i have no idea where my beanie is

By the time we found the muskrat
it was smelling pretty strong
we were running in a thong
that caused abrasion.
— the prophet joni mitchell

There has been much hoopla in the Mainstream Media recently about some concert that happened 50 years ago this weekend, an event to commemorate a bird in a popular comic strip. Good grief, indeed.

But apparently falling through the cracks of the Fake Media’ is an event truly worth commemorating: The Fifth Anniversary of The 72 Hours of Muskrat.

A hardy band of runners spanning the planet, or at least a couple of suburbs, gathered to celebrate the country’s independence, safe in the knowledge that we would never elect a lunatic to lead our nation.

We ran for three days, give or take a fireworks display. Sure, Hendrix didn’t burn a guitar. But Gumbo made fun of Selena, we ran in extreme heat wearing  only Day-Glo Orange Lightweight Alpaca Racing Beanies, and we posed next to the genitalia of a buffalo. What more could you ask for in an event?

Sometimes I think about bringing back the muskrat. But I learned a lesson from Woodstock founder Michael Lang, who tried to stage a 50th anniversary show only to discover you have to have stuff like a place and permits and insurance and bands and backers and Beenee Weenee GU and the will to live.

Maybe some things are better left as memories. Particularly buffalo genitalia. The prophet Neil Young said it best: “Funny how things that start out spontaneously, end that way. Eat a Peach.” If we ever hold another one, Stills is not invited,

Eating peaches. That would make a good blog name. Long live the muskrat. ay he whirl and twirl and tango forever. But maybe not for 24 hours …

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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