The Peace Moonbeam Chronicles

Viva la Protest!

March 31, 2006

Los Angeles, California

This week Scooter and I were glad to lend our support to the immigrant community in their protest against proposed hateful neo-con legislation. My good friend Pepe invited Scooter and me to march with these poor people who are only seeking jobs and the opportunity to contribute to our society. Wherever you find social injustice, we're there.

We all met up at Pepe's house and prepared for the march by sampling several gigantic joints of tasty herb. He must have had a couple hundred pounds of the stuff in the garage and it was extremely moist and delicious. Afterward, Pepe took us by his uncle's restaurant and we pigged out on chimichangas and Coronas till we were almost ready to spew. We headed off to the march, eager to show the "man" that he can't abuse the rights of the underclass, nor reduce the ranks of the Democratic voting bloc.

Arriving downtown, we parked the car and joined the thousands of people in the streets. Scooter had made us signs that said, "Republicanos El Sucko." Also, in order to meet a personal need, he cleverly wrote on the back of his sign, "Yard man wanted" with a crude drawing of a stick figure pushing a lawn mower underneath, in case nobody understood English. This was a stroke of genius, as he ended up not only hiring several yard guys who could also do cement block work and painting, but also a real pretty massage girl/driver/car washer, and an elderly-but-spry maid/cook/house cleaner/dog groomer, all for only one dollar an hour each! Now that's value!

All in all, the protest was a great success, as every white person we saw appeared to be terrified. Outside of Scooter being robbed at knifepoint, we had a lot of fun and met many new friends. Even though none of them spoke English, we still enjoyed their company, not to mention a fair amount of the freshest weed we've ever smoked. The only downside of the whole thing was someone stole the wheels and radio from Scooter's car, and we had to take the bus home, but other than that, it was a great day.

 

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April 1, 2006

                                     I AM SORRY!

I apologize for the cultural insensitivity and crass stereotypes I have employed in these stories. It was never my intent to offend ANYONE, and to all who have been offended, I'm very, very, very sorry.

I believe I owe a special apology to my Hispanic undocumented brothers and sisters for the cruel way I portrayed them in this week's story, "Viva la Protest." My suggestion that they are drug smugglers and thieves was simply wrong and inexcusable and I deeply regret it.

To Hollywood and especially the gay community, I am so very sorry for the unkind way I portrayed you. I love going to movies, and have many gay friends who are just swell.

Another area where I may have offended a group of individuals was my mocking characterizations of people of Middle Eastern descent, especially those of the Islamic faith. Unfortunately, these characterizations are true, so I can't really apologize for that.

In summary, if you have been offended by anything you have read in "The Peace Moonbeam Chronicles," I'm sorry, and I promise I WILL NEVER DO IT AGAIN. Ever.

Peace Moonbeam

                                               Not. April Fools. Bite me.

Peace Stampede

March 24, 2006

San Francisco, California

Antiwar protest has always been my first love, and that's what I did this week on the third anniversary of America's fascist invasion of Iraq. Scooter and I joined about a zillion other patriots in San Francisco to protest the war, Bush, capitalism, Israel, heterosexuals, fur, Christianity, SUVs, marijuana laws, meat, oil companies, Wal-Mart, and pretty much America in general.

This year, I wanted to really stand out and make a statement. I put Scooter in charge of creating outfits that would guarantee us front page coverage and rally our fellow activists. What he came up with was great: we would dress as Iraqi freedom fighters and lead the crowds in powerful anti-American chants for peace. Our costumes were very realistic, right down to the turbans and beards. The final touch was some cool fake bomb belts Scooter made that really tied the whole thing together. He also made signs for us to carry that said, "Stop Invading Us" in red paint that looked like blood. Very dramatic!

We got into our outfits and headed downtown while smoking some dynamite herb my sister sent from Hawaii. By the time we arrived, the street was filled with protesters singing, chanting, burning effigies of Bush and his gang, and generally running amok. I noticed when we jumped out of the car that the pot smoke rolled out like a heavy fog. Spacey! As we went to get our signs out of the trunk, someone yelled, "CAR BOMBERS!!" and everyone started running! I was so scared, I took off and trampled an elderly Code Pink woman and several small children. I heard Scooter yelling and turned around to see a couple of guys whacking the snot out of him with their "Gay Communist Pacifists Against Fur" signs! They didn't look like car bombers to me, but then again I don't know what car bombers look like. I ran faster.

As I fled with the crowd, I noticed everyone in front of me kept looking back at me and screaming. If I ran right, they ran left, and vice versa - I started feeling like Godzilla or something. I kept looking over my shoulder for the car bombers but the people behind me were running the other direction! Finally, I stopped when several people wearing "Car Bombers For Peace" T-shirts ran up and started hugging me. Finally, the love I expect at these events! When I figured out what had happened, I had a good laugh, then went back for Scooter, but he had been badly beaten and unfortunately arrested.

The whole incident showed how the current administration has sown so much hate and distrust, even among enlightened, intelligent people like my fellow protesters. How quick we all are these days to shun two strangers just because they appear to be of Middle Eastern descent, wearing bomb belts, and running from a smoking automobile parked among a large public gathering! What have we become?

Bush and his hatemongers have got to go.

Hollywood: A Fast Town

March 17, 2006

Hollywood, California

As most of you know, Scooter had gone from a regular guy to superstar literally overnight. After shacking-up with the well-known producer who gave him his first major film role in the gay cowboy film, "Home On The Strange," Scooter then went on to a series of gay and straight relationships with some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. I couldn't pick up a tabloid without seeing his face on the cover with his love-interest-of-the-moment.

In no time, Scooter was commanding tens of millions of dollars a film and his name was on the lips of everyone in the business. I was lucky just to speak to him on the phone once in a while. When we were finally able to get together for lunch, it was a frantic and uncomfortable affair, as one person after another interrupted us for his autograph and the paparazzi shadowed our every move. I even obtained a certain amount of notoriety by just being seen with him and for a short time was referred to by the press as "the mystery woman in Scooter's life."

A mansion in the hills, a vacation villa in the south of France, fast cars, boats, expensive jewelry, "S" had it all. One magazine reported he owned so many Ferraris, he could drive a different one every day of the month and never drive the same one twice. He told me he hadn't even been in some of them, as he pretty much took a limo everywhere. Wow, Scooter truly had it all.

Despite his fairytale life, there was a dark side, though. Before long, the pressures of fame caused Scooter to develop a drug and alcohol problem that compromised his acting ability and undercut his personal relationships. Once the studios got wind of his problems, the big scripts dried up and he was left doing "B" movies for "C" money. Slowly but surely, it all started to unravel. Several drunk driving arrests kept him on the front pages of the tabloids. Finally, his arrest at a seedy crack house signified his reaching bottom. He was a junkie, bankrupt, alone, and broken. After a dizzying freefall from the heights of superstardom to the lowest filthy gutter, the only direction was up.

I brought Scooter home from the Betty Ford Clinic yesterday and he's doing pretty good. While in recovery he discovered God and is slowly picking up the pieces of his shattered life. As for myself, it's just good having my friend back like he was a week ago, before Hollywood seduced him.

Oscar Party

March 10, 2006

Los Angeles, California

With a break in my protest schedule this last week, I decided it would be fun to rub elbows with Tinseltown's movers and shakers at the Oscars. Also, I figured maybe I could raise a few bucks for my upcoming "save-the-whales" protest. The only problem was I didn't have any contacts that could get me in so I had to come up with something. I called Scooter and together we devised a plan to at least crash the "Vanity Fair" post-awards party.

The first thing I needed was a designer dress, but I didn't have much money, so I searched everywhere for an inexpensive gay designer. The best I could come up with was Scooter's cousin "Bobbi" who, while not extremely gay, was inappropriately touched by a camp counselor when he was twelve. Also his mom had a sewing machine. I gave him $50.00 for my dress and told him to make it sizzle.

It goes without saying that anybody with an Oscar in hand is automatically admitted to the party, so I had Scooter apply all of his art degree knowledge to making one for me. He brilliantly took one of his sister's old "Malibu Ken" dolls, painted it gold, and glued it on a can of cat food he had spray-painted black. Perfect!

Next, I sent Scooter out to rent a Toyota Prius or one of those other little hybrid cars that all the Hollywood types now drive. Pulling up to the Vanity Fair party in a limo would be a sure sign that we were posers. Unfortunately, all the little crap-boxes were rented, so Scooter just had vinyl decals made that said "electric car," and stuck them on the sides of his 1994 Ford Taurus. Done.

Finally, the big night arrived. My dress was killer except Bobbi had made the plunging back plunge about two inches below my butt crack. His artistic and trend-setting fix was to place a large silk rose at the exposed area. While it actually looked great, I wish he would have clipped the long plastic stem. Oh well.

The last detail was to have Bobbi make over Scooter as a girl. We didn't want the slightest chance of the security people suspecting we weren't real Hollywood stars, so it was important we go as a gay couple. I have to admit Scooter turned out fairly attractive, except for his goofy glasses, huge Adam's apple, and size 12 pumps. I grabbed "Oscar" and we were off.

We pulled up to the red-carpeted entrance to the party, jumped out of the car, flashed the statue, and were briskly escorted inside past the hordes of paparazzi. How easy was that? We were in!

As we mingled with America's smartest and most beautiful people, it was obvious my date was relishing his role as my "life mate" a little too much. As I chatted with a guest, Scooter-the-horndog had his arm around me so tight I could hardly breathe, and then the next thing I knew, the moron started absent-mindedly twirling the rose in the back of my dress! I guess it was just reflexes or something, but I instinctively whacked Scooter in the head with my statue, sending his wig and Malibu Ken's head flying across the room. Uh oh, busted!

The evening ended with my being escorted out while Scooter became the center of interest (a man in makeup commands attention in this town!). The last I saw of him, he was fielding the advances of several Hollywood bigwigs, including one producer who ended up offering him a supporting role in an upcoming "Brokeback Mountain" knockoff. I'm pretty sure Scooter is gay now, and that's okay, I guess. Yesterday he bought a Honda Civic Hybrid and got his teeth whitened.

        

Hare Trigger

March 3, 2006

Berkeley, California

This week we made real progress in the war against hunting. It all started with my offhand remark to some Bambi-killing Neanderthal that I'd consider hunting to be a sport when the prey is also armed. Scooter overheard this and paid a visit to a friend who designs human prosthetics and had him adapt a brain-triggered mechanism that could be linked with a firearm, and voila, the Hunter-B-Gon(TM) was born! Just like the prosthetic hand that grips when signaled by the brain, this trigger mechanism is activated by a small probe in the part of the animal's brain that senses fear. Cool.

I went to the neighborhood pet store and purchased the largest rabbit they had. I named him "Fluffy." Scooter immediately started Fluffy on an intense training program by dressing as a hunter and scaring the crap out of him repeatedly. Once Fluffy was conditioned, our vet friend inserted the little probe into his brain and wired it to the featherweight Kel-Tec P3AT semi-automatic pistol we had taped to his body. It worked perfectly, as every time hunter Scooter jumped at Fluffy, we would hear the "clicking" of the trigger mechanism. Die, hunter! We were ready to release Fluffy into a popular hunting spot outside of town.

In a spirit of fairness, we posted signs in the area that said, "Caution hunters! Animals in this area are armed, and if threatened, will shoot!" We figured this would turn back all but the stupid ones, and they probably deserved to get shot by an animal. Scooter double-checked the apparatus, brushed and fed Fluffy, then loaded the magazine into the gun.

Fluffy took two hops, turned, and shot Scooter in the knee! Oh crap! Apparently scared by the sound of gunfire, Fluffy then shot me in the ankle, shot our car, shot the sign, then shot Scooter (the genius) again, in the crotch. At this point I started clubbing Fluffy with a tree branch as the homicidal bunny fired off another shot which thankfully missed me, but hit Scooter once again, this time in the elbow. Damn, that bunny really had it in for Scooter! Finally I killed Fluffy, but not before he looked up at me with a twisted little grin accompanied by one last "click" of the trigger - thank God the gun was empty.

While Scooter's idea of arming innocent animals was brilliant, his assumption that they possess any kind of reasoning skills was not. As for Fluffy, well, he almost killed us both, and frankly I enjoyed clubbing the snot out of him. One unfortunate result of this whole episode is that Scooter has applied for a hunting license and I fear for rabbits everywhere. On the positive side, Fluffy probably did the world a favor by shooting off Scooter's testicles - knowing he can't reproduce gives me a certain amount of peace.