Sher-ruff of Venice
–Calvin
The
ever continuing saga of the SHERUFF of Venice Beach, California. The motto of
the Sheruff is “The Law must end force on Human's and all other
beings.”
Early on the morning of July 26, 200_
(sometime in the future) a bearded man stumbled out the alley just across from
the Venice Post Office. He had a tattered jacket on with Alfred E. Newman
embroidered on the back.
His eyes
rolled around and he lifted his head as a L.A.P.D helicopter swooped down on him
from over the post office. The chopper hovers over him and the loud speaker
roasts his ear drums with “You are under arrest, lay down and
spread.”
From the other end of
the alley a dust cloud forms as the squealing tires of a 1965 Dodge Polara
(fueled by propane) speeds to the scene. Inside this car is none other than
Jacob La Mountey, the newly elected Sher-ruff of Venice Beach. He arrives under
the flapping chopper and waves the pilot (bed wetter) off. The copter makes a
tight turn to the left and heads upwards and over the tall palms. La Mountey
walks to the man who is laying face down. He speaks to him in a friendly voice
“get up George.” The man turns his head and flips himself over. The
Sher-ruff says “come get in my car” and helps this very special man
to his feet. Yes my friends, George is the last homeless person in Venice , and
maybe the last homeless person in the good old
U.S.A.
The man’s name is George
Crassfar, the son of a famous writer that had lived in Venice years before. His
Pop had kicked him out of the house after have been caught sneaking a peek at
some secret files of naked South American revolutionaries. George was lucky
today because the Sher-ruff had got to him before the L.A.P.D. La Mountey liked
George and would find him a nice clump of bushes to live in safely, away from
the copters. The Sher-ruff turned his car and rounded the Venice circle, heading
towards the Venice boardwalk.
George
was the best speech-singer-chanter on the beach. On weekends and sometimes
during the week he would chant for hours, his voice wavering high and low and
sometimes crying. “Chairman Meow-nayes, blown Fideliy-Lusta and keep me
from fascist-busta.”
His strange
mishmash of idealistic speeches bugged the hell out of the undercovers and the
robocops. But the Sher-ruff and others loved his coded chants. This was
George’s schizoid way of reciting the history of the idealist. This Ralph,
Paul, Tom, Eugene and Che guy.
Posted: Thu - August 1, 2002 at 05:43 PM