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  • Running Bear, Loved Little White Dove...



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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Tuesday, September 17, 2002

    Running Bear, Loved Little White Dove...

    I've decided to become an American Indian, now that some tribes will let anybody join.

    I don't know which Indian name to choose, though...maybe you can help me out? I'm thinking of 'Stands With a Boner', or 'Fucks With a Fist', or maybe 'Farts With a Lisp'. We'll see.

    I want to start my own Casino, and make treaties with foreign governments, and launder money through dummy corporations funded by the White Man's Guilt Money. I want to be able to sell time shares on my new Reservation for foreign terrorists to come and train....yeah, try to tell me that shit ain't going on right now.

    I think I would make a great Indian. I had lots of practice playing one when I was little...well I was mostly the cowboy, sure, but I can be every bit an Indian as those fat assholes that dress up in 'authentic' outfits and yodel to made-up indian songs they heard in a John Ford movie somewhere...Indian music is so you can sing when you're too drunk to remember the words...and bonking a drum with one stick don't take too much talent either, baby.

    I've worked security at more than one powwow, lemme tell you. Insurance companies insist on 'diversity' in employment before they'll cover the event, so I was always the only White Boy ('Head Up His Ass') crazy enough to volunteer.

    The Real Security, big injuns who were pissed cuz they had to stay sober, warned me to stay close to them...everybody else there just wanted to kill me...they looked at me like I was the last bonbon on the plate in a fat womans lap...fucking savages.

    We would catch the indians ('Falls With a Thud') as the alcohol shorted out their synapses, and they dropped like a wet sock. You could watch them start to shudder and sway, like a redwood with a chainsaw up it's ass...then we'd cart em off to the 'drunk tent', two of us carrying them, one at the head (I always took the stinky feet, cuz feet don't puke) to keep em from dieing from sunburn...we'd prop 'em on their side with a roll of towels wedged under their back so they wouldn't roll back, puke, and die...then we'd go out to get another one.

    Yep, I think I wanna be an Indian.