These are indeed auspicious days to be Big Green. What the hell am I talking about? I was hoping you would know, good browser.
Yes, just hanging about at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, assembling the next podcast of THIS IS BIG GREEN. Uh-huh, that’s right – we personally assemble each episode by hand. (And no, that’s not the royal “we” – I in fact have a mouse in my pocket.) It’s painstaking work. Ironing out the dross, cutting the vulgarities, tuning up the music, tweaking the costumes (oh yes … we wear costumes on our audio podcast). It is details like these that make for great podcasts. Ours is not one, but … we use the same means that the greats use, with less than great results. I’m being honest, okay. YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? (You do? My apologies.)
Okay, so that takes some time. What do we do with the other 23.5 hours in the day? Well…. we’ve actually got a project ahead of us. Yes, another project. It’s not one of those diorama things you used to build for show and tell – you know, a box depicting the battle of the Monitor and the Merrimac, with a starfish thrown in for good measure. Then if you do particularly well on your in-class presentation, you get a little reward – perhaps a star sticker, or an extra fruit cup at lunch time. That’s all good, until you run into that bruiser out on the playground, whose dad left town with some floozie from the Shriners circus last year, and who’s been going around with a chip on his shoulder ever since, and who apparently
owns all the playground equipment because if you even go NEAR the see-saw he’ll break you in half, and …
Right… well, I strayed a bit. The project. Remember, way back in the year 2000, when we briefly hooked up with Dubya Bush while he was out on the campaign trail, sharing our interstellar tour bus with the soon-to-be president of these here United States? Well, it helps to know people – that’s all I can say. One introduction leads to another. Because of our experience with extraterrestrial constituencies, the Gingrich campaign has tapped us to be its liaison to the moon people. This could be huge, friends – one of us (Matt, perhaps) could be named ambassador to the moon if the Newt-like object is elected president this fall. How awesome would that be?
Tough commute? No worries. With gas at $2.50 a gallon, it won’t matter a bit.
Leave us face it. As so many of our closest friends and advisors have told us, Big Green’s money-making gene is recessive. The cash bone definitely is not connected to the Green bone. Even when we have a hole to China’s most productive consumer good factory – literally a tunnel to the bank! – it blows up in our faces. The gods want us humble. They have given us a mission, and we must fulfill it. Live simply in an abandoned mill. Make music. Travel to other planets via questionable means. Go forth and do as I tell you. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
What am I talking about? What indeed. I’ll tell you, friend(s), we’ve been squatting in this abandoned hammer mill for more than ten years. You know what squatting that long does to your quadriceps? Seriously, we’ve been occupying the Cheney Hammer Mill before the Occupy movement ever put on its first pair of short pants. Not for any principle, you understand, other than that of having a roof over our heads. A penniless band, Big Green was in those days. Ah, but no more. Fortune has smiled upon us, once again.