I drove into the parking lot, I saw an attractive woman with long, dark hair hop into a grey Aston Martin and speed away. Could it have been who I thought it was?

 

I normally try to avoid Deputy Fife, but curiosity got the best of me. As I entered the jail lobby, there he sat at the information desk, a smirk on his face and a huge stack of documents in front of him. When I asked him if Neil's wife, Carrie, had just left, he said indeed she had. He said that she was delivering the transcripts of Neil's blog entries that he had requested. He went on to say that he was aware of how Goober constantly complains about Neil's "blather-laden" blog posts on TRF, and that he planned on reading all of them aloud well within earshot of Goober's cell. "That'll teach the little prick", he exclaimed. I thanked him for his time and quickly excused myself.

 

I stood in the parking lot in shock. I realized that Goober would consider this a form of torture worse than waterboarding. However, shock soon turned to delight. Maybe this was just what the little prick deserved. Overwhelmed with shame for the sudden feelings of ill will that I had toward poor little Goober, I returned to the Thistle Dew.

 

Tombstone has been gone most of the day, no doubt preparing for Goober's impending trial. You'd think that since we're now roommates he would give me the inside scoop on some of the information he's uncovered. . .

 

I have to go. Norman asked me to go to the local Costco to pick up more chocolate syrup. Don't ask.

 

 

 

To whom it may concern:

 

As much as I'd like to stay at the Thistle Dew and dine on smoked emu with Tombstone for Thanksgiving, my long-lost aunt in Goleta has invited me to her house to spend the day. Therefore, there will be no update from the Dew tonight (I can almost hear the sighs of relief ).

 

I'm sure something interesting Goober-related will occur, so I'll take copious notes and tell you all about it in tomorrow's update.

 

TM, don't go rummaging through my belongings while I'm gone.

 

 

 

:hi:

[HomesickAlien]

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 14

 

That's right, I said 14. :sigh:

 

 

After a much needed, and all too brief, respite at my aunt's in Goleta, Kato arrived late this afternoon to chauffeur me back to our freaky little flophouse. As we chugged along in his rusty old Bronco, he said that he had noticed an ambulance in the jail parking lot when he was on his way to pick me up. I reluctantly suggested that we should go check it out.

 

Upon our arrival at the jail, I saw Deputy Fife standing just outside the door; he was obviously shaken. I asked him what was going on, and he said that reading Neil's blog entries to Goober was a terrible mistake. He said that Goober had flown into a rage, banging his head against the wall, cursing, screaming, and throwing his own feces at anyone in sight. However, Deputy Fife assured me that Goober was now receiving the best possible care. Fortunately, Doctor Conrad Murray was on call when emergency services got word of Goober's condition.

 

Just then, Doc Murray emerged from the jail. He said that it had taken an unusually large dose of Thorazine to calm the "little fella". He added that he considered using propofol, but one of his former patients once had a "very bad reaction" to it, so now he tries to avoid it whenever possible.

 

Dismayed, I told Kato that we really needed to get back to the Thistle Dew. I was anxious to see how Lorraine and Tombstone had gotten along in my absence.

 

I was expecting a warm welcome from my steadfast comrades, but I was greeted by an empty motel room. Lorraine and Tombstone had gone to the Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill for Thanksgiving. In their note, they also said that they planned on going to a club after dinner, and told me not to wait up. I decided to watch one of Tombstone's Herzog movies and go to bed early, but I heard music coming from down the hall. . .

 

The music (ABBA's Dancing Queen) was coming from Norman's room. The door was open just a crack, and despite the fact that I knew I would regret it, I cautiously crept closer to take a peek inside. There was Norman, modeling Lorraine's 7COG dancer outfit in front of the mirror. I also noticed that he had blown up the photos he'd taken of me on the roof to poster size, and had them plastered all over the walls! Horrified, I ran back to my room, locked the door and jumped into bed, my only comfort the stuffed llama that I'd purchased for Goober.

 

How long will this nightmare continue?

 

 

 

Day 15

 

Adieu to the Dew

 

Our travails at the Thistle Dew, as well as the Santa Barbara segment of Goober's story, came to an abrupt and decidedly anticlimactic end today. This morning it was announced that all charges against Goober were being dropped in California,and that he was being extradited to Canada.

 

Lured by the promise of "cushy digs" in Toronto, Lorraine left in such haste that she forgot her Michael Jackson action doll. She also took the rental car and left me here by myself. I guess I'll have to ask Kato for a ride to the airport.

 

One final note about our proprietor, Norman. This afternoon as I was preparing to leave this fine establishment, a frantic couple burst into the lobby. They said that their names were Sam and Lila, and they asked me if I'd seen a woman named Marion. When I told Norman about this, he suddenly became very agitated, and didn't seem to mind at all when I told him I would be leaving. Strange man.

 

I'd better get to the airport before Lorraine tells the pilot to leave without me. I have no idea where we'll be staying in Toronto, or even what our role will be once we're there.

 

What will I write aboot?

[1-0-0-1-0-0-1]

Is this all content that originated in the RS thread, and is being copied and pasted into here? Just curious, I haven't read the whole RS thread.

[Ancient Ways]

Is it wrong that, even though I'm not a grinder dude, I kind of like it and might want to be one?

 

 

Where do I join?

 

It pretty much means you have to be a disciple of Tombstone Mountain. Follow him around and stuff.

 

Discipleship sounds too time consuming. Maybe an apprenticeship?

[HomesickAlien]

Is this all content that originated in the RS thread, and is being copied and pasted into here? Just curious, I haven't read the whole RS thread.

 

All of this material was posted in the RS thread. I'm not sure myself, but I think the goal is to get people to read TM's original thread.

 

It would make things a lot easier if you would be so kind as to move that thread up here where there's more traffic.