Toledo Tales

Left: United and committed to change

(Toledo, OH) The five members of the Toledo-area Workers' Solidarity Collective gathered together Sunday evening to share a cup of fair trade coffee and express their collective frustrations about the state of revolutionary activity in Toledo.

"Let's face it - the working class, regardless of its size, has to step up and boldly lead the revolutionary effort," said Mitch Bednarski, a member of the group. "If not, the middle class will just turn to fascism for protection from the worker's movement, kind of like when Sheila's dad totally bogarted us by throwing away those leaflets I copied on his new Laser Jet. Way uncool, I say."

Chris Piaget, another group member, added that the Collective should agree to adopt a state-by-state approach.

"The semi-autonomous nature of our so-called united states ought to be utilized," he argued, pausing to pick a particle of dirt from his big toe. "A vanguard party must always appear first in a single state in order for a national revolution to even be possible, kind of like how all of us got the munchies for Patrick's spicy Thai tofu stew with okra and lentils the other night. He just opened up that biodegradable container, and BAM! we were all down with the brown. Brown rice, that is, not brown people, although I must say I would have no problem getting it on with that black cashier at the food co-op, provided that she too shares my interests in the environment, social change, and avoiding deodorant."

Bednarski, before asking for a vote on whether the meeting should end or be continued until all members had exercised their rights as members to speak, offered his summation of local efforts to organize.

"Ultimately, action is critical, and activity always overpowers mass inertia - where power enters as a factor, we have to use and apply it," he noted. " If, nonetheless, we reject out of hand the doctrine of the revolutionary minority, this is just for the reason that it only leads to a mere semblance of power, like when Derek was trying to stifle that wicked red bean fart earlier. OUCH! That shit was stanky, my friend, though I'm not trying to impose my bourgeois values on you or anything. Still, bro, you could have taken that wave of ozone-eating evil outside - that's all I'm saying."

Labels: Toledo Anarcho-Feminist Collective, Toledo radical groups

Guest Editorial by Brian Kershaw,
Guy Who Is Most Definitely Not Gay

We've all been there, right? I mean, taking a leak at the urinal when some other dude walks in and sidles up at the next pisser, trying not to make eye contact lest the other dude turns out to be gayer than a locker room full of Clay Aiken fans.

So, with the idea of keeping the rump-rangers at bay, I've compiled a handy list of the Top Ten Ways to Keep the Dude at the Next Urinal from Thinking You're Gay. You'll thank me later, mister.

10. Mutter a cuss word like "fuck" under your breath. Nothing says "I'm hetero" like a grunted F-bomb.

9. Hork up a giant phlegm wad and spit it in the urinal. Not only is this manly as hell, but it will likely make that queer in the next stall puke from being grossed out.

8. Whistle AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Ain't no band tougher than those Aussie bad-asses, and Twinkle-Toes will probably run from you, thinking about the time he got his faggoty booty kicked by some dude wearing an AC/DC T-shirt in 8th grade.

7. Say something like: "Did you see that bitch out front with the tight-ass shorts? God, DAMN!" Mr. Limp Wrist will either have to pretend he's hetero, or he'll have to deny he saw the bitch, which means he's definitely gay, since a straight man's ass-radar is running 24/7.

6. Pick your nose. Yeah, normally you take a look both ways on account of the fact that you don't want people to think you're gross, but one thing's for sure about the gays: they are a clean people, and as much as they might want to chomp on your corn cob, the fear of snot will keep 'em away, kind of like vampires and garlic.

5. Always, ALWAYS wear your John Deere hat. No homo in the world's gonna be confused about a John Deere hat, unless you're wearing your John Deere hat while some queer has your dick in his mouth, in which case you are a sorry, sorry excuse for a John Deere owner, mister.

4. Punch the wall. Them faggery-daggery-doo types will mostly steer clear of a fellow punching a wall, except for the types who actually LIKE getting their ass beat, in which case you might as well help a gay boy out.

3. Holler something like: "FUCK! It ain't supposed to burn when you piss, is it?" Again, there's nothing that Mr. Butt Pirate would like better than to feel your huge hetero cock up his poop chute, but most gayboy types really don't dig a case of the clap, unless they're drunk as hell, and you're so horny you'll take a blowjob from anything with a warm wet mouth, in which case? Get the fuck away from me!

2. Talk up The Dukes of Hazard. Especially Daisy Duke, since faggots hate her for being: a) a woman; and b) a sleazy dresser. Ain't never been a queer what's sat through a whole episode of The Dukes of Hazard, and you can take that shit to the bank, Pancho.

1. Yell this: "I DON'T WANT NO HOMOS COMING NEAR ME, Y'HERE?" This is the best way to go, since anyone who answers is probably a queer, and in need of a shit-kicking. Now, if one of them answers with your dick up his ass, you have a real problem, since you ain't got no business pile-driving an ass that ain't your girlfriend, best friend's sister, or that freaky pimple-faced chick at the bar who fucks anyone, anytime, anyhow. Wipe off that nasty, crusty dick and find yourself a woman, for Chrissakes! Do I have to teach you everything?

Labels: Dukes of Hazard, gays, urinals

Guest editorial by Jake Mannheim, homeowner

I've been cutting my own grass for over forty years, and frankly? I'm pretty sick of pushing that fucking lawnmower around day after day, week after week, when I could be sitting on the patio and sipping an icy-cold brewski, you dig?

Life is passing me by, pal, and it's about time the Jake-O-Nator (that's my nickname over at Dewey's Bar) did some real living.

I figure if I had a pair of hungry-munching goats, I'd never have to cut this goddamn lawn again.

I know what you're thinking: "Jake, you live in the city, for Gosh sakes. You can't keep a goat in the city!"

But I've been working on that part. I figure as long as I keep their little goat-horns filed down, people will just assume they're just a couple of long-legged terriers or something, especially after I get their vocal cords cut, and they won't be baa-ing or bleating or whatever goats usually say, at least without severed goat-throat tendons and shit.

Get a-chomping, you little goat bastards!

And I'm not going to name them something gay like "Billy" or "Clover" or "Frappaccino" or some other butt-piratey name. No sir - my goats are going to have ballsy names, like "Lothar" or "Tsunami" or "Buster Cherry," names that will stand up like a horny sixteen-year-old eating fistfuls of Viagra, you dig?

I got to think that two weeks of starving the little goat-fuckers out to be enough to make my turf look mighty tasty, and after that the goats will take to the lawn like aquarium fish take to sewer water, you feel me?

Then I'll have my whole summer to get drunk, download porn, and generally live like a man's supposed to live: relaxed and grass free. And with a couple of horn-less goats to roast come Thanksgiving.

Labels: goats