My friend Van Alston had been writing a fake diary of the Y’allQaeda/Vanilla ISIS siege. It is hilarious!
Diary, Day 11
Things have been sort of up and down. I thought I was going to come out here and get to shoot my gun, bully some secretaries and make unpopulated areas safe for white men and cows. Nope. One of those Bundy fuckers made me go out in the cold and work on fences for three hours yesterday. If I wanted to work. I wouldn’t be using my unemployment to move out here and bitch about the government, would I? On the plus side, I do believe the locals are coming around to our way of thinking. At first they didn’t much care for us, even the two dipshits that went to jail for burning the field didn’t want to associate with us. All that has changed. When the townsfolk heard that our snack bar had no snacks, they got together and sent us a few big ol’ bags of food. Never heard of the place before, but this Chipotle stuff sure smells good.
Diary, Day 12
This is not working out at all. Yesterday they had me out working on fences in the freezing cold. I complained and today they had me building a website. I know less about building a website than I do about women. Believe me, if I knew anything at all about women I wouldn’t be out here with these fuckwits. The Bundy-in-Charge must be related to Dick Cheney. All I heard for weeks leading up to this was how we would be welcomed with open arms, how the locals would rise up and support us, how the women would adore us (yep, there’s my ignorance-AGAIN) and how there would be a shit ton of snacks.
Well, the two guys in jail we are trying to free have disavowed us. The locals want us to leave. The only difference between here and Iraq is that no one ever lost a toe to frostbite in Iraq.
The snack bar we took over is out of snacks. One of the Under-Bundys, some whiny dork named Ritzheimer (sounds like a Jew to me, but hey, I’m no Bundy), put out a call to fellow patriots asking them to send us snacks. Because the government we are protesting is, uh, delivering our mail in a timely fashion, we started receiving the snack packages today.
It is so weird. Most of the packages we open are filled with dildos and vibrators. The whiny Jew threw ’em all in a bag and told me to have all I wanted. I mean, damn, what am I supposed to do with a bag of dicks? Eat ’em? DOES HE WANT ME TO EAT A BAG OF DICKS?
Diary, Day 13
Tempers are getting short. There have been a couple of fist fights. Two of the Under Bundys got drunk. One of them took the other’s pistol. Unfortunately, the guy had an emergency pistol in his boot, and shot the first guy. It’s not just the snack shortage. Turns out that some of these guys are just crazy as hell. I thought we were going to come up here and shoot it out with the government. I thought it would just be a bunch of Patriots. I didn’t have a clue they were gonna let crazy people in here.
I’m starting to get a little peeved, too. That fence that the Head Bundy made me tear down has been repaired. Turns out the rancher didn’t want his cattle wandering off onto the government land. That Ritzheimer guy keeps saying I’m an Anti-Cement, which makes no sense out here in the damn woods.
It’s gonna get better, though. The evil government is still delivering mail and today, along with another bag of dicks, we got some movies. The Bundy with the weird face said we were gonna watch a cowboy movie. I heard it stars that Joker guy.
Diary, Day 14
I found out today that I am NOT cut out to be a soldier. Bundy with the Face sent me out on patrol. Now, most of the other guys like me, who aren’t Bundys or in the elite corps of Under Bundys, just go out there and jack around, smoke cigarettes and practice their quick draws. I take my shit pretty seriously. I’m attentive and have awesome camo clothes. Which is why I was so surprised when two guys, Geoffrey and Winthorp, jumped me out there on the perimeter.
Man, I know I am in way over my head when two birdwatchers wearing tweed suits and smoking pipes take me by surprise. They took the magazine out of my gun and emptied it (they called it a clip, but I was in no position to correct them) and then basically read me the riot act. Talking about cranes and shit. I finally stomped on Geoffrey’s foot and ran like a scalded dog.
We’re in the middle of the damn woods. Yesterday I’m anti-cement. Today I’m anti-cranes. When I drove out here I didn’t see a damn thing being built for a hundred miles in any direction. Who do I look like, The Lorax? I’m starting to think the whole damn world has lost its marbles.
I was happy to be out on patrol, though. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and what sleep I did get was with one eye open. We watched the debate and everybody got all testosteroned up, whooping and hollering every time Trump made fun of the Canadian or that whiny Cruz guy. So, the debate ends and someone pops in that cowboy movie.
I sure hope this ends either peacefully or with me dead. After what I heard last night, I am absolutely sure I would rather be martyred than spend time in jail with any of these fellows.
Diary, Day Sixteen
It’s been a big weekend. There’s a woman coming. A constitutional scholar, no less. After the movie debacle the other night, a woman is just what this place needs. I haven’t seen her podcast, but Bundy with the Face has, and he says she’s hot as hell. Everybody is talking about taking showers. This is a good thing. I might start a woman rumor every couple of days just to help cut down on the stench around here.
We found a bunch of government trucks and one still had the key in it. One of the Bundys put me in charge of the motor pool, which in my mind was sort of a promotion to Under Bundy. Until then, I mostly took orders. Now I got to boss the trucks around, or at least the truck with the key. My promotion didn’t last long. One of the hermits stole the damn truck and took it to the beer store and got arrested. Arrested for stealing the truck. Shit, if you can’t trust a guy that lives in a hole in the forest in order to protest that the government won’t him live in a hole in the forest, who can you trust?
So, I was back to taking orders. I got ordered to go find a ladder and some tools. I loaded up one of our own trucks and went with the electrician to take down some FBI spy cameras that the local residents said were intruding on their constitutional right to something or another. So, me and the one-eyed electrician snuck off the reservation, followed by seventeen reporters and a news helicopter. Really, there wasn’t much to tell about the whole covert operation. I’m pretty sure that the reporters only came in hopes that the one-eyed electrician would fry himself like a squirrel up on the pole. Nope. He shinnied up that pole, disconnected the cameras, and slid back down. Never spilled a drop of his Miller Lite.
Geoffrey and Winthorp showed up with some of their buddies and started preaching about spotted owls and snail darters and something more about cranes. We got out the bullhorns and sirens and drowned them out. No one is going to ruin our right to free speech, that’s for sure. I stayed toward the back, though. I’ve seen what those bird boys can do.
We heard there was a big storm coming in, but no one is really sure. Once we got back from taking those FBI cameras down, it seems that there is no more current weather information available and the locals are all mad at us again for who knows what.
Oh well, wish me luck and send pomade. I can’t wait to meet the constitution lady.