More Government Bashing

[StanSqncrs@aol.com]

Ah yes, a bit of local police bashing, courts bashing and draft bashing.
Here's a little more local police bashing with a tiny bit of FBI bashing
thrown in to segue into the next post -
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Subj:	Another Cop Bashing Story
Date:	5/28/98
To:	[FreeGroup]

Again, I can't resist -
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Motorcycle (Significance of the Pickle) Song - Arlo Guthrie

I don't want a pickle
Just want to ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want a tickle
I'd rather ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want to die
Just want to ride on my motorcy - cle

You know, it's been about 12 years now that, I've been singing this dumb song.
You know, it's amazing, it's amazing that somebody could get away with singing
a song this dumb for that long. But you know, hey you know what's more amazing
than that is that, is that uh, somebody could make a living singing a song
this dumb.  But, that's America!

You know, I told about everything there was to tell about it.  When I wrote
it, how come, why, what for, but you know the one thing, that I always used to
neglect to explain, was the significance of the pickle.

It was the time I was riding my bike, I was going down a mountain road.  I was
doing 150 miles an hour.  On one side of the mountain road there was a
mountain, and on the other side there was nothin', it was just a cliff in the
air.  But I wasn't paying attention you know I was just driving down the road.
All of a sudden by accident, a string broke off my guitar.  It broke you know
right there went flying across the road that way, wrapped itself around a
yield sign.  Well the sign didn't break, it didn't come out of the ground, the
string stayed wrapped around it. Stayed in the other end of my guitar, I held
on to my guitar with one hand.  I held on to the bike with the other.  I made
a sharp turn off the road.  Luckily I didn't go into the mountain. I went over
the cliff.  I was doing 150 miles an hour sideways, and 500 feet down at the
same time.  Hey, I was looking for the cops, 'cause you know, hey I knew that
you know it, it was illegal.

Well, I knew that it was it.  I knew I didn't have long, to live in this
world.  And in my last remaining seconds in the world I knew that it was my
obligation to, write one last farewell song to the world.  Took out a piece of
paper, I pulled out a pen, and it didn't write I, I had to put another ink
cartridge in it.  I sat back and I thought for awhile and then it come to me,
it come like a flash, like a vision burnt across the clouds.  I just wrote it
down.  I learned it right away.  I don't want a pickle, just want to ride on
my motorsickle.  And I don't want a tickle, I'd rather ride on my motorsickle.
And I don't want to die, just, want to ride on my motorcy - cle.  Hey I, you
know, I knew it wasn't the best song I ever wrote, but I didn't have time to
change it. But you know the most amazing thing was, that I didn't die, I
landed on the top of a police car, and it died.

I come into town, I come into town at a screaming 175 miles an hour singing my
new motorcycle song.  I stopped out in front of the deli and out in front of
the deli was a man, eating the most tremendous pickle, a pickle the size of
four pregnant watermelons, just a huge monster pickle.  He walked up to me,
pushed a pickle in my face and started asking me questions.  It was about the
same time I noticed a pickle in my face I noticed a cord hanging from the long
end of the pickle going up his sleeve down his shirt into his pants and shoes
out into a briefcase he had near his feet.

I knew it wasn't a ordinary pickle.  But it was about the same time I noticed
the cord hanging out ot the pickle that a 4 foot cop arrived, with a 5 foot
gun.  A cop that one time, must have been around 6 foot 3, but was met at the
bottom of a mountain, by a flying, singing, writing, weirdo freak.  He walked
up and with one tremendous hand he grabbed the pickle away from the other guy.
He threw it, a hundred feet, straight up in the air.  And while the pickle was
half way between going up and coming down, he took out his gun and put a 3
inch bullet hole right through the long end of the pickle.  It started coming
back down.  He stuck out his foot.  He caught the pickle on his big toe.  And
balancing the pickle on his big toe he reached his huge hand into his little
pocket, pulled out a 10 foot ticket.  He borrowed my pen, he wrote it up, then
he rolled it up, and stuffed it in the bullet hole in the middle of the
pickle, took the pickle with the ticket and shoved it down my throat.  It was
at that very moment, that the pickle with the ticket was going down my throat
that, I knew for sure that, that I didn't want a pickle.

I don't want a pickle
I just want to ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want a tickle
I'd rather ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want to die
Just want to ride on my, motorcy - cle
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And on to the meat of the matter, the FBI -
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Subj:	Re: Another Cop Bashing Story + FBI Bashing
Date:	5/29/98
To:	[FreeGroup]
<< YES!!! I actually do have an original copy! It's on the album "ARLO" . I'll
work on that transcript this weekend. I also have "Hobo's Lullaby" Pretty cool
stuff dude!   >>

Ok, then you deserve this -
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The Pause of Mr. Claus - Arlo Guthrie

(introduction) This next song, we're going to dedicate to a great American
organization.  Tonight, I'd like to dedicate this, to our boys, in the FBI.
Well, wait a minute, it's hard to be a FBI man.  I mean, first of all to be a
FBI man you have to be over 40, years old.  And the reason is, that it takes
at least 25 years with the organization, to be that much of a bastard.  Now,
it's true you just can't join, you know it kinda it needs a atmosphere where
your natural bastardness, can grow and develop and, take a meaningful shape in
today's complex society.  

But that's not why I want to dedicate the song to the FBI.  I mean the job
that they have to do, is a drag!  I mean they have to follow people around.
You know, that's part of their job.  Follow me around.  I'm out on the
highway, and I'm drivin' down the road, and I run out of gasoline and I pull
over to the side of the road, they got to pull over too, make believe they ran
out.  You know, I go to get some gasoline, they have to figure out whether
they should stick with the car, or follow me!  Suppose I don't come back and
they're staying with the car.  Or if I fly on the airplanes.  I can fly half-
fare because I'm 12 - 22, and they got to pay the full fare.  But, well, what
the thing is when you pay the full fair, you have to get on the airplane first
so that they know how many seats are left over for the half-fair kids.
Allright and sometimes there aren't any seats left over and, sometimes there
are but that doesn't mean you have to go!  Well suppose he gets on and fills
up the last seat.  So you can't get on, then  he gets off, then you can get
on!  What's he going to do?  Wait, well, it's a drag for him.

But that's not, that's not why I want to dedicate the song to the FBI.
During, during these hard, days, and hard weeks, everybody always has it bad
once in a while, you know you, you have a bad time of it, and you always has a
friend that says "hey man, you ain't got it that bad, look at that guy."  And
you look at that guy, and he's got it worse than you!  And it makes you feel
better that there's somebody that's got it worse than you.  But think of the
last guy.  For one minute, think of the last guy.  Nobody's got it worse than
that guy.  Nobody, in the whole world, that guy, he's so alone in the world,
that, he doesn't even have a street to lay in for a truck to run him over.
He's out theeerre, with nothing.  Nothin's happening for that cat.  And all
that he has to do to, create a little excitement in his, own life, is to bum a
dime from somewhere, call up the FBI, say "FBI?" they say "yes?" say "I dig
Uncle Ho and Chairman Mao and their friends are coming over for dinner.",
hang up the phone.  

And within two minutes, and not two minutes from, when he hangs up the phone
but two minutes from when he first put the dime in, they got 30,000 feet of
tape rollin'.  Files on tape, pictures, movies, dramas, actions on tape.  But
then they send out a half a million people all over the entire world, the
globe, they find out all they can about this guy.  'Cause there's a number of
questions involved in this guy.  I mean if he was the last guy in the world,
how did he get a dime to call the FBI?  There are plenty of people that aren't
the last guy, that can't get dimes, he comes along and he gets a dime!  I mean
if, if he had to bum a dime to call the FBI, how was he going to serve dinner
for all those people?  *How could the last guy make dinner for all those
people?*  And if he could make dinner, and was gonna make dinner, then why did
he call the FBI?  And they find out all of those questions within two minutes!

And that's the, that's the great thing about America!  I mean, this is the
only country in the world, I mean well it's it's not the only country in the
world that could find stuff out in two minutes, but it's the only country in
the world that would take two minutes for that guy!  Well other countries
would say "Hey, he's the last guy, screw him!", you know?  But, but in America
there is no discrimination.  And there is no hypocracy, 'cause they'll get
anybody.  And that's, that's a wonderful thing, about America.

And that's why tonight, I'd like to dedicate it to every, FBI man in the
audience.  I know, you can't say nothin' you know.  You can't get up and say,
"Hi!", you know, 'cause then everybody knows, that you're a FBI man, that's a
drag for you, and your friends!  They're not really your friends, are they.  I
mean so you can't get up and say nothing 'cause otherwise, you got to get sent
back, to the factory.  And that's, that's a drag for you and an expense for
the government.  And that's a drag for you.  

We're going to sing you this Christmas Carol.  It's for all you bastards out
there in the audience tonight.  It's called 'The Pause of Mr. Claus'.  

<waltz> Why do you sit there so strange
Is it because you are beautiful
You must think you are deranged
Why do police guys beat on peace guys?

You must think Santa Claus wierd
He-e has lo-ong hair and a beard
Giving his presents for free
Why do police guys mess with peace guys?

Let's get Santa Clause 'Cause

Santa Claus has a red suit, he's a communist
And a beard and long hair, must be a pacifist
What's in the pipe that he's smoking???????

Mr. Claus sneaks in your house at night
he must be a dope-fiend, to put you uptight
Why do police guys, beat on peace guys?
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What can I say?  We have alot of fun.

Stan,
FreeGroup - "Just Say It!"
http://members.aol.com/whtsametau/FreeGroup.html