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Notes from the Underground Volume 2 Number 7 - Earth Day Really Sucked Hey y'all. How's it going? Me, I'm okay. Just spent some time in the clink which, ya know, always manages to put a damper on a guy's mood. But you don't want to hear about that. The chickens are doing fine, though Red Emma seems to have developed some sort of fungus on one of her toes, so I've got to figure out a way to discreetly get her to the vet without any of my neighbors getting all up in my grill about it. Because, you know, me having a few chickens is really worth getting their collective panties in a bunch over, not that fact that we have some indeterminate green mold stretching from the front entryway to the laundryroom. Anyway. I could take Red Emma at night, but office hours tend to be in the day, ya know? Then there's the whole matter of finding a vet in the city who has some experience working with chicken funguses. Man, I've got a busy week ahead. On the bright side, dozens of cute vegan animal lib ladies have been calling Crazy Pete day and night, begging to feed him some home-cooked ramen! Not. Then again, I've been a little incommunicado lately. Actually, now that I think about it, my phone is disconnected. Maybe that'll help build my mystique, though, you know? Like I'm hard to reach, a little James Deany? Oh, who am I kidding? You call Crazy Pete's number and hear that recorded message telling you that I'm "temporarily out of service" you probably don't exactly think "Ooooh, he's so dark and mysterious," do you? Be honest. You're thinkin' deadbeat. Sorry to be such a downer, but I had a really bad Earth Day. Which sort of led to my arrest. Okay, yeah, I didn't want to lay all this on you, but what the heck is a journal for, anyway? Why do y'all tune in if not to hear of my trials and tribulations? Okay, I'll tell you all about it. Well, first of all, I didn't even want to do Earth Day in the first place, 'cause I think it's nothing more than a lame corporate event designed to make people think if they recycle a few RC Cola cans, they're hardcore environmentalists. Whoa, next thing you know, they'll be living on platforms high on some redwood tree, using a barrel for a bathroom! Anyway, I was going to blow off the whole thing and do a reconnaissance mission out at the arena where the damn Shriners are planning a circus for next week when I got a phone call from my buddy Monkeyman. Monkeyman's a cool guy, but he's a little flaky. So anyway, he calls and tells me that the costume store down the block from him went out of business, so he picked up a chicken costume for, like, dirt cheap. I'm like, yeah, so? So he tells me that he thinks I should dress up in the chicken suit and hand out Why Vegan's with him at the city's big Earth Day event. I'm like, Why don't you dress up? And he tells me the suit's too big, he's got asthma, he's claustrophobic, blah blah blah. So, reluctantly, I agreed. I had vowed off wearing costumes after that nasty rash of summer and fall '98, but Monkeyman told me he'd pay if I needed any ointment, and it did sound like a good opportunity to reach out to the kiddies. 'Kay, so we meet up at Earth Day and it's all hybrid car this, look how your local power company is working to Save The Planet that (just ignore the coal and nuclear plants). Gag. Just when I thought I'd seen enough, I happen across the Greener Pastures Free-Range Chicken booth, where they've got barbeques a'smokin' with the happiest, healthiest chicken corpses ever. Strange thing is, when they're sizzling on a grill like that, these designer chickens are pretty indistinguishable from any other tortured dead bird that your average slob eats out of a greasy bucket. 'Cept they're more expensive. I hate those yuppie-catering companies. They even had this propped up cardboard cutout of a rooster crowing in the foreground of this quaint farm scene with a tractor and a red barn. Yeah, right. So, anyway, Monkeyman hands me the costume and I go off into the Port-O-Potty to change. Okay, if you told me that the last person who wore the damn chicken suit had smoked about 6 cigars, drank a bottle of Mad Dog, gave a goat with the stomach flu a bath, ate a couple of bratwursts and capped the whole thing off by getting sick, I wouldn't have been surprised. To say it was rank would be an understatement of huge proportion. Mind you, I'm no wuss: I've Dumpster dived with the best of them, and I once had a roommate who never did his laundry once in the three months we lived together, but this was something even my olfactory senses were unprepared to face. Moving on. So I can barely see in this thing, and by the time Monkeyman sees me, I almost walked into a garbage can. He directs me on toward the front, where we start handing out Why Vegans, and I'm almost immediately set on by a swarm of kids, pulling on my wings and stepping all over my big rubber chicken toes. It was all I could do not to just topple over. Of course Monkeyman is too busy talking about the corporate meat machine to lend me much assistance, so I'm pretty much on my own. In the middle of all this chaos, some really uptight lady I can barely make out with a clenched mouth, clipboard and high heels comes clicking up to me and starts asking me if Monkeyman and I have a permit to be there. Apparently she's the one running this three ring greenwashing circus. I'm, like, trying to talk to her, but she can't hear because I'm all muffled by my chicken head and the kids are all screaming and laughing. Finally, she gets a call on her walkie-talkie, so she stalks off in another direction, and I think we're in the clear for a while. Meanwhile, the kids are still yanking on me, feathers are flying everywhere, and Monkeyman's grabbing my arm by the elbow trying to steer me somewhere. "Hey, man, where are we goin'?" I asked. "I'm gonna show the kids the dead chickens at the Greener Pastures booth. I want them to make the connection. Come on, kids," Monkeyman said. So he yanks my arm and we start off in that direction. Of course, the whole time I'm getting mauled and climbed on and tugged and kicked and every two feet I'm forced to stop and pose with Junior while mom snaps a photo with her freakin' official Earth Day disposable camera. It was a little disorienting. Finally we get there, and Monkeyman stands up and front and says something like, "Hey, kids, do you smell that stench? It's burning flesh. They're barbequeing chickens. These guys at Greenwash Pastures kill a lot of chickens every year so your parents will pay a lot of money to eat them between pieces of bread. Isn't that sad?" One of the kids starts crying (I think - it's hard to tell), and then Monkeyman grabs me again. "Look, kids, they're barbequeing chickens like him," he says, presumedly pointing at me. I hear this man's voice go, "Hey, what do you mean traumatizing my kid like that?!?" and the next thing I know, someone shoves me on the chest and I go flying back, arms flailing, and I knock their stupid happy rooster display off the counter and it falls on to the barbeque. Flames shoot up as the cardboard and burning chicken fumes surround us. The kids start screaming and laughing and crying and everything in between and once again my elbow gets grabbed and I'm hustled out of there. Just in time! "Thanks, man, it was starting to get a little hairy -" I say as I take off my chicken head. But Monkeyman wasn't the guy with his grip on my elbow this time. I'm standing there with a cop and the uptight corporate Earth Day greenwash coordinator who hassled me earlier. Great. "I want him charged with destruction of property! Arson! Corruption of minors! Vagrancy!" she spit out. "I will sign any complain form. I do not want this man returning this afternoon to further agitate the children!" Just when I'm about to say I have no intention of returning to her ridiculous Up With Fossil Fuels festival, I get cuffed and hauled off to the local cop shop. Of course, Monkeyman was no where to be found. On the bright side, I got stashed in my favorite holding cell, the one where I scratched Vegan Avenger into the metal bench with an old paper clip I managed to sneak past the coppers in '96 or '97. It makes it a little more homey. On the not-so bright side, I had to sit there in my stupid chicken costume while getting the stink eye from my cellmates. Not particularly friendly folks, but, hey, I'm not there to make penpals with anyone. So I'm released at about 5:00 in the morning, which is cool, but I've got a court date in a month or so, which sucks. I've got, like three charges, but they're all misdemeanors, I think. When I finally get home, I call Monkeyman, and he's all, "Hey, man, what's goin' on? What the hell time is it?" I'm like, "Monkey - is that all you have to say to me? I'm freakin' arrested because of you, and that's all you can think to say? Where the hell were you?" He starts going into this long story about how he was right behind me, but he passed a booth that was giving out free bottles of Fantastia juice, so he grabbed a bunch, and then he got into an argument with the lady at the booth about how many he could take. "Hey, but I got you a couple of bottles, too," he said. "Is that how I'm supposed to pay my lawyer? Fantasia juice? All I know is you'd better pony up for the legal aid, man." So he's all no problem, chill out, what's the big deal, you know? Acting like I'm all uptight. So, anyway, that's where it stands now. Haven't gone to court yet, and I can't get in touch with my lawyer 'cause my phone is out now and every time I try to call him from the A&A Liquors pay phone down the block I get his voicemail. On top of all that, I did manage to get a creepy rash from the costume after all. Maybe Red Emma's vet will have something I can use. Sorry to be such a buzz kill. It's just been a sucky week. If any of you fine vegan ladies want to try to cheer me up, try reaching me at the A&A Liquors pay phone. Not sure of the number, but it's gotta be listed. Anyway, catch you next time. C.P. |
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