To Amy It May Concern

My original post in italics.

Amy's thoughts in bold.

My response in normal script.

From this...

to dan it may concern

I dedicate this post to my eldest bro, Dan...who both confuses and inspires.

((1. First of all, explain the ancient Zapotec medical practices you used to cure your Solar Urticaria in June of 2003, and why did you make me travel hundreds of miles through rough, scorpion-infested country to a plywood roadside tienda two kilometers outside of Compuertas, Mexico, and buy seven (seven) dragon fruit from that horrible old snake charmer with the cat-skull bolo tie and pink top hat? She was an alarming women, let me tell you.))

For the Solar Urticaria, it's simple--

I merely kept myself on a regimen of 15 slices of the Zapotec heirloom tomato every 3 hours. Grilled, with a little roosa oil. As you know, tomatoes, when eaten, have protecting properties against the Sun's effects. With some anti-histamine shooters as a cleanser.

I HAD to have the seven dragon fruit because man cannot live on tomatoes alone. The licopene and anti-histamine overload was breaking down my immune system and I needed the antioxidants. Plus, they taste yummy on cheerios.

I'm impressed that you could find any heirloom tomatoes in SLC. The pleated variety are usually pretty scarce in those parts. Let me guess, you got 'em at Good Earth Natural Foods in Sandy, right? I used to deliver there when I worked at Wagner. Nice people; a little weird, though. They like their brownies and their Earth Liberation Front periodicals. And it's humid as all get out in there.

I'd never thought of putting dragonfruit on cheerios. The ermine-colored pulp puts me off a bit, and the seeds cause Ulcerative Colitis in 23% of people, or so they tell me.




((I mean really, I had to RENT a ’79 Ford Granada with gold spinners and an aftermarket spoiler for two-hundred and fifty bucks in Naco, drive that rattling death trap across 110 degree desert, and then I had to pay a cop some hefty la mordida to get those nasty fruits back across the border, and when I finally got back to SLC and took ‘em to your place, you just said, “thanks Dannyboy” and slammed the door in my face. I have to admit, I never saw the red boils on your ears again, so I guess it was worth it, but no explanation at all? Not the first time, either, I might add.))

Why did I send you to the horrible old snake charmer with the cat-skull bolo tie and pink top hat? I just thought that would be funny. And it was. I laugh every time I think about how you came back smelling like the inside of a rotting pork and bean can...which, I might add is why I had to turn you away. I was suffering enough. The stunned look on your face was hilarious. I was especially tickled as I watched you walk away with tears in your eyes, mumbling something about staring into the face of Medusa and being fed cat belly. Ha. It was worth it. After all, laughter was the best medicine.

Oh, let me get this straight. You sent me to El Cazador de la Muerte as a joke?!

I'd forgot about the smell, sort of. I think someone had died in that Granada, and I'm sorry to say that I did drink the water, which didn't help anything.

And it wasn't the face of Medusa--El Cazador just had really thick dreadlocks. But the worst part of the whole thing is when she blew cigar smoke in my face, spit a mouthful of mescal on my left sleeve and said this in an old man's growl...


Agua para la sed la que reclamas
con esa fe que mueve el pensamiento;
con esa majestar que es sentimiento
de todo lo que sufres porque amas.

El olfato de muerte te ha seguido
se respira el incienso de la casa
y en el petate yace lo que ha sido:

Do you have any idea how unsettling that was? And then she made me put on a red heart milagro with fingerbones dangling off the chain, and told me to drive widdershins around the mountain while gulping down some kind of nasty hot corn drink.

The cat belly wasn't too bad, though--it was the salsa mole they poured over the top of it; stuff tasted like unbleached brake cleaner. Yuck.




((2. You could also tell us what you think the REAL cause of death was for Michael Jackson, The King of Pop, and why you think I give a crap.))

You should give a crap because just think of where the world would be without the Moon Walk.

Okay, I'll give you that.




((3. So. What do you think of miniature bibles and haircuts and compressed air pogo sticks? Just curious.))

Mini bibles are cool. You just can't take a regular sized bible with you on bike rides or to the zoo.

I give haircuts two solid thumbs up and I know Fonzi would agree.

I'm down with compressed air pogo sticks so long as who ever rides one falls off and someone is there to video tape it.

I agree. There really needs to be a whole category of pogo crash vids on Failblog.org.




((4. I’ve been hearing rumors about the Duchesne Redneck Ninja League that’s been training in the mountains north of your house. I hear dey got mad skilz. You seen any around? I hear they prefer lifted Ford trucks and baseball caps and Levis, and they often use dogs as early warning systems and perimeter security.))


These are just the drunk Indians that were thrown out of the Uintah White Trash Spartan Crew. They were mad. I mean, wouldn't you be? They figured since they have the U.S. government in their back pocket that they should be allowed in such groups.

As far as their skills...You would actually be pretty impressed at how well they rassle after downing 4 1/2 jugs of Irish single malt.

Incidentally, if there was ever a battle between a ninja and a Spartan, the Spartan would win every time.

So says Deadliest Warrior.


And they would know (not really).

Now, I've actually heard of the Uintah White Trash Spartans(UWTS). Aside: UWTS--the Utes? No wonder the Indians were pissed they got tossed.

As I recall, the Uintah White Trash Spartans had employed Sean Penn as their celebrity spokesman until the Incident at the Sundance Film Festival of 2008. According to the rumors, he jumped up shirtless before a crowd of dozens, his tank-top tan blowin' in the breeze, a bottle of Mythos Fine Lager in one hand and an orange flag in the other, and screamed, "This! Is! Uuuuuuutaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" before kicking Michael Moore off of a ski lifthouse which set off the small avalanche that buried Matt Damon and Janeane Garofalo for an hour and a half.

Perez Hilton thought it was quite the scandal.

Good news, though. I hear the UWTS now have Kid Rock as their spokesman, to general applause.



((5. And you know, thinking back, I never heard the story of what happened when you were attending Westminster College, and took that excursion to the old pirate haven of Amelia Island in Florida, to do research with the anthropology department and the Westminster College Mustache Club. The Mustache Club!?

What was it that you found on that creaky old Victorian plantation? And why did you spend a week after you got back curled up in the fetal position on the couch, mostly asleep and talking about the Dry Tortugas and Kingfisher sloop in your fevered dreams? What do parched turtles and little birds have to do with anything?))


Look. It wasn't a big deal. I was in the Enviro Bio class. We went on one of our weekly field trips up the Wasatch Mountains. There was this guy all dressed in khaki at the top asking for volunteers to search for the glass eye of his great-great-great-great-great grandma--who was, coincidentally, the great pirate queen Iron Eliza Sophie McPhearson. He promised 500,000 doubloons to whoever found the eye.

I was the first to volunteer. You see, I had been to Amelia Island before. The Man in Khaki didn't remember me. Right after high school, I was recruited by his uncle to make the same excursion. We had gotten so close back then and I had a pretty good idea of where the glass eye was.

Our group needed to be secretive. With Cuba to the south and Georgians to the north, we had to be sneaky. The Stache Club (as we called it back then) came because, really, men in mustaches are creepy and people generally stir clear of them. The fact that they had a couple women in the club was even more to our benefit. Plus, they didn't get invites to many places.

Maybe it was pity.

Maybe it was just a clever ruse.

You can put the rest together. Yes, I did find the glass eye of Iron Eliza. I decided I could get more than the Man in Khaki wanted to pay. So I planned on taking it to a private collector I found in New Jersey. Unfortunately, I lost it in a Poker game to a guy named Crazy Burt Bellamy.

Four of a kind over my straight.

Strangely, the next morning, the Man in Khaki was polishing up the eye and wearing Crazy Burt's snake skin handkerchief around his neck.

Crazy Burt didn't make the trip back to land of Deseret with the rest of us. But we all knew what happened to him.

The Dry Tortugas...the Kingfisher sloop...the pieces fit.

It could have been me...

...if I had been better at Poker.

Holy crap!! That's what was going on?

Oh, Amy, no! If you had only called me, you'd be a half a million in Spanish doubloons richer. Gosh, if only. This is much bigger than you think. Much. Bigger.

First of all, thanks for explaining about The Man in Khaki and Iron Eliza. I'd suspected as much. The memory of that clever SOB has haunted me for ten years.

But I can't believe you played poker with Crazy Burt Bellamy. In Atlantic City, no less--his town! My gosh, Amy, you have no idea what was at stake, here! Let me guess, he beat your strait with four Jacks, right? I know I'm right.

That guy is one of the Underground's most frightening figures. I mean really, when he's in Vegas, he plays Assumption, with Tarot cards, at the freakin' Flamingo! That takes big brass ones. And they say he wound up owning Blind Joe Biscuit at the game in Louisiana in August of '05. He just hasn't collected yet, or maybe Joe made some kind of a deal with him; I don't know. Ken Hite isn't saying, one way or another.

Not even the Beulay Boys or Radio Guy in Mexico want to mess with him, and you go playing poker with the man?

I understand he played in the Assumption game on Lake Mead in '89, and lost, which is why he only comes to Vegas now during the fall. I know for a fact that he's a contender (a "jack") for the throne of the Fisher King of the American West, which is currently held by Scott Crane, out of Northern California. It's been twenty-one years, though, and the whole shebang is due to blow up next year. 2010 is gonna be a doozy.

You can find everything you need to know in The Wasteland. Eliot knew everything.

Stayed tuned here for all the news that is news. And lets us mourn for lost doubloons and snakeskin hankies.