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Faulking Around - Mar 22, 2005 - Printable Version
- Give Peace Rallies a Chance
by Russell Tharp
March 19, 2005 - My assignment? Infiltrate the Oklahoma City Peace Rally at the historic pot smoking, pill popping 1960s hippie-haven Memorial Park. Sure, I had heard the stories, drug-crazed radicals running half-naked through the park, soaking their nubile braless bodies in the park's fountain and indulging in after dark sex orgies in their VW vans. The very thought of it disgusts me, but I just can't shake the disturbing yet somehow stimulating visual image of their hot wet bodies writhing to the primal sounds of sixties protest songs. I park my Humvee around the corner, double-checking the alarm.....there's no telling what these dirty filthy hippies will do once they get hopped up on magic mushrooms and peyote. I steel my nerves for a few seconds, tuck my "Got Bush?" t-shirt into my dockers, and walk towards the park. This could be really interesting. I strain my ears for the sounds of subversive rock music and sniff the air for the sweet-sickly odor of the dreaded marijuana, but strangely, I can't detect a trace of either one. I'm more than a little disappointed. Oh well, at least I'll be able to watch the National Guard bash a few hippie heads, and teach those tree-huggers what a 24 inch oak baton feels like upside the head. "Yeah, how do you like your precious trees now, you commie faggots!" For just a moment, I find myself wondering exactly where "upside the head" is, and imagining the National Guard instructors pointing out the sweet spot to the new recruits. It makes me smile.
As I approach the west end of the park, I begin to wonder if I'm even in the right place. Instead of sex-crazed hippies whacked out on mescaline and weed gyrating and chanting along to "Give Peace a Chance", there's nothing but a bunch of people standing around handing out pamphlets and talking about....what the hell?!....peace. And the music coming from the PA? A karaoke version of "Put a LIttle Love in Your Heart" that's even too boring for elevator music. "Think of your fellow man, lend him a helping hand, put a little love in your heart". What the faulk is that all about? Where are the unsheathed breasts? The "sex, drugs, and rock and roll"? I need a cigarette and a good stiff drink in the worst way, and I can't even find either one of those in this crowd. And these people call themselves radicals?
And where the hell is the National Guard? I mean, surely there's at least one person here who deserves a good sound beating, maybe some militant Code Pink (Women for Peace) activist who forgot to apply for her Pamphlet Distribution Permit. But a quick surveyance of the area reveals that not a single National Guardsman is on hand to protect MY Homeland Security. Then, it hits me like a Sunday morning cheap gin hangover. The reason there aren't any National Guardsmen here is because they're all in Iraq. The irony of the situation doesn't escape me. Not only are the peaceniks' asses being saved by our National Guardsmen who are serving overseas, their asses are being saved because all of our National Guardsmen are serving overseas.
In fact, the only military presence, um, present, is a small group of Marines standing off to one side. It's hard to tell whether they are standing at attention or at ease. Is "at ease" the pose with the hands behind the back, or is that "at attention"? I can never remember. It just serves as an unpleasant reminder that the only reason I wasn't a Marine is because of my peculiar handicap. That's right, one of my legs is a full inch and a half shorter than the other one. Well, that and my speech impediment. No one will take a Marine seriously who says "Yeth, thir!" Luckily, a simple lift added to one shoe and hundreds of hours of speech therapy have completely cured my limp and my lithp...I mean my "lisp".
Even the Marines seem to have gone soft. In fact, they're talking to the Editor of The Faulking Truth, for Chrissake. Although I can't make out the entire conversation, I do overhear him telling them that although he doesn't support the war, he DOES support our troops. Yeah, whatever.....he'll say anything to be liked. Is he telling them about the "What if Somebody Gave a War and Nobody Came?" black light poster he had above his bed when he was in junior high? I doubt it.
In all honesty, I have to give these people credit. They've put together a successful event by Oklahoma City standards, in the buckle of the Bible Belt. Maybe this is just the beginning of a real peace movement in Middle America. The speakers are inspirational, the people are friendly, if not overly passionate, and the music is pretty damn good (excluding, of course, the horrid Jackie DeShannon faux paux). One band, The Nancys, are appropriately sixties coiffed, and although I can't understand a single word of their ode to George Bush, I gather by their angry tone that they disagree with his policies. And even with the Marines present, not a single shot is fired. Sure, I'm disappointed by the lack of bloodshed, but it makes me realize - maybe things have changed. Maybe our editor was right, maybe we've at least learned some lessons from Vietnam. Maybe we CAN protest against a war and still support our troops. Maybe all peace demonstrators aren't drug-crazed hippies after all. The thought of it makes me a little sad. In a way, I miss the freedom of the sixties, I miss the unbridled emotion of a generation that was certain of their morals and ideals. I miss......
And then I see her. Standing at the edge of the fountain, she has slipped off her sandals and is dangling her long gorgeous legs into the water. She's wearing a t-shirt made just for the Peace Rally that says "Make Love, Not War". Her hair is long and flows around her shoulders like a beautiful mane. And, most importantly.....she isn't wearing a bra. Maybe there's hope for this generation after all. Now I really need a drink. I glance at my watch.....it's five o'clock, if I hurry, I can still make happy hour at Flip's. And maybe, if I'm really lucky, my vision of beauty will wander in later, I'll buy her a couple of drinks as well, and then I'll talk her into going back to my place.....but that's another story.
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