Dear Riggs –
It’s been some time since I sat down to write an article for our lovely Vanguard, and in that time I got the chance to while away the hours at a number of worthwhile pursuits. I brewed a keg of wild garlic mead, fished for the elusive three-eyed trout in the Ross Island lagoon and played jug-band music in an old union hall in Eugene.
But the apex of the holiday was my camping trip outside Bandon. I thought I’d have a recuperative little sabbatical, having wilted somewhat under the thin grey light of Winter Term (I’m a phototropic sonuvbabitch). It was all so perfect: a few precious days, pole in hand, all by myself on the Elk River – just me, the ripples on the water, and a case of Mirror Pond. But after a few bleary days, punctuated by an embarrassing incident where I stumbled, piss-drunk and buck naked (pole in hand) into the campsite of the Young Christians of Oregon’s “Love the Lord Bible Retreat” (I did NOT paint naughty haikus on the back windshield of the preacher’s Chrysler in pink glitter lipstick, and I resent that accusation, hallelujah!), I decided that my time would be better spent attending to the needs of my poor, wayward readers. After all, in my absence, who would tell them what to wear, how to think and whom to vote for (Amanda Barron was SO HOT when she bitched me out on the Vanguard web site!).
I have a sacred responsibility to tend to the wandering kitten souls of the students of Portland State – my readers, my compatriots, my purple-helmeted fellow-Vikings and therefore I returned to my desk and found dozens of thirsty emails bustling for my attention. Magnanimously, I decided to answer a few that I thought to be the most compelling. To wit:
Dear Riggs,
I’ve been thinking about taking a plot in a community garden, but am concerned about the political implication of such. Until recently I thought nothing of it, but then I read a Republican tract that told me that the welfare state only fostered poverty. What do I do?
James T.
James,
Listen, bitch, Lair Hill’s not what it used to be, OK? You may remember doing lines of coke off the bulk spices scale in the back of the Terwilliger Natural Foods Co-op, but times have changed. Just thinking of sowing your seed in a community garden makes you a drooling neo-Marxist crackpot, in short, a card-carrying member of the hate-America crowd. Not to mention that you look like shit in overalls.
R.F.
Riggs,
I was disappointed at the raging cynicism in you column about the recent ASPSU elections. Are you saying that we shouldn’t vote at all? It’s people like you who allow the Republicans to stay in power.
Lindsay G.
Lindsay,
Fuck off, you callow ignoramus. First of all, every ASPSU overlord for the last ten years has been balls-deep in the hip pocket of Halliburton. You think Devaney/Woon bought that solar-powered Hummer on their own dime? Please.
Voting is for lemmings. REAL patriots help America by shopping at Wal-Mart. I hear you can get flat screen TVs there now!
R.F.
Riggs,
You’re a genius, the handsomest boy in school. The boys want to be like you, the girls want to hump you. Bravo, you’re the big winner tonight!
R.F.
What can I add to that? My readers are the most eloquent in the tri-city area.
Riggs,
I’ve been reading your column since back when it was called The Sensible Insurgent, and I can’t help but notice your pieces have lost some of their incisive political sensibility. Are your days as a fiery young political writer behind you?
Allen C.
Allen,
You’re right; much of my time has been devoted to my mobile all-organic jack shack, “Tools of the Trade,” most recently located in a 3rd floor restroom in Big Pink (shout outs, Portland Mercury interns!).
However, I plan to resume my weekly political rants just as soon as Vanguard management agrees to my new column name, “I’m a Dickhead, and You’ve Just Been Effed in the A!” Fingers crossed!
R.F.
Look forward to more letter responses in the future, and God Bless America!
