Sorry for the inconsistant posting. My summer travels will lead me to and fro like a dragon on meth. As such, I won’t always have the time, opportunity, or mental capacity to fire out the blog entries you so cravenly desire.

Having said that, I would like to tell you about what I witnessed on Saturday.

Two years ago, I attended a parade of such evil and depravity I could scarcely endure. This fiendish procession was highlighted by the hyena-like shrieks and flamethrowing theatrics of the Iron Range Shriners.

Over the weekend, I encountered those motorcycle-riding bastards once again.

Look at that last Shriner. See how his forearms flex grotesquely? See how his mustache flutters in the wind like the wings of a falcon? Tell me you can look at him without wanting to send an arrow into his ribs with a compound bow. It’s things like this that have me seriously considering a move to Mexico.

Once again, they zoomed about the street, strutting their wares and summoning hot magma from their hands. They also threw Tootsie Rolls.

Joining the Shriners this year was another group that made the Nazi leaders look like Archie and the gang - clowns.


A clown band, to be more specific. Filled with malice, these clown musicians marched down the street without discipline, terrifying children and biting the heads off of ravens without remorse. Their ragtag, minor-key melodies filled the summer air with dread and dissonant tones while their pike-wielding goons battered horrified onlookers to death. It was literally worse than the battle of Antietam.

We did see a guy driving a port-a-potty though, so it wasn’t a total loss.