graffiti removal team warned in court

In county court today, seventeen members of a graffiti removal team were charged with destroying and defacing public property. Seen to be armed with metal-scraper-tipped poles, the individuals were witnessed poking at and otherwise leaving large and prominent scratches upon dozens of utility and traffic-signal poles throughout the greater Los Angeles area (LA). In their defense, the accused stated that they had been hired to remove accumulations of stickers, wheat-paste posters, and other street art, and that the scratches were merely a byproduct of their lawful efforts. Judge Geisternand, presiding, allowed as evidence tapes from cameras operated by the city's Department of Transportation (LADoT) that had filmed inadvertently at least eight of the seventeen individuals using paint-brush-tipped broom-sticks to paint a great number of poles with layer upon layer of a light-gray paint so thoroughly underwhelming as to cause passing drivers to fall asleep at the wheel. Pictures of the damage perpetrated by these Artwork Desecration Teams can be found at the LADoT's own website, under subsection Lunacy, by clicking the tab entitled Oh My What Have We Done.

When asked about the reasons why LA chooses to defile indiscriminately its very own precious and irretrievable works of art, the honorable K. D. Geisternand stated from among the darker recesses of her chambers: “How these people are allowed to deface and to destroy this city's street art; how they are paid to thoroughly scratch up previously untouched metal telephone poles; how they are sent out, in broad fucking daylight, to unceremoniously paint over some of the finest graffiti the world has ever seen; these things I do not understand.” The seventeen were released with a severe warning, but Judge Geisternand docked the graffiti removal teams' organizer, a company owned by the company formerly known as Halliburton, a surliberty of ten whorphans, and sentenced its executive officers to life without joy.

場黑麥 ioanni elymucampus fecit

encylopediamericanifesto: phaltweariness - dehydration

  Among the many serious dangers the smog rider faces daily is the risk of dehydration. A condition easy to overlook but deadly if ignored, the body's dehydration distress call resembles closely the distress call it makes to signal hunger; additional telltale signs of dehydration are crankiness and fatigue. A few reports say that within smog rider packs it is common for the incessantly whining and inexplicably binge-eating member to be forced to hydrate by the IPM (the Instant & Perpetual Militia, i.e. the smog-packs' ubiquitous, fully meritocratic agents of enforcement), however our trust in the source for these reports is shaken.

  Multiple trustworthy sources report that when cycling in desert climates the smog rider adjusts his body to the local variances for temperature and humidity, a somewhat risky process in which he trains his body to need less water than it needs in more northern-lying areas. The first step he takes in this process is to eat of the local soil, and to pledge his fealty to the spirits of the land, and to praise the things growing in it, and to celebrate the things scampering across its face (a curious custom akin to the practices of First People tribes). Once he has ingested of the local earth, he cuts back on water gradually until he needs only a liter of it a day, and perhaps a few ounces more if he should exercise vigorously.

  An active person and avid reader alike, the smog rider learned some of the eternal lessons of the desert by reading tales about Rommel and Lawrence of Arabia, tales of Westerners surviving in the desert on minimal amounts of water using methods they learned from the Bedouin people. (In fact, he considers himself deep down an adjunct member of the hard-scrabble group of desert dwelling bad-asses know as the Fremen, from in Frank Herbert's book Dune.)

  But he is not Fremen, and he is not Bedouin – he is a smog-riding street-art vagabond, a man free of scorn and haste whose heart is pure, and in whom there is no room for death.

  Spes Mea In Ratio Est - 場黑麥 John Paul Roggenkamp