I got mind control over Deebo.

Whatup childrens.

It’s late, my eyes are bleary with hours of study and WoW and more WoW…
And yet I must write. Excuses, as they say, are for bitches.

First I’d like to give a big round of applause to the pasty, moustached gentlemen of this year’s San Luis Obispo Riot Aversion and Overreaction Squad. These four hundred men and women… dare I say… these four hundred heroes risked life and limb to prevent a repeat of last year’s disastrous Mardi Gras chaos. For four days and nights, the citizens of SLO couldn’t walk more than 50 yards without seeing several heavily armed police officers protecting and serving like there was no tomorrow. Indeed, I’ve never felt safer.

Now I’ve heard there are some of you that say that turning this town into a well-fortified police state was a bit overkill. Oh yeah? Well let me tell you a little story, you filthy hippy. One time I went to Barnes and Noble, the one next to Jamba Juice downtown, and when I came outside, some kid with a mohawk was sitting on the little brick wall smoking a cigarette. with a mohawk. Now I might not be “down with the streets” or whatever you kids say these days, but I know a criminal when I see one. Smoking… Strangely clad… young… I was so afraid that I stuffed my brand new copy of Left Behind into my jacket and ran screaming across the street into the safety of my favorite Christian Science reading room, the Parable. There I waited, huddled and shaking, until my mom picked me up.

When I looked into those shifty seventeen year-old eyes, friends, I knew fear. And between you and me, I may have shat myself a little. It happens.

On Friday, however, in that same spot, there were six policemen in riot helmets. Thank God. I could tell, from the way they clutched their coffee, to the way they shuffled their girth majestically about on their splayed feet, from the steel in their gaze that any one of those fine narcs would have given their all to protect me from scary high schoolers, or worse yet, college kids with beads. And if those six didn’t seem like protection enough, I could always rush into Starbucks. There wasn’t a civilian in the place; nothing but green aprons, blue uniforms, and handguns.

NEEDLESS TO SAY Mardi Gras sucked eight different kinds of wang this year. Not that I don’t enjoy a sobriety checkpoint in front of my house, or not being able to ride the bus to school since the cops closed off a road, but sometimes having an army of law enforcement descend on your little ass town is just not as fun as it sounds. I haven’t seen this many fat, armed white guys since I accidentally camped in that forest where they hosted that Civil War reenactment. Even then, at least they were shooting blanks, and bayonet or no old Stonewall McFatass ain’t gonna catch my squirrelly ass on foot. Maybe with a little less History Channel and a little more NordicTrack…

I digress.

So aside from screaming “hoody hoo” or “shoot the fucker!” and clapping excitedly every time I saw a pack of trigger-happy Ventura Sherriff’s deputies converge on some unsuspecting sophomore, my weekend wasn’t all that great.

My favorite part of the whole fiasco, aside from the millions of tax dollars spent to haul all that bacon up from Southern California to help, is the fact that all the douchebag townies of this dive keep talking about “Last Year’s Riot”.

Riot?

You know what the difference between a riot and a crowd is in this town? Cops.

Last year’s shit was not a riot, it was way too many drunk people trying to get to Cedar Creek because they heard there was a riot.
One drunk fool falling off his balcony and somebody tipping over a garbage can does not constitute a riot. The only reason there were that many people there in the first place is because the entire police force drove around town breaking up every 30 person house party they could find. Where do you think all those kids went, ass hat? They went to the only place you ever go when your party gets rolled, the place the party never stops, Cedar Creek Apartments.

I don’t know who to loathe more, the townies or the po. Why choose, I have plenty of loathe to go around, I suppose.

The only similarities between last year’s chaos and a real riot were
A) It was in California
B) People were teargassed.

Riots, and I mean real god damn pit-of-your-stomach-urban-terror-molotov-cocktail-brick-through-the-window-quick-let’s-go-to-circuit-city-and-get-a-stereo-or-maybe-a-gamecube riots, are way way cooler than a big ass crowd at an apartment complex. A real riot has things like looting, arson, and vigilanties. A San Luis riot has solo cups, three times as many cops as “rioters”, and that blond-haired guy from your Dynamics class using an empty Ice House tallboy for a pillow under your junipers. See the difference? No Korean store owners with uzis on their roofs, no overturned burning cars, no tanks… Someone trampling your ivy or throwing an empty Arbor Mist into the pool does not constitute the kind of awesome property damage that the term riot connotes, asshole. Besides, you don’t think the economy was balanced out by the fact that out-of-towners consumed something like 35 gazillion tri-tip sandwiches (7 bucks a pop) at Firestones over the Mardi Gras weekend? I’ll bet Tio Alberto’s net income from last year’s Mardi Gras alone could pay off every cent of damage. Shit, they could pay it off with bean burritos alone.

Good. Now we begin to understand. Maybe you can explain the situation to the feebs at the San Luis Obispo City Council, or whatever governing body of paranoid chimps funded this ridiculousness.

Not that I give a shit. I’m graduating. PEACE OUT.

-T.

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One Response to “I got mind control over Deebo.”

  1. anonymous Says:

    congratulations on graduating soon. the pigs are actually quite useful sometimes. after a night of clubbing and drinking in san jose, they help me fend off lecherous guys who try to follow my friends and me to my car. it’s good to know that tax dollars are being used to ensure my safety.

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