"Remember Jon Frum," they shouted as they threw molotov cocktails into store front windows. "Remember his name," they shouted as they overturned police vehicles and then set them on fire using small bic liters and cans of sterno.
Sterno, the Hobos Friend, copyright 1932, John Rockefeller Center for Good Deeds.
Everyone marched down main street. Carrying a flag. Both sides carried the flag. They waved it proudly until it was in tatters. Then it fell into the street. And they trampled over it in their hurry to get that anger out somehow. They moved on down the street. Main street.
America was on fire. Burning up. Everyone wanted to know. Where was Jon Frum being kept? Why was he being kept there? Who were we protecting him from? Did we need protection from the same forces? What about us?
And most importantly.
Where is that damn cargo?
"We want our cargo,"they shouted. 'We want our cargo," they bellowed with horse and raspy lungs. Lungs worn out from yelling and coughing.
Everyone marched down main street. Carrying a flag. Both sides carried the flag. They waved it proudly until it was in tatters. Then it fell into the street. And they trampled over it in their hurry to get that anger out somehow. They moved on down the street. Main street.
America was on fire. Burning up. Everyone wanted to know. Where was Jon Frum being kept? Why was he being kept there? Who were we protecting him from? Did we need protection from the same forces? What about us?
And most importantly.
Where is that damn cargo?
"We want our cargo,"they shouted. 'We want our cargo," they bellowed with horse and raspy lungs. Lungs worn out from yelling and coughing.
Some of them coughed up droplets of phlegm that aerosolized and spread through the air. 10 meters. 20 meters. It drifted for miles and miles.
"It was promised to us. So where is it? Why isn’t it here already?"
We have Jon Frum. In a safe location. Secure. Spared from harm (or so we are told).
"It was promised to us. So where is it? Why isn’t it here already?"
We have Jon Frum. In a safe location. Secure. Spared from harm (or so we are told).
So... Where is the rest. Where is the rest of the loot. Where is the rest of our cargo. Sweet previous cargo. So beautiful to behold. How we long to touch it.
I mean, it's really, really good stuff.
Like apple’s eWorld level good. Serious shit.
wait…….
Ok, i get your drift partner. No worries Kemosabe.
Even better than eWorld. Like apple Music Connect level drop dead amazing.
ah…..
I can tell by the expression on your mouth that you are impressed. Stunned. Amazed. As you should be. Cargo from the sky. And beyond. It's hard for our little ape level noggins to contemplate.
Who knew where it came from. What it’s true purpose was.
Or where it had been. Who had touched it. Who had breathed their breath all over it.
Dripping their sweat onto it.
To make it better.
I mean, it's really, really good stuff.
Like apple’s eWorld level good. Serious shit.
wait…….
Ok, i get your drift partner. No worries Kemosabe.
Even better than eWorld. Like apple Music Connect level drop dead amazing.
ah…..
I can tell by the expression on your mouth that you are impressed. Stunned. Amazed. As you should be. Cargo from the sky. And beyond. It's hard for our little ape level noggins to contemplate.
Who knew where it came from. What it’s true purpose was.
Or where it had been. Who had touched it. Who had breathed their breath all over it.
Dripping their sweat onto it.
To make it better.
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