Date: Wed, 11 Oct 1995 14:31:48 -0700
From: Robin Hodgson
To: desert
Subject: Potlatch Preparation


OK, start working on your potlatch preparations. For the desert rookies,
"potlatching" traditionally means sacrificing some of your personal
possessions to the gods of the firepit. It is where stuff like your leaky
air mattresses end up (ask Al), or your old thrashed dirtbiking gear (ask
Glen's dad). Not that the stuff has to be non-functional to be potlatched;
go ask Glen about his watches that seem to end up in the fire with some
regularity.

The reason for potlatching something is usually because the object has
ceased working properly. If that is not the case, general drunkenness works
fine as an alternate means of culling your possessions. A case in point
would be last year when Glen's TV-radio-boombox bought it. The boombox
probably worked fine, but not when its operator was under the influence of
Wild Turkey so it suffered the dual fate of being shot with a .357 while
simultaneously sitting in the fire.

Speaking of last year, it was impossible to top Mary's excitement at
shooting the stuffing out of a Barney doll, first with a .22 and then
sealing his fate with a couple of well placed shotgun blasts. Poor Barney.
He looked so happy sitting on that log, welcoming the end with arms wide
and a big smile on his face.

Now if all of this sounds like fun, be warned by the legends told of the
Kurt and Al potlatch-o-thon of years gone past:

[Kurt]:
"Wow. Did you actually mean to burn that?"

[Al, squinting at the fire]:
"No, ...but it's really hard to stop"


For this year, I will be bringing my old telephone answering machine (which
never worked right but was never so totally broken that I felt like
throwing it away), and the latest in a series of wayward toasters. It was
pretty darn satisfying to turn last year's toaster inside out with a few
close-range loads of buckshot. To make it more exciting, Al proposes that
we construct a surgical-tubing appliance launcher to dispatch my toaster.
It would probably be worth the effort since I seem to wear out a toaster
per year.

Besides my stuff, Glen says he can supply:

"One fucked-up Radio Shack cellular phone"

"One Casio Altitude Watch. I put new batteries in but it didn't
work. Also the watch shall be dispatched from a long distance, snipers
prepare."

"One piece-of-shit Sony Cordless phone and base unit"

I'm ready for Glen's long-range watch: I bought a scope for the .22. I am
also working on Bill to donate one of his self-described "mosquito tone"
guitar amps. I figure that we could plug it into Glen's generator so that
Bill could play something appropriate on it while it meets its fate. With
any luck, in its final moments the amp will achieve the one, true, perfect
guitar tone which Bill has been searching for all these years. Then we'll
shoot the hell out of it.

So: use your imagination, keep the desert clean, and above all, remember
the words of Ranger Glen:

"I've had it with this piece-of-shit! I'm getting the .357!!"

- Robin

12 Feb 2006