Amazing yard sale finds

This week I went looking for rare albums only. You'd be amazed at what I found.

The T-shirts of Pottahawk 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXIX

Len Grimsby and Graham Sheppard crept closer to the clearing with stealth. The silence of the wood was eerie and disconcerting. It was as if, someone had turned off the sound on all living things. Even the wind was stagnant creating an utter static buzz of silence and making the sound of snapping twigs under their footfall seem more like the cracking of a whip.

A six–man tent sat like a rounded mound facing the stone circle of a fire pit of charred back wood and ash. A few crushed water bottles lay in a heap on its outer ring surrounded by a triage of ripped fabric, paper fragments and other garbage strewn in haphazard fashion in the aftermath of, what-seemed-to-be, a frantic search. Between two trees a makeshift clothes line of bungee cords held several articles of clothing still damp from the rain and outside the tent the muddy prints of feet coming and going had trampled the ground into a compacted stencil of shoe treads.

Grimsby whispered. “Looks abandoned. Maybe whoever was here got sick and tried to hike out?”

“Don’t be so sure. We still need to be cautious. You check down by the water, I’ll take a look inside the tent, see if there are some blankets or towels we can use to keep warm.”

Grimsby nodded and scampered forward. He disappeared through a clearing near some trees. Sheppard crept up to the tent. “Hello,” he said barely audible. “Is there anyone inside? My name is Sheppard I’m here to help you if I can.” There was no response. Flies buzzed around the un-zippered opening and Sheppard felt his throat tighten and his stomach ascend into his pounding heart. He slowly lifted the flap. Crouching, he willed himself to move inside crawling through the small tunnel-like passageway leading to the dome of the tent. The stench was over powering; thick and pungent with a sourness that invaded his senses. Sheppard covered his mouth with his sleeve slowly peeled back the inner flap to look around. In the dimness of the fading twilight he could see two bodies, a man and a woman, clammy and pale, covered in vomit and dried blood, held tight to each other in one of two sleeping bags. Their faces were like many he had already seen today, twisted and distorted into anguished cries of pain from the convulsions they must have suffered. Their hair was matted and dishevelled from sweat. Flies landed on their faces crawling in and out of their open mouths and nasal cavities. Sheppard had seen enough.

He grabbed a nearby blanket and a couple of towels and quickly manoeuvred backward through the opening. He zipped the tent up and backed away bumping into Grimsby.
“Jesus Christ! You scared the living hell out of me!”

“Good news,” Grimsby reported still panting from a short jog back to the camp site. “There’s a canoe; with oars; it’s a fair size and should be able to carry us to the other side as long as Malcolm’s in the middle. What did you find?”

“Nothing you want to hear about, believe me.” Sheppard was still trying to keep from being sick and was starting to shiver from the wetness of his clothes, not to mention the vision of two dead bodies. He motioned for the rest of their troop to join them and filled them in on their findings. “We have a way across the lake. We’ll wait until it’s completely dark and then set out. Take time to rest, eat something and don’t anyone go near the tent, understand?”

Everyone nodded in compliance. Sheppard tossed the blanket and towels to Buck as he set Amber down from his back. He wrapped the blanket around her and Rabbit.

“Maybe we can risk a small fire for warmth? After all it’s no secret where we are at the moment.” Grimsby said, as he swung a towel around his shoulders and tied it like a cape.

Sheppard looked at Grimsby the super hero. “OK, but in half an hour we move.”

They plopped themselves down at various points around the campsite away from the tent, as Buck dug through the packs and distributed some food. He then set out to rekindle a small fire.

Sheppard felt a sudden urge to relieve himself and trudged into the woods to do so. It had been a long day and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a chance to feel some normalcy. Back at the motel perhaps? At least there, he was still unaware he was at the heart of ground zero for the next world war. We have to make it out of here and expose these lies before millions die. Someone will believe what’s gone on here. Sheppard knew he had enough knowledge and proof to mount a convincing case and he still had Rabbit. Yet something Grant had said back at the Vilgrain house nagged at him. It tore his insides in a tumultuous churning rapid of fear, anxiety and loathing. “A new weapon no one has ever seen; beautiful and catastrophic in its destruction,” he had said. What did Grant mean? Sheppard searched his memories for files he had read concerning new technological breakthroughs in military advancement and could think of nothing of that magnitude that had not been witnessed before. But he knew it as much as felt it; Hiroshima, the Holocaust, every earth quake, hurricane, tornado, storm, nuclear device, were child’s play compared to this new weapon of all weapons. If those microwave guns that Grant and his goon were using are just the tip of the iceberg on what is to come....then what is to come?

As the last scraps of the setting sun faded like retracting fingers through the trees, Sheppard noticed something else. That’s not urine. I’m peeing blood!
That’s when he heard a scream coming from camp. It was soon joined by another.

Pottahawk celebrity sightings

Gerard Butler was spotted at this year's piss-up, apparently pumped as he popped his Pottahawk cherry. "THIS!... IS!...POTTAHAWK!"

Out of the darkness...well, not quite

Private Sector continued their 09 tour at the Jolly Roger Club in Thunder Bay, a place where they performed first over 25 years ago.

Private Sector bassist and spokesman Donald Barley said, "It's great to see the old girl again." He wasn't talking about the club , but the afternoon stripper who graced the stage, Annabelle Star has been a staple at the Jolly Roger for the past 30 years.

Unfortunately for the band the electrical box at the Jolly Roger has also been a staple at the club for the past 30 years and the band found themselves performing in darkness most of the night and having to switch to an acoustic set of unplugged music. It was a performance that seemed even stranger given the beefed up heavy metal appearance of the band.

The band now head for Sioux Lookout for shows Saturday and Sunday.

The search continues

For the perfect opening act to replace Creeping Jesus on the Private Sector- Disputin Rasputin Tour The latest to be considered, but summarily dismissed is:



Meet: Claes Lennarth Club

Where they're from: Sweden

What they sound like: Think Abba with hemorrhoids and anal bleeding.

Claim to fame: Made semi-finals of Sweden's Got Funky Hair.

The Pottahawky goes to.....

The award for best game at Sunday's Pottahawk festivities wasn't piggy-back water fights, it wasn't beer bonging, it wasn't even Piss-water volleyball. My selection for best game this year had to be Toilet seat horse-shoes followed closely by the beer cooler races. Although the cooler races were at the dock and not at the Hawk so they only receive honorable mention.

Just like the old days

If ever there were a documentary in the waiting about the pitfalls of road touring, forget Spinal Tap, Private Sector are a prime candidate.

After what was the Pottahawk debacle, the band continued on their Disputin' Rasputin tour where they revisited all their old haunts from back in the day- this meant a trip to Blind River, Ontario was in order- the place where it all began.

However, when Sector arrived for their gig Wednesday night they found a stage ridiculously small that half the band had to set up and play in the parking lot, much to the delight of the unfortunate locals who couldn't get tickets to see the band in the tiny club.

Sector also continued to search for an appropriate opening act after Creeping Jesus where ejected from the bill after the first performance.

Next stop: Thunder Bay on Friday.

Back to normal by the numbers

The 50 greatest trailers....and by trailers I mean movie trailers, not redneck trailers.....or do I?

The 50 funniest street signs

The 50 most bizarre Google Earth images.

The search begins

With the tour already in chaos after only one performance, Private Sector find themselves in the precarious position of having to find a new opening act to complement the tour.

This meant Wednesday's gig in Blind River had to use local talent and make one, Harry "Washboard" Gilden, a very happy man with his rib-bone on washboard routine. The crowd did not seem as delighted so the search will continue as suitors are already lining up.

Meet: Uber Glasbergen Blitzkrieg
Where they're from: Germany
What they play: Think B-52's beat with a hammer.
Claim to fame so far: Fredrick Von Hubb- Lead singer once ate 28 Oktoberfest sausages.

Pottahawk 2010 it all starts here

I just wanted to be the first to list Pottahawk twenty-ten, the Chinese year of the trouser snake.

I will start the road off with a bunch of awards for the 2009 affair. Today I would like to post, what I feel, was the best sailing vessel of the day and I heard it also impressed the judges at the end of the day.

Cleeborn Southmyre from Deerborn Michigan congratulations for your....whatever that thing is. You`re a braver man than I.

Best day ever....hmmm

So Pottahawk has come and gone for yet another year. The weather, for the most part was spectacular, yet I can`t help thinking something was missing from this year- a sense of living on the edge perhaps....

For those who stayed out at the point on Saturday night, I`m not talking about the pounding the boats received when the wind shifted. I refer to the dangerously risky` nature of the participants that always materializes every year.

Sure their were a lot of people and Broadway was loaded as were many of the passers by, but that sense....the one where you feel something special, something wild, something truly unusual was going to happen, never appeared.

It`s not like we were out of position- sitting dead-centre of the first row at Broken Tree.

Was it the unusually colder water that no amount of urine could warm, I don`t know, but something was remiss.

Over the next X plus weeks I will explore the phenomenon that was this year`s Pottahawk, giving you the best of the t-shirts I spotted there, the Johnny Wad and Boo sightings and any other tid-bits I feel necessary to send your way.

Sector opens tour with a whimper

It was supposed to be a glorious start to a long tour, but it turned out quite differently. Last year Pottahawk was one of the best performances for Private Sector on the North American leg of their Two in the Pink, One in the Stink Tour, this year, no one wants to talk about the debacle.

It all started with a promoter who was hard of hearing and booked the gig , not for Pottahawk, but for the little used Pottahog Island fifty miles away. The bands were transported in by boat and played on a massive stage and performed to a group of twenty-five, elderly, nude, sunbathers.

A disappointed Private Sector drummer Bug Christopher told reporters, We were told people would be able to see the drums from miles away, only to discover they meant the empty oil drums that were washed up everywhere.

In his disgust, Sector Bassist Donald Barley, kicked Creeping Jesus, accordionist Hunter Hays into the lake, dislocating the young boy`s shoulder.

Sector continue on to Blind River where it all began twenty-five years ago with only one opening act in tow.

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXVIII

The Ranger looked suddenly distressed and turned to Sheppard. “I don’t know how, but we just lost power!” He tried to turn the engine over, but to no avail. It clicked, but it would not start.

The chopper blew by them barely above their heads with the roar of the blades, as it circled and prepared for another pass.
Sheppard looked at the helicopter then back at Grimsby. “EMP!”

“What!?”

“Electro Magnetic Pulse! The helicopter must be equipped with it. It’s shut the engine down.”

“But there was no explosion; nothing fired at us. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Try to find a clearing and guide us into shore. -Malcolm, try to hold Grant off with the Winchester!”

“I would if I could. It fell into the lake!”

Sheppard pulled his revolver from his jeans and tossed his gun to Buck. “Use this then!”

The Sea-Ray was now slowing to a leisurely float, sailing through the water at a Sunday crawl as the helicopter circled and swooped in for another attack this time with machine guns at the ready. The kids were below. Grant could open fire and take out their guardians without fear of killing his prized Indigo.

Grimsby held onto the wheel and rocked back and forward violently- willing the craft to move to the shore line. It was insight, but still too far away for them to try to swim for it.

Buck stood up in the aft portion of the craft with his massive legs apart and rooted to the deck. He held Sheppard’s gun steady with both hands- arms out stretched and pointed like an arrow toward the incoming adversary. If I’m going to go out, I’m going with gun blazing.

Sheppard had rushed forward to dislodge the anchor and as much rope as he could spool.

From above Grant smiled slightly from the cracked face mask of his hazmat suit. “I have you now. This is for Van Gogh.”

Buck stood his ground but felt arms grab his shirt as Rabbit swung his body in front of the surprised big man. “No! He’ll kill you all!” Rabbit Screamed.

Grant cursed at the sight of the Bradley boy using himself as a human shield. He pulled back on the throttle and swerved the chopper up and to the right without getting a shot off. Buck squeezed the trigger and fired until the gun was empty as the helicopter veered back and away into the setting sun. Grant would be back, to be sure.

“God damn it Rabbit! You could have gotten killed with an idiot move like that.”

“And you could’ve been killed if I wasn’t such an idiot Mr. Buck.” He let go of Buck’s shirt and looked at him as one would at a child who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Rabbit then turned and headed below to check on Amber leaving a bewildered Malcolm Buck behind.

The boat was now at the mercy of the waves as it rocked close to the shore line and the rocks. There were several overhanging trees and a clearing twenty feet to the right where they could possibly land the Sea Ray without too much damage. Sheppard began throwing the anchor like a grappling hook trying to snag some branches but fell well short of the mark. He reeled it back in as Buck joined him. “Here” Sheppard said handing him the coil of rope. “You’ve got more strength. You try.”

Buck took the rope and anchor from Sheppard. He swung his arm backward a few times for momentum and the let the anchor and rope fly toward the branches. It caught. “Looks like I missed my calling in life.”

The two men began to tug on the rope and take up the slack. The rope went taught and together they began to pull the boat closer to the shore line. Beneath them the squeal of a submerged rock, or two could be heard scrapping against the hull. There was a crack and the branch that held the anchor snapped and splashed into the water below taking the anchor with it. Quickly Buck and Sheppard worked to pull it in again, but the anchor held fast to the broken limb and must have been wedged between the rocks. With all their strength and Grimsby now helping they were able to pull the craft in another ten feet until it would move no further over the rock base grumbling like thunder under the boat.

“This is where the ride ends. Looks like we’ll have to get wet.”

Malcolm Buck looked horrified more so then when he was staring down imminent death and the guns of the attack helicopter. Sheppard looked at him reassuringly and smacked the big man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Malcolm. It’s probably not that deep. You’ll be able to walk I’m sure.” He turned and left to collect the kids and their meagre supplies.

One by one, the fugitives lowered themselves into the water off the back ladder; Grimsby followed by Rabbit, Amber helped by Sheppard and the back packs for each. Malcolm Buck had two life jackets- one around each arm like orange shoulder pads as he stood on the deck trying to psyche himself up.

Sheppard smiled at him from the water. “Do you know how ridiculous you look Malcolm?”

“Better ridiculous then drowned I say.”

“Well you’d better hurry before you add captured and shot to that list.”

“Don’t rush me!” Buck slowly swung around and warily descended rung by rung- his huge mitts clutching the rails of the ladder for dear life to the point of making his knuckles white. He pinched his nostrils and slid into the cold water. He reached bottom at his chest. Sheppard looked at his massive ally as the others crawled to shore. “Come on Aqua Man. Time’s a wastin’.”

“That’s not funny!” Buck said. “Not funny at all.”

The two moved, tripping over rocks and clawing their way forward until they joined the others, dripping wet and cold on the shore line.

Sheppard sighed. “Great we’re on the wrong side of the lake, on foot and they know where we are. Only a matter of time before we get picked up.”

“It’s getting dark at least that’s something,” Grimsby said.

“For us, or them?” Rabbit mused.

Sheppard turned to Grimsby, “We have to get across to the other side. Is there a bridge, or a shallow crossing of some type?”

“It’s a lake, man. Boat, or swim, you’re not crossing it any other way. And I don’t think your friend’s going to float very well even with his water wings.”

-“ You know, I am right here.” Buck said, still on his knees, as he tossed the wet floatation devices to the ground.

Grimsby continued. “The kids are tired. I’m tired.”

“Look we’re all strung out, but we can’t rest just yet. We have to keep moving. Grant will be back soon with reinforcements you can bet on it. We won’t last long with an empty revolver and a tranq gun.”

“What are you proposing? We walk around the lake? Do you know how long that will take?”

“We have to find another way.”

“Mr. Sheppard’s right. We have to move. Now!” Rabbit said. He didn’t feel the danger was looming, but like a coming storm he knew his sickness would return sooner than later as the search for them intensified.

“I can’t Rabbit. I’m too tired and sore.”

“Just a little further Amber, then we can all rest.”

“I just can’t.”

Malcolm Buck rose to his feet and strode forward. “Give her to me. I’ll carry her on my back.- Can you do that Amber?”

“OK.”

The big Indian lifted her up as if she made of fine China and slid her on to his back, locking his arms around her legs while she clung to his tree trunk of a neck.
Sheppard motioned in approval. “Alright, let’s get going.- Len lead the way.”
The five trudged on for an hour along the shore line under cover of the trees and the growing darkness before they came to a clearing by the water. They could see the outline of a tent and a fire long since extinguished.

Sheppard motioned to the others to stop. “Wait here while Len and I check this out.- Any feelings Rabbit?”

The boy shook his head in the negative. Len Grimsby opened his tranquilizer gun case and loaded a dart into the chamber, just in case.

The two set off to explore the camp site.

Let the games begin

Grand Marshalls Boo and Johnny Wad say, "Pottahawk is officially on! Now go get some valuable chickage slob!"