|Chapter Eight: The Chronicles of Crotch 'n Begats
But-- unfortunately--the story does not end there. As you can see from the lavishly embellished carving to the right (stored in the darkness of Ike’s
crummy garage), the snaggle-toothed figure in the center of the photo bears a truly remarkable resemblance to the visage of a Ka-Ike monolith
(left) and the figure in the lower right corner is not only positioned similarly(facing left) but exhibits other characteristics (the long broad nose for
example) of the Ka-Ikian leitmotiv and prognothic complex (note the jutting chin). Even the hair lines and indented eye sockets are similar. In fact
the resemblance is uncanny, if you see what I mean. Finally, the opposed faces that make up the forehead of the snaggle-toothed figure bear
witness to and may even depict the conflict between the sexes of the Gadzookian culture, which lead to the pitiful diaspora of the Dog Eaters,
forced to flee into the Mojave to escape the sexual torture inflicted upon them by the savage vaginations of their former pre-mates. Somehow all of
this suggests that Ike must have plunged deeply into his pre-frontal cortex and made contact with his ancestors, then carved the image of his
inspiration into a totem in Eucalyptus.
Vol. 7 No. 2.
“Historical Enigma Deciphered: Family Roots Re-discovered” vol. 7 no. 2
Readers who have braved the psychic consequences of a prolonged exposure to all
things Ikeian have been quick to report suffering from a wide range of malodious side
effects, including high blood pressure, astigmatisms, pains in the posterior, heart
palpitations, itches, rashes, migraine headaches, depression, and loss of appetite, to
name just a few. But the fundamental element of Ike’s artistic ethic has not varied over
the course of his darkly necrotic career. Ike remains an enigma, swollen with
testicular sarcasm shaved thin with a rusty razor wit. Nevertheless, there are still
those among the degenerate literati, the self-inflicted apostolic tea totalers, and the
vagabonds of harsh arid climes who cherish his irresolute posturing and ridiculous
conceits. A case in point is inextricably tied to the claims of an intrepid duo who
recently re-appeared after a prolonged sojourn in the vast and inhospitable wastes (so
appropriate) of the greater Mojave Desert. There, after days of dreary plodding and
general stumbling around, the Venture Party as they are quick to refer to themselves
(actually two grubs with a cooking tub) succeeded in what can only be described as an
incredibly fortuitous find. They found the long lost remains of The Goner Party, the
feral descendants of the even lesser known Gadzookians said to have once populated
the ancient canyons of the area for untold generations. As I am somewhat unfamiliar
with these distant relations, I defer you to comments I recently received from the
leader of the Venture Party himself, the one and only Mr. Odd Jim Dotty:
“According to the eminent exoanthroplogist, Eureka
Von Duncical, the thriving empire of the Gadzookians
was decimated when alien invaders from an all female
planet provided women of the Gadzookian culture with
vagina dentata and a male of the Dog Eater clan. This
hearty individual managed to escape with some prime
pelts replete with teeth and fashioned these into carving
tools. The only remaining artifacts are the giant Ka-Ike
monoliths which continue to inspire the mystic worship
practices of a contemporary secret society known as
Pussy Whipped Anonymous (PWA).”
Personally, I cannot think of any more plausible
explanation to account for the phenomenon under
examination. Can you? In any case, among the many
scenic photographs taken by Dotty during the journey
was the entrance of a cave in Smuggler Canyon, later
dubbed “The Lair of Phantom and Chimera.” And in
that cave was found the artifact you see to the right.
According to Eureka von Duncical, it is an effigy
clearly depicting the odorous vagina dentata referred to
above, all that remains of the last living female
descendant of The Goner Party, who, it is believed,
died wailing in solitude in her dank and dismal cave.
Quotidian Naught April 27, 2009, 2:40 pm
Coincidence, soothsaying, fate, prophecy--how can they be distinguished in the face of the variegated debris of muliebral enigma and anagogic
mystery. Consider: how much of the doings of the carver Ike gather from the collective primordial jism of Ka-Ike forefathers, how much from
last night's intemperate indulgence in hot peppers and cheap wine, how much appropriated from the Tiki Room at the Mouse House, and then, of
course, the consonant blending of all potty influences. Does the prophet Ike see the future or does he see a potential crack in the cosmic dottiness
and want to stick his pecker in it? In all things there is a pattern, a rhythm, a dance, a form that comforts. When there isn't we make it up. Seeing
all this, Ike stalks the ruminative brothels of ecumenical dubiety-- spilling (he might term it planting) his seed broadly and with abandon.
--- From: "Private Obloquy On Ike" by Mij Renrut
And it came to pass in the last year of the 'Great Yeast Infection" that Princess Cuntkin lay alone in the Cave of the Change beneath the
symbosophic glyphs of trophy whirligigs, mountain oysters, spunk-holders and ballock-stones. And she lay as if in a dream, stroking the 'eye that
weeps most when best pleased', caught up in sweet memory of those days before her dentata began to decay, loosen and fall. Some say that this
is how she, the last of her kind, died. Although others say she is still there--just waiting for implants.
---From: "Collected Legends of the Pudenda Struggles" by Mother of the Bearded Clam
so be it April 27, 2009, 4:10 pm
What suction pulsed and sputtered from the siphon of the Great Bearded Clam? And what did it portend? What happened next was thought to
break the clot, that tangled rot within the sand above. And then, from her deep and penetrated seam, rising from the sleep of the Sheer Clam Dip,
the mythic Mij spread her loquacious lips to give wings to fearless utterance, cloaked in rhythms sweet with shapeless sound. Thus, round and
round she wound herself about with symbolustic nouns, her vocal cords abundantly a-glow with adjectives, vibrant, enchantingly melodious,
disarming, and redolent with shell oiled evocatives, locatives, affricatives, and every manner of susurras pleasured sighs. Mij's stalk eye increased
in size to match the jellied node that sprang from beneath his pulsing rants, gasping with a sheer delight at the tightly woven syntax he so willingly
paid to please his bursting muse...
From "Sayings of Mij, Unabridged"
When these mute stones
mutter, mumble, croak and groan--
the ignominy of lichen
the intrusive roots of plants
and how they got their holes.
and only then,
will I leave this hush--
remove the curb feelers
from my tongue
and tell all concerned
why the duck's quack
does not echo.
From--"The Snares of Pusillanimity"
the collected juvenilia of Meldrick the Regurgitator
Tuesday, April 28, 2009, 9:16 am
OJD Tuesday, April 28, 2009, 12:10 p.m.
Recent photos of two Dotty paintings well received hereabouts. Good to see you back at work and to hear from you after the dry spell...Perhaps
we can cobble together another collaboration...Why not? We already know twenty tons of agony equal one ounce of ecstasy…
Sacerdotal lore Tuesday, April 28, 2009, 3:54 p.m.
It is briefly noted in the Chronicle of Begats that the Great Mother of the Bearded Clam was originally a docile and comely concubine of Ka-Ike the
Primogenitor. She bore him seven sons (Ka-Ike the Pestiferous; Ka-Ike the Vulgarian; Ka-Ike the Onanist; Ka-Ike the Baneful; Ka-Ike the Poo-
Jabber; Ka-Ike the Flesh-Maggot; and Ka-Ike the Rug-Muncher). Collectively, these offspring were known (sometimes fondly, sometimes
otherwise) as 'the bouquet of assholes'. At some point, apparently weary of his incessant and insufferable cravings, she began spicing his chili
with saltpeter. Although this slowed him down a bit it was still more than she was willing to suffer and her subsequent vow of celibacy required
Ka-Ike to banish her to 'The Ruins'. Although the facts become sparse and a bit murky during these forsaken years in the wilderness-- lore has it
that she gathered around her a small cohort of like-minded disciples and began planning to expunge all residuum of Ka-Ike from the gene pool.
--"Historical Origins of the Sisterhood"
Anonymous [but obviously Dotty]
To the right of the Hamburger God appears the figure you see next: a laughing imp beside a frowning
smuck, with a bush for a tongue. Locals officials however have been led to believe this is intended to be
some kind of barfing clam with the imp just a ticklish afterthought. Whatever the case may be, someone
apparently hauled soil to the site and planted the bush at the spot where water trickles down from the
weeping cracks above. Park rangers have reported that, depending on the angle of the sun, light striking the
image gives it a sinister and foreboding appearance, and the eye sockets here show signs of the remains of
wood fires as well. Near the top center of the Necropolis is the formation known as Jimbo’s Buttocks
where someone has been shaving the rock to highlight the crack between two 'buns.' Others see this as the
hint of a torso hanging down with only one exposed arm. This kind of sexually explicit material is the
source of much local hostility toward the vandals, whatever their purpose and whoever they may be.
Megalithic Curiosities Stump Local Residents: Itinerant Vandals Suspected
Dateline: Anza Borrego April 29, 2009
Long time residents of the desert communities surrounding the Anza
Borrego State Park have grown increasingly concerned about the
possibility that craven lowlife visiting the area have engaged in
surreptitious alterations to landmark rock formations for which the
locale is especially well known. Although local authorities are quick
to opine that the changes noted may partly be the result of natural
erosive forces at work, they believe that someone with an eye for
such things is deliberately altering particular rocks in ways which are
difficult to document and even harder to detect and prevent. A case
in point involves the venerated formation you see in the adjacent
photo. Known as the Ritual Necropolis or Grotto of Ka-Ike (for
reasons which escape the imagination of this reporter), this particular
site is believed to attract a sect or cult whose members refer to
themselves as the PWA. Apparently, cult members make at least one
yearly pilgrimage to the area because they believe the essence of
some kind of Hamburger God resides here. (See center of photo.)
In fact, park rangers have reported that nearly petrified hamburgers have
been found (still in their paper wrappers) left in the ‘mouth’ of the oddly
shaped figure near the center of the photo. Considered pranksters, the
behavior of these individuals is tolerated by the locals, but the behavior of
the rock vandals is not. Careful observations over time have identified
several locations where alterations are believed to have been made. This
bulbous nosed female with her tongue out is an obvious example. Her
blackened eyes are the result of wood fires placed in the sockets.
Above her in the formation lie at least three additional female heads in
various stages of alteration, including two that share a common grotto,
one darkly indented, the other not. The significance of these personages
is at present not archaeologically understood.
Finally, we come to the most egregiously offensive example found to date. As you can see, the attempt here
is to suggest nothing less than a full blown erection towering above its attached testicles. The adjacent
bushes show signs of gardening intervention as well. There is simply no doubt about the fact that someone
has altered the landscape here. This conclusion is attested to by the word ‘Primo-genital’ which has been
incised into a stone behind the figure and a pile of debris left by the sculptor, which lies hidden behind the
foliage below. Local authorities have posted a reward of $2500.14 for information leading to the arrest of all
the offending attempt here is to suggest nothing less than a full blown erection towering above its attached
testicles. The parties, but there is little that can be done to curtail this nefarious and deplorable behavior
because the site is adjacent bushes show signs of gardening intervention as well. There is simply no doubt
about the fact that someone has altered the landscape here. This conclusion is attested to by the word
‘Primo-Finally, we come to the most egregiously offensive example found to date. As you can see, the
attempt here is to suggest nothing less than a full blown erection towering above its attached testicles. The
adjacent bushes show signs of gardening intervention as well. There is simply no doubt about the fact that
someone has altered the landscape here. This conclusion is attested to by the word ‘Primo-genital’ which
has been incised into a stone behind the figure and a pile of debris left by the sculptor, which lies hidden
behind the foliage below. Local authorities have posted a reward of $2500.14 for information leading to the
arrest of the offending parties, but there is little that can be done to curtail this nefarious and deplorable
behavior because the site is remote, is often unsupervised, and offers numerous hiding places for craven
lowlife preoccupied with concealing their identity and activities.
Dateline: Van Nuys. [Dotty skulking around] April 30, 2009, 12:05 p.m.
Local authorities announced today that they have identified 'persons of interest' in the freakish defacing of
desert rock formations which has baffled the law enforcement community. The break came from
renowned sleuth Sherlock Chan who has been in semi-retirement for the past few years. Apparently,
Sherlock himself is a rock aficionado who maintains one of the world's finest collections of smooth round
pebbles. Hearing of this outrageous despoilment, he immediately mobilized his vast network for identifying
shady characters and their preferred crimes and perversions (VNISCPC). Using this sophisticated and
infallible mechanism he was able to immediately identify members of a paramilitary group in Irvine, CA who
seek to disguise their nefarious and degenerate ways by posing as vegetable gardeners. Authorities are
seeking the help of the public in locating these lowlife miscreants for questioning. A photo which is thought
to accurately portray their baleful countenances is attached.
Thursday, May 7, 2009, 2:45 pm
“Sherlock Chan details shocking new development”
Longtime U.S. scapegoat re-surfaces as desert rock defacing
vandal, claims Chan in highly controversial report leaked to Toad
Gazette. [Leaked by guess who...Ugh...]
[Editor's Note: Contents of this article were suppressed by federal
authorities representing the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) due to
concerns about authenticity, back payment of taxes and issues of
For good reason, little has been written of the birth and life of the Sand Wizard known as Apache Mij (at
right) whose paintings record the ancient myths of the Hog Boy Clan of the Blue Sky Mountain tribe. Born
Mingus of Ishi’s Jizz (now simply Mij) he spent much of his early life avoiding absolutely everyone because he
couldn’t stand listening to their cockamamie explanations for this and that. “People talk too much,” he said one
day, and it is reported that he never spoke again for the next thirty-five years, devoting himself instead to the
creation of his life’s work: images in sand which he collected in plastic bags from the Painted Deserts of the
Greater South West. According to Uncas, The Dog Eater, Mij was preoccupied for most of his adult life with
those tribal stories which attempted to explain the origin of his people, their beliefs and tales and the rich oral
history of the Dog Eater clan. The sequence of sand paintings here ostensibly tells the story of events
surrounding the birth of “Hog Boy,” the great ancestor figure of the Dog Eater people. According to the myth,
first came the celestial sperm of Hog Boy which flowed (somehow) from the milky ilk of the mother earth
herself. And the Great Father said “Maybe that is good; but then again, maybe that isn’t so good.” However,
since all there was to eat before that was snakes, bugs and lizards, maybe a little pig would flesh out the tribal
diet, so to speak. Next came the Great Orange Ego of Hog Boy, gestating in the Blue Gourd Knocker of the
Great Mother herself. And the Great father said: “I sure like to lick those knockers about.” and that was
generally accepted as a very good sign. Then came Chromosome of Hog Boy (third image) which foretold of a
vast lineage of Hogs that sprang from the primal gamete that flowed from the first ilk, "the Earth Mother’s milk,
remember?" promising to feed the tribe for as long as the snow would melt and the grass would grow. And the
Great Father knew that was as good as it gets, so he gave his permission to proceed with the swill story. Thus
Hog Boy Blue Shifted to emerge vertically from the great brown belly of the Mother Earth herself (4th image)
and extended one lone skinny ear toward the west. Then Hog Boy (5th image) grew another bigger ear the
better to hear all about himself to the East, where the Bubble Echo of myth babbled over to proclaim his birth.
But that was just a lot of aimless talk that Hog Boy rejected (see Illusion of Hog Boy) because now he knew the
earth was really hot, dirty, incredibly dry and filled with nothing to eat but friggin’ snakes, bugs and lizards.
Nevertheless, to survive in this “New Reality” Hog Boy had to make do, so he fabricated a marvelous dream
image to bring into focus every manifestation of his enormous power; and behold the Essence of Hog Boy was
transformed in order to spread his scat across the plains to nourish a more bountiful earth….
Creation Myth of Hog Boy
|Three Tales by Uncas Dog Eater
From "Sand Paintings of Apache Mij," Edited by Ugh Toad,
Curator, Anza Borrego Museum of Unnatural History…
Sperm of Hog Boy
Orange Ego of Hog Boy
Blue Shift of Hog Boy
Chromosome of Hog Boy
Big Ear Bubble Echo
Illusion of Hog Boy
New Reality Hog Boy
Essence of Hog Boy
Holy Scat of Hog Boy
Tale of Ugh Toad and Three Blind Flies by Uncas Dog Eater
Butt, he thought to himself, it’s probably best not to come right out and admit it. Besides, he had another plan in mind…So he said to the flies,
“Hey you guys, whatcha think about this,” and then he mumbled something so low down and inaudible that the blind flies couldn’t hear what he
said. Now, you know how curious flies are, flitting around and landing on everything in sight. So the first fly said: “Uha, whadi’dat natty bozo say?
I dinna catch it." And the second fly replied, "He's mout just fulla crappy cheese, but let's fly over and land near his toes to hear better." So the
three blind flies buzzed off their dinner and flew over in the direction of the bozo they heard, only they overshot the mark and landed smack dab on
Ugh Toad’s big horny snout. One slick slimy lick later, Ugh Toad had found something he liked to chew on better than that crummy old cheese
and he knew now how to go about it. Find some grisly pile of fresh scat cheese and plop yourself down beside it. ‘Cuz, before long some juicy fly
will plow right in and become an easy target for a laid back toad…
Moral of the Tale: Everything in the world has value or purpose of one kind or another, even hog shit cheese found on a trail…
When Ugh Toad emerged from his nest egg buried
in the sand of the Great Mother, he was shocked to
find that the only grub available was very poor
indeed. In fact it was so inferior in both taste and
smell that he could not bring himself to even look
upon the stuff. Why, even the flies wouldn’t land
on it, though there were three of them blind enough
to soak their proboscis in the swill. Naturally, the
three flies were desperately hungry to say the least.
Their conversation went something like this. First
fly: “Gees, this cheese tastes just like pig shit, don’t
it?” Second fly: “You got that right! But obviously
there’s some fly shit mixed in!” Third fly: “I don’t
know, but I’m sure I can taste a faint twit of hog
shit with a twist of toadstool around the edges, an’it
ain’t a flavor what I consider fit for a fly.” Now,
Ugh Toad heard all this and was sorely embarrassed
to admit that he had sampled the cheese balls
himself; otherwise, how could he have formed his
opinion of it.
Tale of First Coyote by Uncas Dog Eater
Long before the time of men, before even the year of the "Great Yeast Infection"
when Princess Cuntkin strolled alone at last in the Cave of Change, admiring the
glow emanating from the ancient whirligigs, even before the Great Earth Mother of
the Bearded Clam had spread her eggs wide to engulf the third primordial
plantation--which led, as everyone knows, to the birth of snakes, bugs, flies and
lizards--there stalked a being of ages distant and remote, a cold soul who dwelt in
the Cave of Phantoms and Chimera. And his name was Ko of Yo-Tey. Now Ko’s
existence (more or less) lay somewhere between what you might call flesh and the
rest, but he wasn’t really quite all there, if you see what I mean. Naturally, he was
as a result unclean even though he wore gaudy dark colored robes. Unfortunately,
before there were snakes, bugs, flies and lizards, as I pointed out above, life had to
make do with little more than lichen, moss and weeds for the stew and there wasn’t
much of anything anyone could say or do about that, except complain. Everyone
that is except Ko. For deep in Ko’s lair was a pool so black that light hardly
showed anywhere. And in that pool lived the glowing Sisters, Brothers and all the
others of the tribe of the Bearded Clam. Now guess what happened next.
One very clear night when the time was right, ol’ Ko slipped down to that clammy
black pool and busted out fifty or so of the youngest tender clams. Yep, he ate ‘em
hair and all. One at a time he licked ‘em prime and then swallowed the swollen
parts. God! was that good swill for a change…even if it was strange stuff, so to
speak, and just a toad tricky to get down there in the dark an’ all. Yet there were
two thorny principles that Ko had forgotten in his haste to taste those clams. “You
are what you eat,” and “You never get nothin’ for nothing’.” And that’s why Ko
Yo-Tey lost his robes after eatin’ that clammy hair. ‘Cause you stuff your belly
with fifty clams and you get what you deserve. You get stuffed…like a mangy
mutt. That pool wasn’t black for no good reason…
My name is Oklahoma Jimmie. As elite members of the primal horde, you are perhaps already aware that I am president of the Archeopneumatic
Restitution Association, originator of the Ejective Trance Technique for recovering the process and content of old dead brains, and a certified
notary public. Although my methods are often criticized by those members of the anthropological establishment who must confine their study of
antiquity to pottery shards, bones, ruins, and other artifacts of that ilk, it is simply one of the hazards of recondite genius to be scorned by those of
average vision and abilities. In any case, I write to inform you that I have been commissioned by an individual (who wishes to remain anonymous)
to exhume the mind of Apache Mij and to recover all images and techniques associated with his sand painting activities. I am hoping that you
might be willing to assist in this effort by providing information regarding any available personal artifacts and debris associated with him during his
lifetime (e.g., a hank of hair, nail clippings, dried snot, petrified turds, discarded spit-wrinkled roaches, an article of clothing reeking with his
sperm, sweat, etc.). Some link to his essential body fluids is essential to the success of my rigorous psyche excavations and scientific research
design. A generous professional consulting fee will, of course, be provided for any meaningful help provided.
Institute for the Study of Crapology (Government funded)
Organ Needle, New Mexico, May 21, 2009
Office of Scoopy Fetchet, Director of Merchandise and Collections
To: Okie Jimmy @ Potty’s Billboard.com
Our internet service provider informs us that you are interested in obtaining petrified turds for purposes of psychic research? If this is, in fact,
true…you have come to the right place. Here at the world class Crapology Institute, we have the only complete collection of turds from every
corner of the earth. We carry both animal and human turds as well as both ancient and modern varieties. Our collection of dinosaur turds is frankly
unrivaled. Furthermore, our turds are generally considered to be the best you can buy anywhere, anyplace, anytime. Why, you ask? Because they
are gathered fresh, flash frozen and stored in hermetically sealed containers for 24 hour delivery to any address in the United States. Not only do
we specialize in petrified turds, but we maintain a collection of specimens from every race, creed, color and politico-religious affiliation on the
planet. In short, if you are looking for crap, especially top of the line crap, we offer both fresh and petrified varieties at truly affordable prices. The
specimens you see in the photo above were provided to us by an itinerant Apache Indian named Mingus something or other, who sold his stools
occasionally for small change over the years in order to support his alcohol and tobacco habit. We understand that you are particularly interested in
this particular individual and as luck would have it, he happens to be one of our satisfied customers. The larger specimen is apparently a deposit of
Cattledrive Chili laid by the Indian in a cave somewhere in the Anza Borrego Desert, and is thought to be about 35 years old. As a result it is almost
completely petrified except for some mushy areas in the middle. The two smaller specimens are relatively fresh, no more than a year or two old.
We guarantee that you will not be disappointed with your purchase… For prices and shipping fees, please feel free to visit our website. Our crappy
photo collections are perused by a world wide audience…
Institute for the Study of Crapology (still Government funded)
Office of Scoopy S. Fetchet, Director of Merchandise and Collections
To: Oklahoma Jimmie @ OkieJimmiePalmistryCrystal Balls.com
Subject: Turd Verification
Since last we spoke, I have spent considerable break time thinking about your concern with respect to the verification of the turd you’re interested
in, you know, the big petrified one that was allegedly deposited years back in some cave by that Indian fellow, Mingus Ishi Jizz I believe was his
name. In any case that is the name on the record slip for the entry in our computer database files. I looked it up myself. Apparently, this Mingus
character gave blood on the same day he presented us with his magnificent specimen, for which he received a sum of $25 in US currency. The
lab rats at the time analyzed the turd to determine its age and came up with a figure of about 35 years due to the state of its desiccation and the
degree the cells of organic matter were replaced by mineral deposits. The analysis also showed evidence of wild chili pods and other herbal debris
including bean skins and proteins consistent with the remains of dried beef. One detail of unusual interest at the time was the fact that the turd
weighed close to six pounds and was thus initially thought to have been of bovine or ungulate origin. Its size and the fact that it hardened from the
outside in probably explain why a recent scan revealed some mushiness still exists near the center. I therefore directed my lab people to insert a
probe and take a sample of this moist material for purposes of longitudinal analysis. This procedure established beyond the shadow of a doubt that
the composition of the turd is as we previously reported to you. It is a giant bowel movement representing the mass contained in about 8.6 12 oz.
cans of chili con carne with beans…Should this information prove to be of a compelling nature to you, but you still require the sniff test, I have
instructed the lab to make both the specimen and the material extracted by probe available at your convenience. If there is anything else I can do to
facilitate your research, please feel free to notify me…
Cordially, S. S. Fetchet
Date: May 22, 2009, 1:16 pm
TO: Mr. Snoopy Fetchet, Director of Merchandising and Collections, Institute for the Study of Crapology
FROM: Oklahoma Jimmie, BAeC; CMG, BMOC; BYOB; MCP; MDiv; PhX
RE: Apache Mij Crap Purchase
I am most interested in the possibility that your fine company can provide high grade shit from the bowels of Apache Mij. I must, of course, insist
we be allowed to employ rigorous verification procedures to ensure that the source of your material is authentic. To this end I propose that my
lowly assistant, Ugh Toad, be allowed to visit your company for a rigorous test of its bona fides. He is a veritable shit-hound, quite familiar with
Apache Mij's ass, and will employ his large and highly sensitive proboscis in an unobtrusive manner which will do no damage to your product.
Once Ugh Toad has completed his lascivious sniffing I will follow up with my exquisitely honed public notary duties. If all works out we have a
Dear O' Jimmie, Friday, May 22, 2009, 3:51 p.m.
There will be, of course, a middling fee for the sniffing, but I see no reason to conclude we don't have a deal, provided the turd meets with your
full approval...By all means, send the nose over and we will bend over backwards to provide all the sniffing his nostrils can require.
Sincerely, Scoopy (aka Snoopy) Fetchet
Irvine Organs and Bio Med-tricks
Division of Procurements
Office of Rudy and Rapid Randy Panky
To: Oklahoma Jimmie (aka The Squid)
Re: Your online request for personal artifacts and debris
Yo Jimmie, whazup? See you been busy with your new scam eh? Well, now that we’re off the
force, so to speak, we heard on the street you was lookin’ for some items for your new career
Well, in old evidence lockers we found some special items recovered from a drug bust that went
bad a few years back. Bunch of Puerto Ricans trying to muscle in on a drug ring operating out of
a bug house hereabouts. They called us in to clean up the mess. Anyway, we got a primitive
brain from some dead Indian, which still seems to be in good condition and some guts from a
fella, which we found hanging from an ice pick in the dead guy’s cell. Somebody cut him up real
bad. The rest of him was not worth saving, if you know what I mean. We can let you have both
items for the price of one, ‘cause we need to clear out our inventory to make room for a lotta
new stuff. You know the drill so let us know if there's anything else you want...
From: Last Chance Brothel, Puerto Penocho, Bahia de San Porky, Sonora Mexico
To: Okie Jimmie, Archeopneumatic Restitution Association?
Subject: Apache Mij, som’a his fresh gizz
Dear loco Gringo, I hear you pay good for body fluids, why I don’ sabe, but we got plenty here. I hear
you wan’ pecker juice from big balls melican injun name Apache Mij, him so silly, tee hee. He come
‘round here plenty! You betcha! I scrape some off my face this mornin’ and get a pitcher for you. You
can see picture shows gizz from Red Man, no kiddin’. What’ch gimme for teaspoon full? You wan’
more, is no problema…I get unlimited supply…You need any head you come ‘round too.
Adios, Maria Innocencia de Dos Chichonas, “What ever kinda mind you got, I can blow it…”
Exclusive Gallery Debuts Lost Works of Apache Indian Artist
A La La Times Pictorial Exclusive by Odd Jim Dotty (Part I)
“Fair Wind across Freudian Rectals of Stuffed Writer’s Blockage”
may not be entirely understood by this writer, but I can say without
fear of reprisal that Mij captured here the essence of some great
truth about the creative process that Oklahoma Jimmie knows as
well as he knows his nose. But that truth, whatever it might be, is at
present beyond the palpable verbal skills of this author. That these
images could have been committed to sand and then simply left,
abandoned by their creator, no more concerned apparently with
their preservation than with his own, speaks of a truth so ancient
and invincible as religion itself. What could Mij have been thinking
as he knelt in the hot sand and sprinkled his bed of creation with the
malt of his imagination?
"New Perspective on Freudian Rectals"
In the world of art as in the world of fashions there is little that has
not been tried in an attempt to corner the market on demand and
supply. But new developments in the conceptual fields have extended
the range of our understanding of the origins of the perceptual arts.
A case in point revolves around the original work of a reclusive sand
painter by the name of Apache Mij whose true identity remains an
item of considerable concern to some. All this would be of little
interest to aficionados of modern art were it not for the fact that the
sand painting you see here never actually existed. That is to say, it
never actually existed in any form other than as a conception or
image in the mind of the artist. Yes, I know, you ask: “How is that
possible?” [Spare me your vitriol for a paragraph.] One paranormal
explorer of the avant-garde anrhroploigical establishment has long
maintained an eccentric view with respect to ‘evidence’ in the study
He abjures those of little vision and ability who restrict themselves to mere bones, ruins, and broken bits of pottery because, in his opinion,
cracked pots do not tell us much about the wily ways of our ancestors. Instead, Oklahoma Jimmie applies his considerable paranormal
abilities to the analysis of human remains in order to ‘exhume’ mental images once associated with the dead. As president of the
Archeopneumatic Restitution Society Epigraphic (ARSE) and the originator of Ejective Trance Technology [E.T.2], Okie Jimmie recently
applied his methodology to an unlikely but extraordinary artifact.
In effect, he ‘retrieved’ an invaluable array of lost sand paintings from the
petrified remains of a bowel said to have been deposited over thirty-five years
ago by the acclaimed genius Apache Mij himself [I know, incredulous!]. Using
the resources of a gigantic database on human coprolites at the Institute for the
Study of Crapology, a government funded think tank in Organ Needle, New
Mexico, Jimmie located just the material he required for purposes of his
analysis. Miraculously, he had identified a verifiable source of matter containing
minute quantities of essential body fluids from the sand painter, applicable for
his inexplicable research. The rest is history.
As you know, the work of Mij first came to the attention of art historians because of
his incredibly delicate control over the medium of sand. No one has ever seen before
the degree of shading and complexity he demonstrated in his highly unusual drawings
and paintings, which were, of course, only temporary in their nature. Evanescent
weather, existence personified, a leaf floating in a breeze or blowing in the wind….
Were it not for the camera of an idle tourist on vacation (Dotty) passing through
Indian reservations of the old southwest, many of Mij’s earlier works would also have
been lost forever. Now, through the application of the most esoteric of paranormal
activities, The Dotty Foundation, through the auspices of its Family Archives and
Museum, presents “Grand Images from the Shaman of the Immaculate Perception.”
In “First Figment of Mij’s Jizzy Imagination” one senses the awesome control Mij had
of the basic elements of his medium, working by hand with sand. The sheer audacity
of the capacity lends new meaning to the meaning of meaning if you see what I
mean…What artful dribble, what grand backwash and splatter effect, no less a
spectacle than a spectacular display of the radiance of gravity and gradience, aroused
and spilt fresh upon the brow of mother earth.
Then came “Evocation of the Day of Creation” so
powerful in its imagery as to approach the wonder of
the sublime, with not so much as a grain of sand
misplaced. Yes, gentle reader, you may stare in awe at
the sheer implausibility of it all, as your own dim
resources pale in comparison with the angelic design.
Shall we not bow down our collective heads before
this apotheosis, this semi sumi captured by Okie
Jimmie from the tall tail end of time? If this be not
genius, what next?
“Post Colonic Exercise in Gastric Spatter of Clam,”
may leave you gasping for breath, but that is small
price to pay for the exuberant way Mij has
expressed his obligation to a bowel movement. With
an aromatic display of colostic cologne, we are
shuttled into outer space where pixels gambol
around Middle C, as octaves of orchestral
imagination mingle with their grace notes, both
afloat in an unlikely black water pool flowing
through ice caves filled with the clammy residue of
fountains spouting throughout.
In case you didn't notice, this is a turd...
Lost Portraiture of Apache Mij Revealed
An L A Times Pictorial Exclusive by Odd Jim Dotty (Part II)
Nor are we confident that Mij was not pulling our legs with these two pinch-faced
Paleozoic pals, both exhibiting the consequences of life in a gravity rich environment,
their sagging selves sliding into sucking senility, dopey and mopey engaged in their
hokey pokey, like a pair of jokers in a deck without any really good face cards. Still
pardners in pussy footing, no doubt! Couple of shag nastys who apparently can’t
afford the price of a plastic bic razor….exuding retardation along with loss of bladder
control, teeth, and sex appeal. My God! That is so real!
Supreme View of Ayatollah Rockin' Rolla
Sand, considered as an artistic medium, may lend itself to an extreme view, whether it be course
or fine by choice or design. But in the hands of a master artist, sand can become as elastic as
plastic, as picturesque as paint, as colorful as refined. That is the impression one receives of the
astonishing portraits left abandoned by the elusive recluse known as Apache Mij. Absolutely
nothing is more obvious than his compelling mastery of the medium of sand. Whatever else may
be said of Mij, this fact remains. Yet, we who bear brief witness to his talent, who gaze in awe at
his evanescent creations, are left to wonder what Mij saw, felt, thought about his ephemeral
handiworks. Who were the personalities, the models, the principals he deftly commuted to
posterity? And what conundrums must we fathom to puzzle out his purpose? Take for example
the extreme “View” at left. Who is it that Mij has immortalized here? Surely not some Iranian
cleric but who? Only Oklahoma Jimmie may know for sure and he isn’t saying, at least not yet.
And then we ask, what about this formidable creature colorfully
set off against the dazzling brightness of chalk white sand? The
prominent nose slightly curled and bent, the Van Gogh drawn
down to an unsavory point, the weirding eye exaggerated in
malevolent focus, the hairy anthropoid disguise… What could Mij
have known about this specimen, this troglodyte in suburban
demise? Some have suspected that Mij had merely made them
both up; yet the refined detail has led most insiders to conclude
Mij, it now appears, had a remarkably well defined sense of humor which he exercised without restraint, amusing
himself at the expense of his friends and acquaintances by rendering their likeness in caricature, as you see here. Is
this mere mythomania or myasthenia gravis?
Next, what do you make of this cold specimen, his isosceles puss in
isometric projection? What prodigious clavicles support this
sterno-cleido-mastodon, his massive neck like some pre-historic
erection, emerging from the brow of his fly-blown, boat like body,
one long finger poised, no doubt, to pick his punified proboscis, the
hat strewn across his graying hairy locks, a brown sail bonnet for a
slender pointed prow. Frozen in bold grandeur this Cardiff Man, this
Creature from the Blue Lagoon, this jutting jaw of Prussian
Pre-cognition, this Pantagruelian Gargantua projects his rough and
extravagant humor unembellished by adroit turns of phrase and
indifferent to all the tidy didy conventions. Yes, unadorned and
motionless, here struts the stuffed stiff of raunchy comedy himself,
boldly flowing where no man has flown before.
As one, yet two, as well as true, did Mij portray his sand,
and what could be as well as three,
immensity and grand.”
This line from “Apache Mij, Shaman of the Immaculate Perception,” may provide
some hint as to the subject of the last of Mij’s sand paintings, now known as the
“Moaning Lenny.” Here we see the consummate artistry of a hand skilled in the
soul of sand. Line and shadow, texture and grain mingle in seamless symmetry to
portray this Angelic alien transported beyond transcontinental meditation. In earthy
browns and grays, this shimmering study in sumptuous serendipity literally drowns
us to the depths of the sublime, sweeping us up in its sea weedy tendrils, as if
transfigured by cruciform crenellations plangent with pungent permutations
(sputter, sputter). Now we know what we know without a doubt, without
hesitation, without self-pity, without shame, blemish, envy, or greed, that Stupid is
the smartest man, now captured in the boldest sand. Not menacing, not
meaningless, not without redeeming social value, nor any of the norms of normality
nominally neutralized by never ending disputes about whose values retain the most
value when the economy dribbles into the toilet bowl of post industrial society,
where up is down and newspapers no longer make any effort to distinguish
between greasy fact and the whiff of political whale puke. [Sorry, but we simply
cannot afford to follow this train of thought any further due to restraints imposed
upon us by the time-space continuum.]
Now, what have we here, you ask? Behold, Friar Wienie of Holy Ballzini,
one of the few works in sand which Mij himself entitled. Curious as the case may be,
we are left without much doubt about who this historical personage was. Apparently
Mij had some vague idea about his paternity or gave vent to a primitive inclination to
dote upon his genealogy. The story goes that Mij’s great great grandmother was
constantly molested by an entire order of mendicant friars who were attempting to
“Christianize” the heathen savages of the Hog Boy Clan (this in spite of the fact that she
is said to have had only one good tit). (Back then, when pickings were slim and the
pussies were few and far between, the holy orders were simply not above philandering
with the native squaws, if you get my drift.) Naturally, this led to ‘issues’ about
seniority, basic body hygiene, and just who was responsible for the rabble of rag rats
that issued from the copious loins of this incredibly fertile female. It is, therefore,
generally accepted that this is Mij’s conception of his long lost grandfather figure, or
someone equally dissolute, licentious or libidinous.
In his biography of Mij, "Seven Degrees of Distorted rejection," the noted Apache shaman, raconteur and tribal historian, Uncas Dog Eater,
argued that Mij's work revealed three stages of the artist's asocial and professional development, but wrote at some length concerning Mij’s lack
of a general theory of relatives and their fundamental microscopic relativity. However, whether these cloudy sand images represent Mij (or
someone else) remains a much debated matter among those who care anything at all about such affairs.
Some believe Uncas, due to his own non-distinguished prominence, filched these images from Mij, to feather his own authorial spider’s nest. If
so, these sand paintings may in fact depict Mij himself. This theory is attested to by numerous members of the Hog Boy Clan but hotly denied by
the Dog Eaters themselves. Frankly, we may never ever really discover the truth. Nevertheless, we know they portray a shaman in all his
figurative rigor, bold and confident (1st photo), powerfully energized while stalking an evil woman (2nd) and finally, at peace with the universe
and himself. Not a bad record for a day’s work if you ask me….
Anza-Borrego Desert State Park
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Vista of the Anza Borrego desert landscape.
Anza-Borrego Desert State Park includes 500 miles of dirt roads, twelve designated wilderness area, and 110 miles of hiking trails to
provide visitors with many opportunities to experience the Park's unique version of the Colorado Desert environs. Park information and
maps, interpretive events and displays, and listening devices for the hearing impaired, are all available in the Visitor Center. Anza-Borrego
Desert State Park has wi-fi access in various sections of the park, as do fifty five other California State Parks. Many visitors approach
Anza-Borrego from the east-Coachella Valley side via California County Routes S22 and S78. Visitors can also approach from the
west-Pacific Ocean side via California County Routes S79 or S67 and add experience by passing through the high and forested Laguna
Mountains, such as in Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. These highways climb from the coast to 2,400-foot high then descend 2,000-foot
(610 m) down into the Borrego Valley in the center of the Park. This great bowl of the Anza-Borrego desert is surrounded by mountains,
with the Vallecito Mountains southward and the highest Santa Rosa Mountains to the north. They are in the Park's wilderness area, without
paved roads and with the only year-round creeks in Anza-Borrego.
Flora and fauna: Desert Bighorn Sheep at Palm Canyon Oasis.
The habitats of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park are primarily within the Colorado Desert ecosystem of the Sonoran Desert ecoregion. The
higher extreme northern and eastern sections in the Peninsular Ranges are in the California montane chaparral and woodlands ecoregion.
The park features: bajadas and desert washes; rock formations and colorful badlands, vast arid landscapes and dramatic mountains. The
bajadas are predominantly creosote bush-bur sage with Creosote bush and the palo verde-cactus shrub ecosystems with the Palo Verde
tree, cacti, and Ocotillo. In the washes, Colorado/Sonoran microphylla woodlands can be found. These woodlands include such plants as
Smoke Tree , Honey Mesquite, and Catclaw.
Anza Borrego has natural springs and oases with the state's only native palm, the endangered California fan palm (Washingtonia filifera).
Seasonal wildflower displays can be stunning in any plant community throughout the Park. The high-county to the north and east has
Closed-cone pine forests, Manzanitas, and Oak woodlands. The oases are prolific with wildlife of all types of fauna, especially for
bird-watching. Throughout the Park visitors may see Kit foxes, Mule deer, Coyotes, Greater roadrunners, Golden eagles, Black-tailed
jackrabbits, Ground squirrels, Kangaroo rats, Quail, and Prairie falcons. In the reptile class Desert iguanas, Chuckwallas and the Red
diamond rattlesnake can be seen - with care.
Desert Bighorn Sheep
Some areas of Anza-Borrego Park are habitat for the Peninsular bighorn sheep, often called Desert Bighorn Sheep. Few park visitors see
them, and the sheep are justly wary. A patient few observers each year see and count this endangered species, to study the population, and
to monitor its current decline from human overpopulation encroachment.
Geology and paleontology
The inland of southeastern California was not always a desert. Paleontology, the study of the fossilized remains of ancient life, is the key to
understanding and engaging this prehistoric world. Anza-Borrego has an exceptional fossil record which includes preserved plants, a
variety of invertebrate shells, animal tracks and an vast array of bones and teeth. Most Anza-Borrego fossils date from six million to under
a half million years in age, or about 60 million years after the last dinosaur age ended.
Anza-Borrego Desert lies in a unique geologic setting along the western margin of the Salton Trough. This major topographic depression
with the Salton Sink having elevations of 200-foot below sea level, forms the northernmost end of an active rift valley and a geological
continental plate boundary. The Trough extends north from the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California) to San Gorgonio Pass, and from the
eastern rim of the Peninsular Ranges eastward to the San Andreas Fault Zone along the far side of the Coachella Valley. Over the past 7
million years, a relatively complete geologic record of over 20,000-feet of fossil bearing sediment has been deposited within the Park along
the rift valley's western margin. Here, paleontological remains are widespread and exceedingly diverse, and are found scattered over
hundreds of square miles of eroded badlands terrain extending south from the Santa Rosa Mountain Range into northern Baja California in
Mexico. Both marine and terrestrial environments are represented by this long and rich fossil record. Six million years ago the ancestral
Gulf of California filled the Salton Trough, extending northward past what would become the city of Palm Springs. These tropical waters
supported a profusion of both large and small marine organisms. Through time, the sea gave way as an immense volume of sediment
eroded during the formation of the Grand Canyon and spilled into the Salton Trough. Bit-by-bit, the ancestral Colorado River built a
massive river delta across the sea way. Fossil hard woods from the deltaic sands and associated coastal plain deposits suggest that the
region received three times as much rainfall as present times.
The Anza-Borrego region gradually changed from a predominately marine environment to a system of interrelated terrestrial habitats
At the same time, sediments eroded from the growing Santa Rosa Mountains and other Peninsular Ranges began to spread east into the
Trough. It is these sediments that provide an almost unbroken terrestrial fossil record, ending with riparian woodlands only a half million
This record of changing environments and habitats includes over 550 types of fossil plants and animals, ranging from preserved
microscopic plant pollen and algae spores to baleen whale bones and mammoth skeletons. Many of the species are extinct and some are
known only from fossil remains recovered from this Park. Combined with a long and complete sedimentary depositional sequence, these
diverse fossil assemblages are an unparalleled paleontologic resource of international importance. Both the Pliocene-Pleistocene Epoch
boundary and the Blancan-Irvingtonian North American Land Mammal Ages boundary fall within the long geological record from the
Anza-Borrego Desert. Environmental changes associated with these geological time divisions are probably better tracked by fossils from
Anza-Borrego than in any other North American continental platform strata. These changes herald the beginning of the Ice Ages, and the
strata contain fossil clues to the origin and development of modern southwestern desert landscapes. The first fossils, marine shells from the
ancient Sea of Cortez and fresh water shells from a prehistoric era Lake Cahuilla, precursor of present day Salton Sea, were collected and
described by William Blake in 1853. Blake was the geologist and mineralogist for the Pacific Railroad Surveys commissioned by Congress
and President Franklin Pierce to find a railway route to the Pacific. It was Blake who first named this region the Colorado Desert.
Pre-Colombian rock art in the Indian Hill archeological area.
Since the late 19th century, numerous scientific studies and published papers have centered on the marine organisms that inhabited the
ancient Sea of Cortez. Fossil assemblages from the classic 'Imperial Formation' include calcareous nanoplankton and dinoflagellates,
foraminifera, corals, polychaetes, clams, gastropods, sea urchins, sand dollars, and crabs and shrimp. The deposits also yield the remains
of marine vertebrates such as sharks and rays, bony fish, baleen whale, walrus, and dugong. Marine environments such as outer and inner
shelf, platform reef, and near shore beach and lagoon are all represented within the 'Imperial Formation.' As the sea shallowed, estuarine
and brackish marine conditions prevailed, typified by thick channel deposits of oyster and pecten shell coquina that now form the "Elephant
Knees" along Fish Creek. Many of the marine fossils are closely related to forms from the Caribbean Sea. They document a time before the
isthmus of Panama formed, when the warm Gulf Stream of the western Atlantic invaded eastern Pacific Ocean waters.
As North and South America connected about 3 million years ago, terrestrial faunal north-south migrations began on a continental scale
called the Great American Biotic Interchange, and are present in Anza-Borrego's fossils. Animals like giant ground sloths and porcupines
made their first appearance in North America at this time. The oldest terrestrial vertebrate fossils from the Colorado Desert predate the late
Miocene invasion of the Sea of Cortez. These very rare fossils, which include a gomphothere (elephant-like mammal), rodent, felid and
small camelid, and were collected from 10-12 million year old riverine and near shore lake deposits. However, the most significant and
abundant vertebrate fossils have been recovered from the latest Miocene through late-Pleistocene riverine and flood plane deposits of the
Palm Spring Formation in the Vallecito and Fish Creek Badlands and Ocotillo Conglomerate exposed in the Borrego Badlands. These fossil
assemblages occur in a 3.5 million year long uninterrupted stratigraphic sequence that has been dated using horizons of volcanic ash and
paleomagnetic methods. The bestiary for this savannah landscape reads like a "who's-who" for some of the most unique creatures to
inhabit North America - animals such as: Geochelone, a giant bathtub-sized tortoise; Aiolornis incredibilis, the largest flying bird of the
northern hemisphere, with 17-foot (5.2 m) wing span; Paramylodon, Megalonyx and Nothrotheriops, giant ground sloths, some with bony
armor within their skin; Pewelagus, a very small rabbit (paleontologists can name with a sense of humor); Borophagus, a hyena-like dog;
Acrtodus, a giant short-faced bear; Smilodon, a sabertoothed cat; Miracinonyx, the North American cheetah; Mammuthus imperator, the
largest known mammoth; Tapirus, an extinct tapir; Equus enormis and Equus scotti, two species of extinct Pleistocene horse;
Gigantocamelus a giant camel; and Capromeryx, the dwarf pronghorn.
Although paleontological exploration of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park has stepped firmly into the 21st century with the application of
GIS and computer assisted analyses to field surveys and resource management, many questions still remain as new fossils are discovered.
Expanding the detail and clarity of the paleontological view of the region's past and improving understanding of its significance is ongoing.
The Native Americans of the Anza-Borrego mountains and deserts included the Cahuilla, Cupeño, Diegueño, and Kumeyaay Indian tribes.
It was the homeland of these peoples for thousands of years, and their artists created petroglyph and pictogram "Rock art" expressing their
House of Woton-g
Imperial Family Tree
Ra the Jaw and Gyp-O Jewel Finger
Red Hyena with his Ma and HippO-Pontamus
Eos, son of Pontamus and
eM Eponymous, daughter of
Gyp-O Jewel Finger
Scowling Ka, Grandson of Ra
and his bride, Ick of Isis
Rasp, Pecker of Red Hyena, and Valvolina
Dark Red Prick of Moses and Ebony of
Box Biloxi aka Valvolina
Woton-g of Box Biloxi
Master of the House
Mango Basket Woman, grand
daughter of Ick of Isis
Sibling Rivalries of House Woton-g-ues
Fudge Finger III
Shak The Sag Nasti
Skag The Hag
Crap Hook I
Tall Fish Tail of Hookah
Slit of Moist Sly Eye
Black Luger, Boxmaster
Shy Red Crocodile Pussy
Sally Two Thumbs InU
Double Quick Mi-Heine
Lord Nails of Ick'sTong
First Speaker of the House
Primal Members of
The Lost Log Book of the Ill-Fated Mojave Trail Expedition
By Ace Turner, Diarist/Cartographer/Photographer/Cook/Camp Scrounge/Utility Gopher/Aide de camp to Jimmie W.
To Lanfair and Back
Jimmie Walkabout and I wave good-bye to Gloria and leave the San Fernando Valley. Idle chatter interrupts long periods of silence.
Jimmie bitches incessantly about stopping for an Egg McMuffin®.
Stop in Searchlight for fuel, beer and McDonald’s hamburgers.
Loaded with firewood, gas, coolers and lots of other camping bullshit, we leave Searchlight and heads south on highway I-95. Jimmie
Walkabout, a closet Europhile, sneers at the 18-pack of canned Budweiser I have purchased at the Casino-cum-convenience store. Bad
juju circulates truck cab while Jimmie Walkabout and I gobble McDonald’s hamburgers and flying insects splat against the windshield.
According to information posted by 4WD-enthusiast web goofs, a large rock cairn marks the entrance to the Mojave road on the western
side of the I-95. We don’t see it. After the odometer clicks three miles over the expected distance, we turn right onto the next dirt road and
head west.We rumble over dusty gray chunks of rock for about 6 miles. Doubts creep in. Fort Piute is supposed to be the orientating
landmark. Where is it? No bleached Indian bones to mark the path? What kind of testament to Manifest Destiny is this horseshit?
We press ahead. We climb a steep mountain pass peppered with jagged rocks. I plow forward, spraying rock fragments and bouncing
Jimmie around like Britney Spear’s ovaries beneath a NASCAR pit crew picnic tent. I spew profanities and hug the cliff wall to avoid the
eroded hairpin that spills down into a drainage gully hundreds of feet below. Jimmie puffs on his pipe and strains to construct the pointillist
interpretation of this 4-wheeled hell.
We reach the top of the mountain pass. A valley stretches out before us. Is this Lanfair? Where’s the cavalry fort? Off in the distance, we
Very serene and picturesque. Nice flowers. Jimmie puffs. I crave a beer. As the caravan nears, I hail the lead jeep and ask the driver where
Is this the Lanfair Valley?
Yeah, he says, this is the Lanfair valley.
No, you should have turned right down at the fork. You wanna see it? Follow us; we’re going down there right now.
To the chagrin of Jimmie’s O-ring, we head back down the mountain pass. We turn left at the fork and then left again and creep along a
rocky trail. The vehicles stop. Off to the left we see ruins. It’s not a fort. A woman from the caravan who has appointed herself official
Mojave Desert historian makes sure that we know that it was she who told us that it was an old turkey farm abandoned in the forties. She
adds that there are many interesting petroglyphs nearby. Jimmie gestures his skepticism by puffing in the opposite direction of the yapping
crone. Nevertheless, we leave our vehicles and scramble down past rusted-out farm gadgets, crumbling masonry and twisted tufts of
ochre barb wire. Below the farm, in a deep gulley, greenery stretches alongside a stream fed by an underground spring. We spot the
uninspiring petro-scribblings, gawk dishonestly, and slog back up the hill.
Fort Piute Blues
Jimmie stops tripping for a moment and we huddle. Here’s the dirt: We’re six
miles into a 130-mile-plus slog and we already have a flat. All the other tires are
in crap shape too. We have a choice. We can either go back to Searchlight and
buy an extra spare, or we can throw caution to the wind and soldier on like a
couple of idiots.
I look up to lead Jeep guy and ask him, “Do you think this plug job will get us
across the desert?” “Sure.” he says.Jimmie and I look at each other and nod our
heads in foolish unison. Idiots it is. Before long, we’re back on the grim trail of
death, heading up towards the Lanfair valley… again. Third time’s a charm.
We creep further up the road a short distance and arrive at Fort Piute. I jump
from the truck excitedly and immediately hear loud hissing. No doubt a large
Mojave green curled up and poised to strike. My instincts kick in and I prepare to
execute a backwards shoulder half-roll while unsheathing my 14-inch Pakistani-
forged infidel decapitator. As I begin the contortion, however, I squint in the
direction of the sound and see my front right tire almost completely deflated.
It’s a puncture.
My shopping spree at Pep Boys only prepared me for a slashed sidewall and a
strawberry-scented interior. I lean by the sagging tire and hear Jimmie behind me
cackling like a crazed Scrub jay. I suspect he has been secretly consuming
Then, some good news for a change: The lead jeep dude has a plug kit and a powerful compressor rig. He plugs the tire, tops it off with
some goo, locks the nozzle into place and inflates the tire in less than three seconds. Sweet...
Remnants of Partridge Family Massacre
Soon the terrain changes from meadows to Joshua tree forest and the road
becomes more challenging. We approach a dried river bed and I ask Jimmie to
into the wash.
“Pussy wash” snorts Jimmie and saunters off behind a creosote bush to set up
the specious shot. Jimmie’s loco weed buzz must be fizzling.
The sun will set soon and we need to find a place to camp. Camping is sort of
permitted anywhere along the Mojave road, but drivers are ‘encouraged’ to use
Who knows what that means. All we know is we haven’t seen anything
appealing since the Manson junk yard a few miles back. Reluctantly, we decide
to check out an official campground off the graded dirt road we soon intersect.
Searching for Hemorrhoid cream
The road through the Lanfair valley is relatively smooth and features meadows of
marigolds and primrose and other colorful desert flowers. But, judging by the
cold wind, we’re gonna freeze our balls off at night.
We stop to check out an old rusted-out, bullet-riddled
school bus out in the middle of nowhere. We ponder the
physics. How the hell did they get that thing up here? Is
it an old Charlie Manson rig? Looks his style. Where’s
that hag when you need her?
We consider the area for a camping spot, but it’s too
early and we need to make up for lost time. We pose like
geeks inside the bus. We rest for a smoke, pick at old
items in the sand, then climb back into the truck and
continue down the road. Not too far from the bus is
some type of ‘official’-looking dwelling but we don’t
bother to inspect it.
Apocalypse Now! Campground
Jimmie staggers outside to warm himself by the fire. He scoops the cold mush
into a Tostito, raises it to his mouth, and ruminates like a sad, emaciated goat.
The flames continue to lap the ground opposite us and we bitch and whine and
then retreat into the tent for a night of intense cold and high winds that shake
and batter the tent.
I fart all night long.
Jimmie has a dream...
To be continued…
Joshua Tree Jamboree
Graded dirt roads intersect the Mojave road in at least
four different areas of the preserve. This is convenient
preserve. It also provides an escape route in case areas
become impassable or emergencies dictate a quick
retreat. There are no hospitals, gas stations or stores
along any road in the preserve. If your traveling
companion becomes injured, or in any way impedes your
progress, he or she should be summarily executed…
Shortly before dusk we reach the campground. We
running water, toilets… Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like
such a bad idea. It’s ugly though. Barren and fire-
scarred. Almost post-apocalyptic. Looks like an F-16
plonked a napalm bomb center mass.
We circle the grounds and settle on a space that’s sheltered from the road by two large trees. I spot a lone camper flitting around in high
street camp threads and walking stiffly away from a toilet. I fantasize that he is attacked by a cougar.
The wind whips furiously.
We start a fire and set up the tent. Jimmie retreats to the cab of the truck and fumbles for his stash. I place a can of refried beans on the
fire, sit on my fold-out chair and stare at the charred stumps in the distance.
The wind blows the fire in the opposite direction from me just a few inches from the ground.
When the beans begin to bubble, I tear into a bag of Tostitos® and dip up big globs of delicious mush and swig and crunch and swallow it.
After a minute or two, I can feel it congeal into a thick fatty paste in my gut. After three more stabs, the beans are as cold as my frozen
Open Letter from Oklahoma Jimmie Posted Online, May 10, 2009
Potty's Online Billboard
OJD Monday, April 27, 2009, 11:43 am
Congratulations on the successful outcome of your recent (2nd) incursion into the wastes of the Greater Mojave. Your photo shoot of the
Anza Borrego Venture with text appended has met all of the highest standards we here at La Casa have come to expect from those who
endeavor to make contributions to our literary endeavors. You clearly left no rock unturned in your efforts to fashion an unreasonable
explanation for your periodic perambulations. The world will no doubt little regret but long remember your geo-gropping contributions,
notwithstanding the superb discovery of the Ka-Ikeian monoliths and the marvelous Goner Party artifact, all of which efforts have earned
for you and your eh...cook...the highest accolade [Goners 1st Class] we here can bestow. Once again, we wish to extend our sincere
gratitude for your splendid reportage, the pertinacity with which you overcame all minor challenges, and the sheer audacity of your efforts
to avoid all the really dangerous obstacles. We will treasure the memory of your ad-Venture for all of our remaining days, and look
forward to whatever form or substance your artistic endeavors may reveal.
Enclosure: Ike’s Electronic Newsletter, Vol.7. No. 2.
Editor's note: Years have passed following multiple entreaties made to encourage Ace to complete this
travel narrative, to no avail unfortunately.