From: hillman@carina.unm.edu (Dan Hillman)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves
Subject: Re: Mea Culpa
Date: 14 Sep 92 14:25:54 GMT
Organization: dan at home

In article <1992Sep13.003208.20233@bbxrbk> russ@bbxrbk (Russ Kepler) writes:
>OK, I did it.  It was me (I? - screw that).  I sent the New Mexico
>peevers into the never-never land of the Sandias to look for a picnic
>ground that didn't exist.  It was bad instructions, written when I was
>tired and I neglected one little thing: the name of the picnic
>grounds.  OK, one small other thing, I misspelled the name of the one
>near it as one a wee bit away, maybe 10-12 miles down.  Of course, no
>one mentioned any of these faults until *today*, after hunting for me
>and ER for a couple of hours.

Oh sure, the directions *seemed* like they made sense; at least at 
first. I picked up Chris & Paul, and with a stops at the KFC and 
Allsups we were off.

Chris, having done such a stellar job of directing us to Russ' 
(!Peeve) shooting range the weekend before, rode shotgun as 
Navigator, and Paul kept company in the back with the Black Widows. 
Well, okay, there weren't any, actually, but claiming that there 
were was fine entertainment. ("Jesus, Paul, look out!") <Heh heh 
heh>

For those who have been spared the pleasure of driving for *two 
hours* up and down the road that winds up through the Sandia 
Mountains, it's a 12-mile, two-lane, twisty bit of asphalt with the 
occasional campground and picnic area off to the side, none of which 
even *vaguely* fit the description Russ supplied.

With our intrepid navigator deflecting doubts upon his abilities and 
ancestry with the occasional "bite me," and waves of his honcho at 
passing cars, we eventually wound our way past every picnic spot 
("Naw, it can't be *that* one; look at Russ' directions.") and 
arrived at Sandia Crest.

Scientific Note: The fried chicken did *not* explode. It was the 
hypothesis of our group that if the flavors of the chicken were 
truly "locked in," no doubt at a plant somewhere in New Jersey at 
close to sea level, by the time we reached Sandia Crest, altitude 
10,683 (or something like that), the chicken will have exploded. 
<Sigh> Another marketing myth destroyed. Followups to a.u.f.

There was no RussMobile or StudlyBooterTealWheels at the Crest, so 
we stopped to check the friendly forest services map. Hmmm. 
According to Russ' directions, the campground was all the way back 
down the mountain. <ObSigh>

We all piled back into the car, to be enveloped by the smells of the 
heat death of the KFC, and drove down the mountain to the very first 
picnic spot and rest area.

Neither the RussMobile or StudlyBooterTealWheels were there.

So we drove to the next one. And the next one. ("Let's have another 
look at Russ' directions; they *must* be right. Russ wouldn't get us 
lost, would he? No way.")

Eventually we checked *every* turn off the road. Every picnic area, 
every side road. Every camp site. And we were back up at the Crest.

And there was the RussMobile. And it was empty.

Fuck it; time to eat. We tore into that KFC like crazed weasels. It 
was an ugly scene. Paul was furious and pelted frightened tourists 
with greasy chicken bones and sprayed them with Lone Star beer. We 
tried to stop him, honest, but he was a madman. O, the humanity.

After a brief tussle, we decided that there was only one trail Russ 
& Booter could have taken, so we tracked them with all the stealth 
of...um... yeah, with stealth. And *there* they were.

For anyone in Peevetown doubting the New Mexico peevers' powers of 
self-restraint, please be advised that when we first found Russ on 
Sandia Crest, he was near the edge of a rather high cliff.
-- 
To aid in your visualization, I'm a fair-skinned caucasian, and my nipples
are a deep dusty rose.  If these colors don't seem right to you get new
graphics card. --Jenny Gutbezahl