By Gonz Blinko
“Where have all the blind guys gone?” Sang the man on the stage, “Long time passing…”
I asked a person standing near me “Is that the real Pete Seeger or is that Springsteen?”
“Both,” replied the stranger.
I stood at the back of a reasonably large crowd assembled to protest Freeman Scientology’s treatment of blind employees, more aptly, Freeman’s dismissal of blind employees from its sales and other departments which they once dominated. A Dr. Lawnmauer had called the rally and they brought out quite a bevy of liberal celebrities to celebrate the injustice. Springsteen did a duet with Stevie (Wonder not Nicks) of “We are the blinks,” which about made me puke but then the speeches started.
Dr. Lawnmauer introduced BlindChristian. He went on as if he had to escape Dachau to get to this rally. I wish that upper middle class asshole would realize that he just ain’t that oppressed. Hell, even if he felt as downtrodden as other minorities, I wish he’d get to the point and stop pontificating.
“Now, that’s a great idea,” said a rally attendant standing nearby. Amazed that this person remained awake, I approached her to get some material for the story.
“Gonz Blinko!” She stated with some excitement. “I’m a big fan. I recognized you by your voice and the smell of espresso.”
“Would you like to do an interview about these issues?” I asked hoping she might be a groupie too.
“I would but I’ve been told that anyone who talks to you will lose their job and I don’t want to go back to phone sex.”
“How about some live sex?” I thought but didn’t want to get slapped right then.
Michael Bald took the stage and started railing about how things used to be and I contemplated a taxi to the airport.
BlindChristian came out with Eminem to do a musical piece. I started contemplating suicide as the temperature hit ninety degrees while BC and Eminem yelled “Remember ME?” Followed by, “My name is BlindChristian, I’m back, and I’m back…” First off, I didn’t notice BC missing and to be back, he needs to be somewhere and this rally, while well intended, ain’t anywhere.
Dick Springs and the Wrath of Mike told stories about losing their Freeman Scientology jobs and a tear came to many an eye. A musician called HalfBaked played the piano and sang an original tune about moving to Oregon, it was no where near as good as the Zappa tune about moving to Montana.
The Freeman Scientology black helicopters started circling above and dropping Braille cards telling us how wonderful they really are. I smelled some chronic burning and found my way to another former phone sex operator and shared a few hits with her. After that, the event took on a whole different sensibility.
Moes Jonathonson opened his office window and yelled out about how we didn’t really understand but was then led away by a person wearing a white lab coat with a syringe that he had stuck in the Kiwi’s butt. They were all smiles after that.
No one saw Sy T. Greenbacks and, when the audience started chanting, “Sy T., Sy T., Sy T.” the Freeman Scientology people just locked the doors.
I had hoped to visit with some old friends but the heat, the pot and the former phone sex operator were getting to me. We found Samhara, who seemed listless as her favorite Freeman lesbians didn’t seem to be around. She got the blind phone sex chick, my dog and I into her car and we were off to Tampa International for a flight back to New York. I just couldn’t handle Florida and the paranoia, fear and loathing any longer. I needed a dose of reality and the Sunshine State lacks it entirely.