Subject: Running the gamut at 6X-Day

From: "Alliekatt" <>
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Sun, Jul 6, 2003 5:29 PM
Message-ID: <dx0Oa.31222$>

Yes folks, everything under the sun happened to me at 6X-Day whether I
wanted it or not. After unwittingly abandoning the coolest neighbors in the
world (finding this out after the fact), we camped closer to a group from
Pgh with whom we had pre-arranged social obligations so they could stop and
see us on the way down to the festivities. Then the couple has a blowout
and she skedaddles with the car leaving her husband helpless and
fun-disabled and Our Friend stuck and obligated to drive his ass home,
without having had any decent fun. Next year I'll suggest to Our Friend who
brought them, that he not bring UnChurched hangers-on, and seek Slack as an
independent contractor.

Apparently there were a lot of fisticuffing twosomes in the general
vicinity. Where was the LOVE, I ask you. All we saw until we found SLACK
later was EMPTY FUCKING and DRINKING and FIGHTING among peripheral
hangers-on. However, with all prearranged social obligations gone as they
left and we got tired of drinking at home under a flapping joke of a squat
in the blazing heat, suddenly we ended up having FUN.

Meanwhile my Hibernian sweetie misses the fireworks by playing in the pool
and making people laugh by throwing a ball at their heads and cussing like a
soccer coach in his distinctive brogue. People liked Steven. I made a pact
with myself after noticing the magnetic effect his accent had, that any
Pagan chick who tried to rape him for Horny God purposes would be drop
kicked over the Gruplehenge fire personally by me, (of course he would have
said no anyhow but I enjoy being evil), just to remind her that Ireland is
not all fairies and leprechauns and that fucking his part of Ireland is like
fucking a boot to the head. Only a Connieite who can boot harder is worthy,
and the few who are worthy have their own Yetinsyn sex monster to manage.

I had the hottest man there Bobdammit, he's MINE. Even if I AM a shy fat
chick with a grouchy streak and bad taste in clothes.

Two days after arriving at Brushwood we finally stop getting drunk in the
heat and start having fun. Remeeting with our original neighbors from
#subgenius, we play Alien Head Baseball at the ball in tinfoil hats provided
by the industrious Yankees next door. Later we slack out to flix at Ed
Strange's on XD eve. We fully expected "Bob" to FUCK UP and we slept away
lots of X Day Proper. Awakening on XD evening listening to Stang's rant
down the hill, and only making out "Blah blah blah blah BLAH blah BLAH! and
myself up the ass mentally for missing it and dragged my half snoozing
spudsucker down to the Amino Acids show where I pleasured in the destroying
of televisions. I end up whacked on absinthe by X-Day night, cooing to
Suzie the Floozie on the beauty of her toothed pussy. I got some kind of
Bobbie award the night before but I wasn't there to take it. I have no idea
if I was supposed to get a certificate of bobbiness or a car or something.

I'm sure the coming Stangian flood on ABS will more than make up for
anything I missed.

Next time we camp it will be nearer the Slack Enabled and the shade. Kudos
to Ed Strange and Kathy, Bobdiddley, Kurt the Battery Saving Pagan with All
Those Damn Cute Hummingbirds, Schabe and Carrie, the #subgenius crew and, of
course, Rev. Dr. Jack and the Tap House Cabal for making everything so cool.

Here's the amended supplies list:

-A generator. We got jumped twice by a nice Pagan guy next door after
playing music from the car stereo. However, massive pleasure was had
shortly beforehand when I played "The Producers" soundtrack at top volume
and annoyed a nearby person attempting rock-and-roll Coolness to the point
of near homicide.

-A pavilion made by Tonka. The piece of shite we bought at Sherman hardware
lasted ONE DAY before the gromit broke on the tarp and the pole lines
decided to sail with the tarp across the grounds with us cussing after it
like Ahab in a gale. After that it would keep popping gromits and
collapsing on Steven while he ignored it and cracked another beer, with his
headphones blazing Aerosmith, quietly snarling in annoyance at copious
nonsequiturs earlier piled upon him by a local bobbie attempting Deliberate
Weirdness, crawling up his neck and prodding his PsychoGland.

-Another 200 cigarettes. I did not barf up enough lung tissue.

-A shaded sleeping area. I woke up at 10 AM this morning, in the blazing
heat, swollen as a dead badger with scrotal elephantitis, and dreaming about
my cats coughing up lobsters and asking me to brush their teeth afterward.

Heat and absinthe BAD juju.

-Less food. Way, way, way less food.

-More beer. Way, way, way more beer. Although we do have a case left.
Knowing Steven, not for long. It's Bud. He can have it.


PS Banjobob, if you read a.s. you MUST find the "Old Plank Road" bluegrass
album released by the Chieftains. It is Auditory AcoustiSlackicity. Sorry
I missed jamming with you. I WILL find you, never fear. Mwa, ha, ha, ha.

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