I am at that age when shit happens. Not just to me, but to people I have involved in my life. It was sad to learn that the doctor was sick. He was by his own admission, really sick. He had been diagnosed with cancer some time ago and despite beating it back with his love of life and the usual regimen of assorted treatments, it had returned with a vengeance. And anger. It seemed so very angry this time. And while he continued to fight back, he recently discovered that the battle was lost. He began preparing for the end by doing his best to enjoy whatever time he had left. He was like that though. He had survived a stint in the army, a truck load of ex wives, and years of relentless hallucinogen use with a laugh and a story to tell. He said he was okay with it now, and I was certain he was, but it was hard for me to get my head around the fact that the doctor of debauchery and depravity was on his way out.
I called him my friend, but we were really kindred spirits, enjoying life in the theater of the absurd, and travelling across time and space to worlds that existed only in our own minds. We met somewhere on the Oregon trail, balls deep in female loggers, peyote buttons, and a polka music playing drummer who joined us on our journey of paradoxical pandemonium, all in an attempt to rewrite history as we imagined it. We shared our own life stories, our love of science fiction, books, beaver hunting, and music. We traded barbs and snappy retorts, wrapped in sarcasm and irony, and laughed until we forgot what the hell we were laughing about.
I had planned on visiting the good doctor, several times, but it seems I left it too late. Its a shame really, I mean I would have liked to have smuggled the Italian French-Canadian hybrid into Comerica Park and stuffed him full of hot dogs and beer as we watched the Tigers blow a two run lead in the top of the ninth to the Jays. But shit happens. At least we were able to boldly go where no man has gone before. For that I am eternally grateful, but man I hate having to look for a new doctor.
The Doctor wasn’t really a doctor. He had earned the title due to his extensive knowledge of, and first hand experience in mind fucking psychedelics. My excursion into the wilderness, along with Sinee and Mailee, the Thai porn sisters was to be just the distraction we needed from the hailstorm of existential ennui that had permeated life. The Doctor and I spotted them just as we got over the ridge. They were hard to miss. Dressed in red and black flannel, the Doctor said that they stood out like Jayne Mansfield’s massive mammaries. But after 3 days of living on Peruvian peyote, neither one of us could be sure just what they were. Sinee, the Thai lap dancer the Doctor had been taking nude jello wrestling lessons with, and her sister Mailee, saw them too. “Lumberjacks!”, he muttered. “Fucking lumberjacks.”
The Doctor despised lumberjacks. Loggerheads, he called them, the bottom rung on the ladder of evolution. The mindless, mountainous fuckwits who came from places no sane man has ever been, and spread out across the continental forests, in their search for mature trees, and young, virgin women. Loggerheads were suckers for young, virgin women. But so were the Doctor and I. There were none in this part of the country. Not anymore. Not since the Doctor and I spent that long, holiday weekend at The Four Seasons Resort.
I counted 4 lumberjacks, just beyond the tree line, and the Doctor said there were 3 more behind a burnt out Plymouth Valiant in a clearing. Mailee said that she saw 3 standing in line at Booster Juice. And, even with significant amounts of hallucinogenics coursing through our blood streams and setting up camps in our prefrontal cortex, we were able to do the math in our heads. There were 10 lumberjacks skulking around the woods near our campsite. After another round of peyote, and an hour or so of watching the Zebra string quartet perform Vivaldi on the hood of the burnt out Plymouth Valiant, the Doctor thought that he had read about a study conducted at Northwestern in the mid 1970s, which found that DNA samples taken from deceased lumberjacks contained no human DNA. Theorists believe that they are, in fact, an extraterrestrial life form that was stranded here thousands of years ago. Yes, it seems that Earth had been invaded by aliens, with an affinity for flannel. The thought was mind boggling! “I don’t know how we’re going to deal with so many of those flannel fucks”, the Doctor said, “I think we need beer. Canadian Beer,”
As we sat pondering the existence of these space travelling loggers, Sinee and Mailee headed over the border for beer. The Doctor was a big fan of Canadian beer and probably would have gone himself, but he had been banned from entering Canada several years ago, following an international incident that involved tequilla, a rubber chicken, and Margaret Trudeau. The sisters returned a couple of hours later, armed with Labbatt’s Blue, cigarettes, and wet panties. There were not many women who could perform like Sinee and Mailee. Before her career as a lap dancer Sinee and her sister had starred in over 40 underground porn films. The Doctor and I had seen them all. Some were classics, like ‘Molly’s Magic Muff’, ‘Ride Cowgirl, Ride’, and ‘Head Above Water’. Sinee was a pro, and could suck the seeds out of a cucumber without peeling it. Her sister, I soon found out, was equally gifted. The Thai sisters dropped to their knees and took to their work like rabid jackals. “Like I always say”, Mailee playfully stated when the job was done, “the best way to go down is to keep your head up.” From my side of a job well done, I had to agree.
As the sun began to rise, the sound of chain saws, and the shouts of “Timber!”, echoed across the wooded camp ground, followed by the thunder of falling trees. “I think we need to call the G Man.”, the Doctor stated.
The G Man was a music writer who had served with the Doctor in the National Park Service. He had spent most of his life in the woodlands of Oregon, but we liked him anyway. Rumor had it that after being bitten by a logger in a bar fight in the summer of 1973, developed super powers, and became ‘Loggerman’. The story goes that he was recruited by a clandestine government agency that kept tabs on potential alien infiltration of earth. He was considered an authority on loggers. His treatise ‘A Tree Falls in 4/4 Time’, and its sequel, ‘There’s A Logger In Your Treble Clef’ are considered the bibles of lumberjack identification and eradication. There were small communities in rural Oregon that had named streets after him, and there was even a ‘Loggerman’ day celebrating the end of the Oregon winter. While we waited for the G Man to arrive, we dined on peyote, pretzels, and beer, and sat back to enjoy the red and black stripped Zebra String Quartet that was now performing Bach on the hood of the burnt out Plymouth Valiant.
Sinee wanted to know just what the G Man’s super powers were. No one really knew. No one was sure if the rumors were even true. What was known was that the G Man could write an article on any aspect of popular music before you could finish listening to side 2 of ‘Abbey Road’. The Doctor believed the stories. He claimed to have seen the G Man turn into ‘Loggerman’ right before his eyes, become flannel, and carry a Douglas Fir on his shoulder like it was a sack of sugar. That, and the G Man’s penchant for pancakes, and Irish Stew, the Doctor remarked, was proof enough.
The G Man arrived just before sunset, carrying a black valise, and blaming a strong headwind for his late arrival. Mailee made pancakes, and we all sat down to a lumberjack stack and beer, and worked out a plan to get rid of the lumberjacks. Are there any young virgins around here?”, the G Man asked.
“Not really.”, I answered.
“There may be some in Ohio.”, the Doctor added. ” Maybe Columbus or Toledo.We won’t go into Ohio.”
“I assume that these 2 young ladies here have been tainted by all of your perversions.”, the G Man stated.
“Not all of them.”, I answered. “Not yet.” The G Man suggested we all get some sleep and start fresh in the morning.
We awoke to find the G Man listening to the sounds made by the lumberjacks. There was sawing, and shouting, and chopping. But The G Man could detect nuances that our mortal ears could not hear. We had pancakes and psyolcilin tea for breakfast, after which the G Man stood tall, with hands on his hips. “This is a job for Loggerman.”, he bellowed, and as his skin turned red and black, he raced off into the woods to face the dreaded loggers. I swear that as he walked off, AC/DC’s ‘Hell’s Bells” began playing, but, it could have just been the ‘shrooms. There were sounds we had never heard before, and timber and shards of wood were seen being thrown across the morning sky. Sinee and Mailee, frightened by the noises, believed the devil himself had been awoken. I took Mailee into my tent and calmed her down with some wood of my own. The battle ensued for what seemed like hours, and when it ended, there was silence. Total and complete silence. We watched and waited, and then, through the dust and smoke, we saw the G Man walking towards us. He looked pale, and sickly, but being from Oregon, it was understood. “Do you guys have any Irish Stew?”, he asked as he approached the camp site. He had grown a mustache in his absence, one of those 1970s Magnum P.I., things. The G Man seemed to like it though, and he was constantly stroking it as he ate.
“Nice ‘stache’.”, the Doctor said.
“Thanks.”, the G Man replied. “I kind of like it too. I think I’ll keep it. And now, I think I need to get some sleep, and then head back home.” He retired to one of the tents, while the rest of us, sat around drinking the rest of the mushroom tea, and watched the chem trails left by a flock of geese that passed overhead turn into fish and swim off into the clouds. Mailee and Sinee wanted to get laid, and neither the Doctor nor I had ever disappointed a damsel in distress.
The G Man left for the Pacific Northwest, and we packed up our camp site. We took Sinee and Mailee home, but not before one more head to mouth battle royale, the results of which left the Thai Porn Sisters speechless.. “Where to now?”, the Doctor asked.
“Well”, I answered, “There’s the Quebec City Virgin & Psychedelic Poutine Festival ablout ready to get underway.”
“Say no more.”, the Doctor stated, as he started up the van. “Let’s see how many virgins are left in Quebec City by the end of the week.” And with that, and The 13th Floor Elevators playing on the cassette deck of the Ford Torino, we did our recommended daily dose of peyote, and drove off in search of French Canadian Virgin Women, and if there was time, perhaps some poutine.
lumberjacks.”
being bitten by a logger in a bar fight in the summer of 1973, developed super powers, and became ‘Loggerman’. The story goes that he was recruited by a clandestine government agency that kept tabs on potential alien infiltration of earth. He was considered an authority on loggers. His treatise ‘A Tree Falls in 4/4 Time’, and its sequel, ‘There’s A Logger In Your Treble Clef’ are considered the bibles of lumberjack identification and eradication. There were small communities in rural Oregon that had named streets after him, and there was even a ‘Loggerman’ day celebrating the end of the Oregon winter. While we waited for the G Man to arrive, we dined on peyote, pretzels, and beer, and sat back to enjoy the red and black stripped Zebra String Quartet that was now performing Bach on the hood of the burnt out Plymouth Valiant.
“Nice ‘stache’.”, the Doctor said.
My World Is A Wonderfully Weird Place 