Jimbob's Journal
by Jim Harris


The year was 2000, and Philadelphia was in the National Spotlight as host to the Republican National Convention. As a card-carrying anarchist, I saw it as a golden opportunity to rain on the establishment's parade.

This I accomplished by hiding in one of the many Port-O-Potties outside of the Convention Center and shouting disparaging remarks about Governor Bush through a bullhorn. I did indeed generate some genuine consternation, judging by the comments I could hear from within my dank fortress, like "Where's that coming from?", and "Somebody find that s.o.b. and shut him up". Of course that only egged me on to greater invective; "George Bush has no tush", I bellowed, "Bush's granny wears . . " BAM! The door burst open and a very rotund policeman yelled "I got him".

Since I had chained myself to the urinal, they had to transport the entire port-o-potty with me in it down to the roundhouse. Once there, they cut me loose and threw me in with the some other detainees, mostly young, grungy-looking men. They sort of reminded me of my hippy brethren from the old days. I spoke to one who had his long yellow hair woven into something resembling a doormat. "That must have taken some time", I said, pointing to his hair, "did you do it yourself?". He gave me the finger and spat on my shoe.

I asked him, "Do you truly believe in anarchy?". "What the hell does that mean? ", he shot back, and spit on my other shoe. Just then, the sheriff's deputy came in and said it was time for our preliminary hearings. As we were all being led out to the bus in handcuffs, excited Japanese tourists were taking turns having their pictures taken in front of us. I hollered to them, "Tell the world my story!". They giggled and bowed a lot, and kept snapping photos. I don't think they spoke English.

I wound up being sentenced to seventeen hours of community service which I fulfilled by helping little old ladies cross the street. It was challenging work, especially with the ones who didn't want to cross the street, but I learned some valuable lessons in the process, things like, good manners are always in style, and anarchists never get invited to the nicer parties.

My anarchistic fervor has waned a bit since then, to the point where, today I almost never get the urge to throw beer bottles at police. For some odd reason, though, I keep getting requests from Japanese dissidents to come over there and ply my special brand of disorder. As much as I love the smell of tear gas in the morning, i feel I've done my share. It's up to the younger generation now to get out there and strike a blow for dear mother chaos.

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