Tag Archives: surfing

Banh Mi Me On The Way Down

     The yang twin unstrapped the surfboards from the roof of the official solar fed limousine that illuminated the worthy cause of brightness in the renewable State of California. He was uncharacteristically careful not to mar any striations in … Continue reading

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Banh Mi Me In A Hole

 The skunks were feeling it, but good. What a day to bump up and waddle and thump in the foothills of rounded mountains. The babies were stinking dirty and cute as polecats. They were practicing precise aim from tiny assholes at … Continue reading

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Banh Mi Me By The Dark Light

    Suffering in hindsight from an invasion of marauding pheromones, I found myself forgetting the fundamental rule of politics, us  v. them, and my support position in the grand schematics of people and things that allowed us to pave the … Continue reading

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Banh Mi Me When the Ebb Flows

     On a stellar day when a shit load of free radicals were blown clear from ions of dust 900 million miles out there, relatively and/or depending, not that far considering convex contextual dimensions, cocky fig-8’s were spinning inside … Continue reading

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Banh Mi Me On A Wave

     Despite the many pre-washed and dried wannabes trying to break hard into show biz, there will never be another Abe Lincoln, Charlie Chaplin, Ben Hur, Little Richard, Beaver Cleaver, Batman, Urkel, Bullwinkle, Joe Stalin. Only one Buddha did … Continue reading

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Scenes of the Crimes

      Savage warriors from Christmas attacked me on the day after Halloween.  They carried sharp hooks and dull beats as weapons.  The dull beats came from drum machines that were only a small percentage human. There were no … Continue reading

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Who Believes In Ghosts?

      I had a dream about the ghost of the old hippie lady exiled from Berkeley for insufficient collectivist spirit, not to mention less than rousing progressive activism, who lived in a ramshackle house on this hill overlooking … Continue reading

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Meaningful As A Diversion

     The triumphant Norcal owls were planning a big bash on the top of Mt. Umunhum in the Santa Cruz Mountains to celebrate the liberation of Woodsy Owl from the nefarious cartoon clutches of the Beverly Hills Rat in … Continue reading

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Passing Pleasure Point

     I was late.  I was sweating.  I smelled like a weasel or a polecat if not an outright skunk and there was no joy in ancient Mudville.  There had been trouble but it was not my fault.  Anyway, … Continue reading

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