Nevada 2008 - This is a state that needs no introduction. You could scale the Himalayas to visit a lama that had never come down off his mountain and just mention Nevada and he’d nod knowingly. Certain places just infest the collective consciousness like the clap carnival ran through Mao Tse-Tung. Like Texas. Of course no trip to Nevada would be complete without a bat blood breakfast buffet. There are Shoshone here that have accepted me, Paiute and Goshute too and I’m not the sort of bastard that would reveal the rituals or speak the sacred names. I have friends from Trinidad in Nevada too and I’ve read the old ways and even the white man has a past of which you do not speak. Needless to say if you know what you’re doing a bag of high grade speed and assortment of amphetamines you can mainline are low test bilge water compared to a solid bat blood fix. It cures the need for sleep, promotes invisibility and if you bath your eyes with bat’s blood even a white man can see in the dark. Beats all hell out of thermal imaging and any high tech night vision goggles you can buy and at far less an expense….at least from a financial standpoint. The psychotropic effects of a dose of high grade bat’s blood can be long lasting and to the weak minded permanently damaging. There’s an old rumor that Joseph Smith claimed to be a prophet and founded the Mormon Church after an obliging Native American dosed him with bat’s blood. A brief reading of the history and beliefs of the Mormons seems to indicate that there’s a high possibility that this is true. The only part that tips the shadow of doubt is the fact that Ol’ Joe Smith somewhere in all the carnage and fucking deduced that oral sex was unacceptable….of course it could have just been one bad trip that caused this, where during a theophany he observed a woman growing out of his shepherd’s staff and feeling a bit freaked out and wondering how he could propagate the Mormon flock with his harem using this strange new appendage he decided to ban the practice.…or maybe Joe just dug the missionary position. This is all beside the point though and the fact is that you don’t want to sleep, even with only one eye closed, when the bloodthirsty beasts of DC have descended upon the land of Bighorn Sheep and Cutthroat Trout. They know all things are possible here and it’s damn hard to find a body in the desert. So, those in the know and with the right connections always begin a stay in Nevada with a bat blood breakfast and happily I knew where to go and who to see.

Next up was the airport and Winston. I had not seen Winston in some time, this is normal, and of late he claimed to be spending time in Hawaii learning the secrets of tantric sex from some guy whose name sounded like something you could contract from exposure to fleas or a bad case of lice. It was going to be a long ride, I deduced, as he rattled on and on about how to contort yourself and find your energies using positions like the dangling incontinent marmoset, the trussed hermaphrodite pygmy, and one of the favorites of his Hawaiian navel gazing guru, the gilded prostrate pupu kanioe….which he claimed “was very popular with the tourists.” I tried to remind Winston that sex and navel gazing were never meant to be combined acts and if he had bothered at all to make a study of the history of fucking that the great civilizations that had preceded ours lifted it to high art with inventions like the orgy and S&M gear. The fact that the rack had not started out as a torture device seemed to elude him. I had to pull the car to the shoulder slap him hard and remind him where he was. This was Nevada and nothing was gentle here and sex was about boiling blood lust and desire. Insects copulating as they eat the head of their mate and Dennis Kucinich already wandering naked in the desert lost and confused. Democracy was here tonight to fuck or die and there would be victims, there would be blood as the sign on the theatre had screamed. John Edwards was in danger and we raced across the dust and pavement knowing it was not likely he could survive this trip….at the very least they were going to beat his pretty boy good looks off of him for good. The Clintons are professionals and they wear all the masks well. The sun was going down and the phone was ringing. It was Kucinich’s lawyer, panicked and out of breath.

“He never got off the plane!” he screamed. “We can’t find him!”

I gave him a number to call and told him we had to get to Edwards before the Clintons did, we had to at least make sure he got on the stage.