IWW Olympia branch
Train Riding subCommittee
Wall reportback pt 3
Son of a Big Bill Haywood, what the fuck fellow worker? We gotta organize the fuck out of this country if we’re going to have any kind of good times in the rapidly approaching next dark age.
As for me I’m jacked up on soviet speed waiting for a train, trying to finish this reportback series on the Wall before I go back to the border and have a second series of revolutionary recon reports to write for y’all, my most solid comrades.
Fellow worker, don’t be fooled by those who would tell you that dinosaurs are a thing of the past- that those bloodthirsty reptilian nightmares are gone and that us mammals, humans, can confidently reign supreme; walking the earth undisputed.
You might be wondering how I know this, fellow worker. Well, it’s because yours truly, your Gonzo Wobbly rebel reporter is one of those orgiastic martian raptors that Hunter S. Thompson warned us not to give booze to.
As a renegade raptor on the periphery of the Tyrannosaurus Tyranny I can assure you that dinosaurs, monsters of savage violence, are alive and well. The “fossil” fuel powered forces of domination come to mind as the most “no shit” example.
It is with this reality in mind that I was particularly happy to help set up the newest camp for the tribe, Lehai, or “Lizard” camp.
While I appreciated Yalui, the butterfly, and namesake of the camp with the veteran’s cemetery, I couldn’t help but feel a little freer being on the expanding frontier of camp building.
This new camp was being staged right on the Rio Grande waterfront. While T cleaned the permanent structure and evicted it's resident lizards, I burned my Jurassic ancestors in the gas tank of that wicked industrial instrument, the chainsaw.
After stacking a cord of wood for the future campfires of this latest camp I went for another refreshing dip in that tortured waterway, the Rio Grande.
While backstroking around the legal half of nature, a tourist river boat came chugging by. At first we waved at them, and these boomer tourists seemed completely fascinated by our concerted youthful effort.
But our amicable attitude was short lived, as one of these decrepit old dinosaurs raised his red “Make America Great Again” hat and waved it at us.
D, solidarity forever, was the first to offer the appropriate reply of “¡No al Muro!” (“No to the wall,” for those fellow workers who have neglected to learn the most popular language in the Americas).
We all joined in with the necessary gestures and volleys of “Fuck you!”
These fucking reptiles, these goddamn boomer corpses, these imperial citizens on a guided tour of a weaponized river used as part of the white supremacist fantasy of the “nation state” or as they’re calling it now, to double down, the “ethno-state.” It’s the same fucking thing! A “nation” and an “ethnicity” are just the latin and greek versions of the same idea. It’s like instead of a Jupiters-state they want a Zeus-state. Fuck you and your states, you inbred shmucks.
Not to mention the most dystopian set piece, the scissor jack watchtower that Border Patrol put literally right in our camp.
Your own Gonzo Wobbly reporter, unrepentant luddite and hypocrite extraordinaire, provided the workshop on how to fly a drone for the camp, that we might have some counter-surveillance on the bloodthirsty beast of the borderlands.
I gotta admit it was weird being ‘the drone guy,’ instead of the ‘bum,’ but we all gotta make sacrifices for the cause.
Our brief tour of duty was coming to an end and it was getting close to the time for us to say our goodbyes. A Gonzo Wobbly’s road goes on forever, for better or worse. Might as well wander in service of the cat-headed commander of the wobbly ground forces, that 666 star General Strike.
As we made our way back to that perpetual office called the Open Road, we passed through a new featured attraction at the un-amusement park that is fascist America: the Border Patrol checkpoint.
That’s right fellow worker! As I’m sure you’re aware, that symbol of American freedom, the highway, is being increasingly choked by totalitarian.
So we pulled into the open-air half-cylinder highly lit terminal of tyranny. Where rat fuckers are test marketing totalitarianism on a country once known as the- get this- “land of the free.”
A country that actually once inspired the world in its rejection of monarchy and control has now come to this final crossroads: are we going to have an American Revolution for real this time? It’s beyond the question of socialism or barbarism as Rosa Luxemburg once said. Now is the time of socialism and barbarism or death.
If anyone actually thinks we’re going to survive this without tattooing our faces they’re in denial.
As we pulled into the “check point,” some ungodly device above us flashed a colored light so bright and hot I think it must have been the X-ray camera we’d been warned about by our comrades back at camp. After getting my frontal lobe fried by radiation, we were stopped by the final two green-clad foes of this narrative.
I slowed our vehicle to a stop and the CLEARLY enthusiastic gestapo member of the duo noticed our multi-ethnic crew and declared: “That’s weird.” That shaved head swaggering nationalist was confident enough to say shit like that on the job. He clearly loved it, he was what happens when an alt-right chud goes pro. If he doesn’t jerk off to himself in the mirror while wearing his uniform, then nothing. He totally does.
Well they search the vehicle which puts me on edge because we are smuggling a baby bunny that we adopted after her mom was hit by a car outside of camp. They didn’t find our stowaway, so eat it, fuckers!
As we drove off into the night a committee member added a fitting epitaph to the whole experience.
“Fucking pieces of shit, nazi fucks.”
As we trucked into the wild black yonder of the warm valley night, we stopped at various gas stations to crowd fund our journey from helpful motorists. We also were constantly harassed by cops with stupid "The Punisher" skull logos on their uniforms. Seriously who let these bastards out of comic-con?
They “just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, nothings okay you piece of shit.
We made it un-murdered to New Orleans in time for Mardi Gras and if you want to read that story of Gonzo Wobbly and the train riding committee in the big city smashing cars and chasing knife wielding crackheads around, you’re out of luck, because this isn’t some reportback on hedonistic debauchery, you gotta go elsewhere for that fellow worker.