POSSESSION OF STOLEN GODS...

Notes to Headquarters
by T-Bone, Company Bailiff;
edited by Arthur Corey, Communications Officer:

"Among other things, I am mailing you a yellowing letter-pressed admonition. A reproach and accusation before the fact, thinly veiled as humorous and maybe folksy.

(photo by T-Bone)

"Because even the faintest impulse to shoplift had failed to cross my mind until I found myself poked in the ribs with this card, and because the proprietors of the general store saw fit to drag their god into it, I saw fit to steal the wretched thing.

(photo by T-Bone)

"As a matter of fact, I stole every one of the cards I could find in that musty emporium of China-made hillbilly souvenirs and mildly racist tributes to the nobility of America's Indian warrior chiefs.

(photo by T-Bone)

"The store is in direct cahoots with the motel here, and the cashier is a mean, lemon-faced old hen, doing double duty as the motel desk clerk. She'd tisked her dry tongue at us the night before, shaking her head throughout the extended check-in process once she learned Cotton and I were checking into one room, unwed. She'd seethed and judged us in false silence from behind the counter before turning to straighten the Barely Legal magazines on the rack behind her."

(photo by T-Bone)

* * *

STRIKING IT BITCH...

by Erkuden Sakana, Company Secretary:

("Stupid Fucking Moron" by the men and women of the Company)

The wheels of industry are once again churning at the M.S.Co. The Europeans have arrived in Toronto, hunkering down with the others in the Company Bunker, and T-Bone and Cotton have joined up with the Away Team. This amalgamation of previously spread out Misanthropes into two distinct camps leaves the Company in a better position to ride out this protracted postal strike. The harumphing is subsiding.

Ofcourse, even with the consolidation of membership and amended protocols, circumstances still preclude the needle on the Company Catastrophometer from going all the way back down business as usual levels. Canada Post's indisposition cannot be ignored completely.

Online and mail-order purchase of Company wares remains unavailable

The exchange of certain supplies and sundry secret goods between Headquarters and the Away Team remains vital to Company operations. Relying on services of FedEx and UPS as alternatives, keeps the traffic flowing, but take their toll on Company coffers. These are also not viable alternatives when it comes to the Company's mail-order business and Etsy shop. The M.S.Co. retail division consequently remain closed.

* * *

The strike also calls for the revision many of T-Bone's plans, along with the Company's plans for him.

Portrait of the Company's intrepid Bailiff

With Mr. Bonaparte now tethered to the Away Team, the M.S.Co. regretfully announces the suspension of this year's instalments of his popular Notes to Headquarters travel supplement. Hopefully it doesn't need to be cancelled altogether. Last year's compilation of T-Bone and Cotton's adventures was a runaway hit with subscribers to the Company Espistolary Service.

Then there's the Motel Bible Project...

In a concerted effort to help T-Bone complete his mission, the Company has decided to adopt the project as an M.S.Co. subsidiary. Strategies are being devised to cover more ground, making up for lost time.

(photo by Cottonwood Fields)

The members of the Away Team will henceforth endeavour check into separate motel rooms, or, when possible, separate motels, switching bibles out as per T-Bones specific instructions.

* * * *

THIS WEEK'S PRODUCTIVITY REPORT
Number of illustration initiated: 39
Number completed: 25
Number inducted: 11
Carried over to next week: 5

* * * *

I LOVE BUSEY...

Notes to Headquarters
from T-Bone, Company Bailiff:

"The deed is done. We handed Hell Hogs over to Gary and his goons last night. The matter's out of my hands now. Finally. Amen.

"I'd been sent detailed instructions on how the transaction was to be played out. I had to be go foot, unarmed, and place the film cans in a trunk between the two O's in the Hollywood sign. Cotton accompanied me part ways but it had been clearly stipulated I was supposed to arrive alone. I deviated from the established trails. We had the sense we were being watched from afar.

"I hadn't realized access to the sign itself restricted. Fenced off and closely monitored by security cameras. In order to deposit the reels in adherence to the plan I would have to scale the fence, on camera, in broad daylight, negotiating my way over razor wire. Gary must have known this. I didn't doubt it. My blood began to ache.

"All the same, I'd agreed to the job. And things looked like they might work out with the help of my puertoricans. I had a leg over, then the razor wire snagged my sock. It only got worse the more I worked to get unhooked. A voice barked at me over the security loudspeaker. I'd been spotted trespassing and I was stuck there sure the police were coming to take me off in chains.

"An audience of thicknecked goons emerged. Some in uniforms. All of them hooting, chucking, snapping photos with their telephones. Even the voice on the speaker was laughing at me. Gary and Jake were there too. Applauding. I wanted to set them all on fire."

* * *

IN GOAT WE THRUST...

Notes to Headquarters
from T-Bone, Company Bailiff:

(photo by Cottonwood Fields)

"We were making excellent time but the jar was full, thanks to a long day of nothing but coffee and watermelon. We pulled into a truck stop far past Tucumcari to take a leak, top off the water jug, splash some water on our faces.

"Le Pi-Pi Jar"

"There was a vending machine in the men's room. Not an uncommon fixture at truck stops and gas stations, but this one dispensed particularly colourful array of condoms, cologne and assorted performance enhancers. Imagine the kind of night a fistful of quarters can buy you.

(photo by Cottonwood Fields)

"The "Genies Delight" dispenser in particular caught my eye. Seventyfive cents buys you a shot at one of twelve different "politically incorrect novelties", so I called Cotton in. She loved it but immediately went into a feminist rant about the absence of such amenities in the ladies washroom. Apparently the only vending machines she encounters only offer perfume and menstrual supplies.

We never found out what the new "Bin Laden" condom is all about

"We pooled all our change together hoping to collect as many random surprise novelties as possible but the machine was either empty or not working or a dirty grift. We'd sunk two bucks and a quarter into it when a fourhundred-pound sow in a soiled cashier's smock busted into the washroom, with accusations of illicit activities. She refused to give us our money back. Instead, she threatened to call the police.

(photo by Cottonwood Fields)

"I manage to score some "Horny Goat Weed" while Cotton and the attendant were busy screaming insinuations about eachother's mothers. The packet contained two capsules which we gobbled pulling away from the truck stop. I didn't notice an increase in desire. Cotton complained about a spell of vomit burps for a a while."

* * *

HOT TIME IN THE OLD BROWN TONIGHT...

by Erkuden Sakana, Company Secretary:
Chicago is calling. The Company is snaking its way North again, but not before stopping back in Louisville for a taste of hot brown -- a not so distant cousin, it would appear, of Pittsburgh's own turkey devonshire.

(Kentucky hot brown)

For the uninitiated, a hot brown is an open faced sandwich consisting of turkey, ham, tomatoes, pimento and shredded parmesan drowned in mornay sauce and topped off with bacon.

* * *

(photo by Reverend Aitor)

The misanthropes checked into the cheapest motel room they could find in the greater Louisville area for another Sunday meeting of protocols, tour planning and infighting before bedtime. A fair amount of time also had to be put into preparing merchandise for upcoming shows and store visits, as inventory has been decreasing steadily along the way.

A Party, Spoiled limited edition assembled print by the M.S.Co.

* * *

The final instalment in this season's Epistolary Subscription Service will be shipped out first thing Monday morning. Bowing to increasing demand, it was reluctantly decided this week that the number of available subscriptions for the coming season will be increased to ninety-nine.

portrait of the Company's beloved bailiff

Meanwhile, in an effort to tide the project's loyal followers over until service resumes in October the Company's Communications Officer will begin posting excerpts from T-Bone and Cotton's notes to Headquarters, here, on the web log.

(Route 66 map courtesy of playa.info )

The pair intends to break away from the main convoy after next week's congregation in Chicago. From there, they'll make the pilgrimage along their beloved Route 66 all the way to Los Angeles, where they are scheduled to deliver Screaming Hellhogs Eat Shit and Die to it's rightful owner.

* * *