Letter by Clay Warren
July, 1999, edition – August 1999 – Colorado Central Magazine
Academese would keep secrets secret
Yere inside the front cover piece ’bout how rafting ain’t fun anymore is about as representative as hit can get fer what happens when big government gets in the act. A bunch o’ our local cold-wet retail moguls now has similar views after being real gung ho ’bout the River Park. Ah’m tryin real hard not ta say ah told you so!
Ah got to take back my previous compliment for Marcia and Colorado Central ’bout not over doin’ the reports ’bout Robert Kennedy’s plans to save Capulin in what started out as a limited campaign and is now goin’ to hep the whole entire SLV. However, I reckon if he just agree’s to have his family o’bootleggers distribute thet new single malt, there might be room for compromise. Now if they will just use some o’ thet Summitville liquid silver water to do the whisky with, we’ll solve two problems at oncet an all git real happy including the health nuts. Speakin’ o’ the SLV, hit was brought to my attention that a certain magazine turned down an advert fer Lynx pelts. Ain’t that a limitation o’ free speech?
In a way ah was sorry to read thet the sand dunes didn’t get used fer a nuclear test, ’cause according to mah neighbor the rockologist, the next big meteorite ain’t due ta strike fer anuther 7 million years give er take, an we cudda already had an indigeneous glass business nearby without the wait. Plus we might o’ got a new mineral named fer some location in the Valley, like mebbe Alamosaite er Bacaite. Ah been advised that the logical choice, Moscovite is already taken by the Russians, probably the same way they took that airport in Kosovo.
Last month we discussed the Darwin awards, well any fool can see that a truck launched dogs contest is a similar event conceived to improve the pooch gene pool. Mah dog Blotch oncet which fell out o’ the back of a stopped pickup and damned iffen he didn’t hop right back in after ah yelled at ‘im. He never did get any smarter but his balance has improved somewhat, probably ’cause he snagged his “hook” on the way out.
Well to git to the piece ’bout the Second Coming. Hit strikes me that them tourists in 1900 wuz jist as uninformed as the rubes gearing up for the 2000 celebration o’ events. Ah mean Jesus was born about 2002-2004 years ago last April by account o’ one pretty good study. So the True Millennium has already come and gone without even any reference ta whether hit began with 00 or 01. Ah reckon if Jesus did show up, he took a look around and straight away left, and the Y2K bug had nothin’ ta do with hit. Ah mean look at who was President, if yuh git mah drift.
Yere discussion o’ the private property rights crowd and their case kind o’ left me a might cold, ’cause you seem to be makin the argument that many wrongs somehow add up to a right to continue makin more of ’em. Strikes me hard similar to them ones made by the segregationists, lak “we done always deprived these people o’ their rights so we ought to be allowed to continue” er somptin similar. Ah don’t take much truck ’bout growin’ hemp, which you always seem to make a big deal out of, although revenoors ain’t ever been my family’s favorite crowd neither, but ah reckon yere mix’en apples an oranges an’ callin’ hit a new way o’thinkin’. You can’t be gist a little bit pregnant, yuh know.
Lastly, ah jist purely loved Martha’s book review ’bout academic speak. Effen yuh was to combine that lingo with enviro-speak, plannin’ and zonin’ speak, and lastly social services speak, why them Chinese could steal anythin they wanted, and then not have a clue what hit was they done took! An wudddn’t that hep make the whole world safer? Ah mean jist think ’bout hit. India and Pakistan both got A bombs, but do they use’em in Kashmir and settle things oncet and fer all? Why hell no they don’t! They just keep right on killin’ each other with the usual tools, ‘probably cause hit’s cheaper to spend human lives plus hit provides guaranteed jobs fer their versions o’ the military/industrial complex.
Yere’s til the fireworks show is over.
Clay Warren pseudonymous in Poncha