Sher-ruff of Venice


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