From
"Route 66 Fiasco"

By Mark Simple

(©1995 Cardhouse Productions)

If you've been paying attention to previous missives, you may have seen more-than-passing references to the highly touted X Magazine staff car Christmas exchange, an event which went horribly awry and left the celebrants in odd state of shock and disbelief. To wit: it threw a rod in Bloomington, Illinois. The car drove like a champ all the way to Michigan City, Indiana, the hand-off was made, Doc (looking resplendent in his Santa suit and Bono "fly" sunglasses) and Burford (playing the part of "elf", phoning major airports trying to arrange a pick-up of the rest of his costume on the way) drove off on a foggy night with the heater cranked, ready for adventure. When they stopped for the night, they were refused lodging at a Famous National Low-Cost Hotel Chain Thing (1:00am: "Ummmm...we have a BIG PARTY coming in tonight, don't we?" "Yeah, YEAH!") but were accepted at the Days Inn ("Where America Shops/Works/Eats/Sleeps"). The next morning, the car ran funny (that is, funnier than a car with the top cut off and Little People frescos on it could run) for awhile and then left a 300 yard oil slick behind it while putting several holes in the oil pan. Reports are sketchy at this point (The Drop-Off Crew, including the author, were secure in Chicago proper during this fracas, put up by Liz Clayton, editrix of Wind-Up Toy) but apparently shots fired at Lucky; the elf was packing heat. Six holes in Lucky's head (all responsibly placed within a small distance of each other) finished the bastard off for good. The rest of the Drop-Off Crew went to retrieve our stranded heroes (and the bran' spankin' new battery!), while I took a train home, physically exhausted from a strict regimen of being mysteriously, continuously ill. Sure, I left out a lot of details, but I wasn't there.

15-Minute Syndrome

By Lady Kathy Biehl

(©1995 Ladies' Fetish & Taboo Society Compendium of Urban Anthropology)

This hasn't quite risen to the level of Theory yet, but we're working on it. It bears no relation to Andy Warhol's concept of modern fame. Anyone else have the experience of going to enormous trouble and expense for an event that sputters out like a wet firecracker, leaving divine laughter resounding in its wake? The gods tossed a couple of definitive examples at the Society's nerve center this past winter. Our Editrix was able to sidestep the first (and more spectacular) of the pair only by grace of illness and a rare exercise of common sense. Devoted pen pal and partner in confusion Doc was not so nimble.

The plan was to fly to some point in the northern Midwest and drive a 1974 Pontiac (minus the roof, which had been cut off, and plus a medallion of Lucky, the Fisher-Price dog, which had been painted on the hood) during Xmas week from Detroit, MI or thereabouts to Tempe, AZ, following as much as possible what is left of Route 66 and wearing, at least in Deuce's case, a Santa suit. Despite the promise of new horizons in stupidity, Lady K yielded the passenger's seat to a 6'5" Marine reservist, who performed his duties dressed as an elf. (It's not surprising that a motel refused the men a room, but that only one did.)

The benefactor (or was it beneficiary?) was X Magazine, which had planned to raffle off its staff car until Deuce phoned and demanded the folks simply give it to him. They signed the title over one afternoon, and during the next three hours the car wormed its way into its new owner's heart by driving like a dream. (Perverse as ever, Deuce even liked that he had to crawl over the trunk and the back seat to get to the wheel; taking off the roof had compromised the car's structural integrity and rendered the doors completely useless.)

The next morning, it took the car 15 minutes to throw a rod. Deuce ended up junking his gift (high offer: $35), buying a one-way plane ticket home at last-minute holiday season prices, and once again postponing his dream of visiting Lincoln's tomb. These developments were first (and quite satisfyingly) imparted to our Editrix by means of a video entitled Wagnergnügen. She couldn't help but conclude that the circumstances of the breakdown made for a far better story--at least, one with greater potential mileage--than the original plans.