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Mike Palecek & the New American Dream

[Note:
“The Bigfoot Chronicles”: The field notes of Mike Palecek from years of walking in the woods of Minnesota, Iowa and South Dakota in search of Bigfoot.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/328825 ]

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Part I

Bigfoot is real.

But the text in the 10,000 sophomore history textbooks at the bottom of 10,000 lockers is based in popular myth.

That’s the truth.

To find the truth about America, about 9/11, the Boston bombing, Sandy Hook, you need to go Looking For Bigfoot.

(Excerpted from “Looking For Bigfoot,” by Mike Palecek, published by Howling Dog Press — performed on The New American Dream Radio Show by hosts Chuck Gregory and Mike Palecek)

Well, it’s been a long week in Mt. Liberty, Nebraska, my hometown.

The flags are at half-staff at the post office and Bueller, Bueller … Bueller Chevrolet, and the high school and also Taco John’s, as they have been for weeks, months and months,  to commemorate and celebrate the death of Osama bin Laden and also the burial at sea of  Cruella Deville, The Wicked Witch of the West, buried at sea, as well as Captain Hook, buried at sea, and The Big Bad Wolf, buried at sea.

Awhile back we heard some stories about Kate King, the daughter of Jack Robert King, the local Internet radio show host.

Well, Jack Robert is long gone, killed by the police, but Kate is still around and she sent some transcripts of some of JRK’s radio shows and some homemade notes to tell the story of their family.  She sent it to the local newspaper but they didn’t want it.

So she sent them to us.

Is this Heaven?

Nope.

It’s Nebraska.

Where everything good is bad.

All the good stuff about this state is sour, bitter, spoiled.

Because this state is for the war. These people are for the war.

They support the troops, the war.

They kill children and anyone else who gets in their way as they drive to Hy-Vee for the special on iceberg lettuce.

And so all the ice cream and lollipops and hayrack rides and painted ponies are for shit.

Somebody needs to bomb Nebraska.

Somebody needs to send fighter planes and Cruise missiles down main street, put giant craters in the outfield grass, down the perfect streets and avenues where all is faux sweetness and light.

Children bouncing to and fro.

Wiener dogs yipping in rhyme.

While on the other side of the world the streets are ripped apart, same with the children and the dogs.

We think those ripped-apart children are fine. We think we have torn the hearts and stomachs from those children for their own good.

The electronic time and temperature sign at the Nebraska State Bank says We Support Our Troops.

Every other car has a yellow sticker on the back that says we support those darn troops fighting over there for our daggoned freedom.

Don’t you hate those message signs in front of Nebraska churches? So trite, so patriotic. These people are not Christians. They have about as much awareness of who they are or where they are going as ants to a picnic.

They march to church each Sunday thinking the feast is meant for them, when they are merely pests.

Folks in Nebraska will grumble and scuff their shoes all day long at a two-penny increase in gas prices, but a $40 billion bill for wars in Iraq and Afghanistan won’t even get a mention at coffee time.

The stupidity of Nebraskans cannot be adequately measured using today’s available technology.

If we did not use that $40 billion to kill children in Iraq and Afghanistan we could have great schools, hospitals, railroads, insurance, candy for supper – whatever we want.

But instead, we bomb kids.

Pro-life fanatical parents bombing kids so that their own kids can’t have a new school.

What we need in this country is somebody on the left, somebody underground, under the front porch, in a subsidized rental apartment in Dayton — somewhere — to counter the propaganda minister of the state currently running about four hours each afternoon on every Nebraska radio station.

Rush Limbaugh is of course, the Goebbels of the United States empire, bought and paid for. We don’t understand that yet.

It will take fifty years and more for it to sink in.

But it’s true, none the less.

And let me just leave you with this.

The wait of the world is on your shoulders.

You feel it, don’t you?

The world is waiting for you to do something.

To be yourself.

To be who you really are.

Not some scared guy at the Stop n’ Go grinning and chuckling at some joke about Iraqi cadavers melting in the sun on the streets of Fallujah.

But the guy who your Jesus or Buddha or Allen The Alien intended you to be.

You were placed here by that entity, like one of those football players on those electric playing boards of long ago, to do a job — but all you have been doing is buzzing, rattling, shaking, refusing to come out of the corner.

The old ladies sitting with their hair freshly done in their too-hot houses on winter afternoons, still nagging husbands long gone — wondering if today is the day to swallow the rest of the pills — they watch you drive by with all the potential and good things you have that you don’t even realize, and wonder when you are going to turn into you.

Well, this is Jack Robert King … and this is Looking For Bigfoot Radio.

You all have a good night.