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Welcome to Aug's comic theory and road diary. Here you'll find an updated section of stories, philosophy and completely nonsensical opinion that will serve as a playbook for your new life. Maybe you think the decisions I make for you are not the best, but remember, the decisions you have made so far have gotten you to this point. Can I really do any worse?
2008-05-21
14:04
"Hey Aug, you're funny. Are you gonna be on Last Comic Standing?"
Good question, I'm glad you asked. Many of you I'm sure are under the impression that if I wanted on a show, I just have a member of Team Aug get on the blower to one of the suits that decide what kind of entertainment America will be digesting this ratings period. And that within a few hours the NBC jet is backed up to Aug Comedy headquarters to spirit me away to an awaiting microphone. Unfortunately it is a bit more complicated than that.
My audition took place at Zanie's in Nashville on a hot and sultry Tuesday. When I arrived at the club the parking lot was filled with prospective LCSers, some of whom I knew. What struck me about the people I didn't know, was their choice of wardrobe. Where I was wearing a newly purchased sport coat, most of them were under the impression that they were trying out for the circus. I was surrounded by women in fat suits and bouffant wigs, men in black unitards and straightjackets, and one guy in an Abraham Lincoln costume. It was like doing comedy in a commercial for a prescription sleep-aid. As I stood in a sea of juggling pins and facial prosthetics, I began to reevaluate my entire approach to comedy. I mean all I have are words and punch lines, these guys had makeup crews.
The audition process was threefold. At 10:30am I would do two minutes for the producers, and if that went well then you do an afternoon set for the celebrity judges. And if that went well, you do a night show in front of an actual audience. Then after all that, the same two producers that you did the first show for decide whether you make the next round in Las Vegas. I would like to state for the record that it never occurred to me that I would not make the night show.
Before the 10:30 am show, five of us were herded into the hot greenroom of the club to be taken one by one on stage. Who was right in front of me, but our sixteenth president, Abe Lincoln. To his credit, the man would not break character. I looked at his black wool suit and stovepipe hat in the 80 degree heat and say:
"Man you gotta be hot in that thing."
And he says in what I can only assume to be a perfect Abraham Lincoln impression:
"I got used to the heat during the Civil War."
He was rejected, if not authentic. Later, comic Mike MaCrea saw Honest Abe on the streets of Nashville, still in costume with the illusion only slightly shattered by the fact that he was behind the wheel of a Datsun B210 pickup.
I took the stage just before 11am in a club inhabited only by two producers and the broken dreams of the 50 or so performers that had gone before me. No big deal, I've played smaller rooms. At the end of my two minutes my critique was "we would like to see some different material for the celebrity judges." No problem. The afternoon set was also two minutes and I had a slam dunk for that, especially when I found out the aforementioned judges were Norm and Cliff. That's right, America's favorite alcoholic and America's favorite enabler. Now a lot of people might have a problem having their art judged by two character actors that have never done standup. But not Aug. After all, the preponderance of my material deals with drinking and other excesses. This seemed to be a perfect fit! So there I stood at 4pm in a comedy club that had been the scene of some of my greatest triumphs. A club that in the past had been packed with people chanting my name, pledging loyalty to my comedy, collecting my semen to start an army of SuperAuggies when they get the cloning right. And now it was just me, the cameras, and the Lucy and Ethel of the Eighties.
The bit I chose to do was one I had been doing for many years. I comment about our bar laws and how unnecessary they are. I delivered it flawlessly and came in at a minute fifty-three. Perfect. I stood onstage basking in the glow of my achievement, eagerly awaiting the praise of the Itchy and Scratchy of the Beer Set. Norm seemed to be amused, and commented
"If they could, they would make it illegal to cross the street!"
"I agree, good point Norm."
Then Cliff piped up: "You know, a lot of this is a states rights issue. I think that if the Civil war had gone a different way, we wouldn't be seeing a lot of these laws."
I then interjected, "So let's get this straight. You, John Ratzenberger, wish the South had won the Civil War?"
Claven backtracked: "No I just mean from a state's rights....."
I interjected again: "No we have it on tape, I can play it back for you!"
I left the stage thinking "Wow, that went well. I delivered my material perfectly and had a funny back and forth with the judges." Now I stood in the greenroom where a bearded man in headset was to inform me of my fate. "What's to inform? Just tell me what time to be here?" I thought.
Then he said: "Unfortunately, we’re going to pass."
What do you mean pass? You don't get it Craigslist Headset Intern, this is my destiny! A chance to do sets on TV every week for two months, showcase my talent to a country desperately in need of the power, truth and raw unbridled sexuality that is the Auggie Smith experience. And just when this wave of shock and disappointment was washing over me, some NYU film-school douchebag puts a camera in my face and says "Auggie, What happened?" "What happened?”
What happened was I put the fate of my career in the hands of Fat Sam from Fletch and a closeted segregationist. What happened was I don't wear a polka-dot suit or speak through a puppet. What happened was I thought it was Last Comic Standing, and not Last Sideshow Freak Playing to the Crippled Attention Spans of a Perpetually Distracted Generation Standing.
Don't get me wrong, this isn't sour grapes, I'm not disappointed for me. I'm disappointed for you America! I'm disappointed that the selection of TV-clean five minute sets that I 've prepared in my head will not be seen this viewing cycle. Because this weekend I'll be doing what I do every weekend, pouring my soul out to an audience of the actual beer drinking every-man archetype that those two Hollywood Wine Spritzer-sipping-Hybrid Waxing-Botox Shooting-Spray Tanning- Flavor Flaving-TMZ Baiting-Laker Front Seat Having-Kabala Bracelet Sporting-Huge Sunglass Wearing-Obama Fundraiser Hosting-Tiny Dog Carrying- African Baby Adopting-Dalai Lama Loving-Grotto Frolicking-Velvet Rope Hopping-Bosley Hair Plugging pansies labored to reproduce against the backdrop of Trickle Down Economics.
2007-04-23
15:55
Is it offensive?
A Supreme Court Justice once said “I can’t define pornography, but I know it when I see it, mostly because when I see it, I’m in a theater called the Pink Pussy and there is a man sitting next to me masturbating.” Okay, that settles that. So how do we define offensive speech in general? I’ll tell you how…by the media’s reaction.
Don Imus got in trouble for offending teenage girls, which is normally a pretty tough thing to accomplish. The rinosaurus-like thickness of adolescent girl’s skin, coupled with her keen sense of spotting sarcasm, usually makes her impervious to the razor- sharp barbs of a gifted satirist. Not this time, however. This time, the offender used the one silver-hollow--tip bullet that will pierce a woman’s Teflon shield: he made fun of her hair.
I imagine as the Rutgers’s girls basketball team gathered around the radio for their normal morning ritual of drinking flavored coffee, talking about their periods and of course, listening to the Don Imus show, they were horrified to hear the obviously premeditated attack on their hair care and sexual ethics, which must have been especially hurtful, coming from a man who is such an icon in the college-age black female community. We all know that Don Imus’s two years of hosting TRL were their highest rated ever. Proving once again, that young people always pay attention to old white men in cowboy hats.
I have to admit that at first, I did not realize that this remark was racist. Here’s how dumb I am…I thought nappy-headed meant you needed a hair cut, and ho meant that you were a prostitute. Lucky for me, there are a litany of group’s in America that have declared themselves moral watchdogs, and can tell us, when something is offensive. (PETA, The Anti-Defamation League, Al Sharpton, The Catholic Church, Barbara Streisand, The Organization Aainst Anti-Asian Depictions In The Media, Jesse Jackson, Dr. Laura, NOW, Dr. Phil, The 700 club, and The FCC) All very accurate moral compasses. Well I don’t have to tell you that when one or more of these ethical heavyweights tells me to be outraged, well then, hand me a sign and tell me what entrance to block, because if you don’t find nappy-headed ho to be racially insensitive, then you are obviously, a racist.
I know that there are Imus defenders that say “well why wasn’t Jesse Jackson fired when he said Hymietown.” Well that’s easy morons…he doesn’t have a job. He is far too busy deciding what the rest of us should think and feel, then to show up at an office everyday.
Speaking as someone who makes his living using words, it is very important to know which words are okay and which ones are not. I refer to it as “the do not call me that” list. Ann Coulter and Michael Richards got in trouble for using words that have been on that list for some time. Well we can all add Imus’s “nappy-headed hos”, George Allen’s “macaca”, and Joe Biden’s “clean” to that most sacred of scrolls. So, to my fellow comics, writers, talk-show hosts, DJ's and karaoke singers, when in doubt, just remember, “I can’t define offensive, but if anyone, anywhere finds what you say to be offensive, then it is.”
Glad we got all that cleared up.
2006-07-18
14:25
YOUR NEW CREDO
I was on stage at a bar called Dante’s in Portland Oregon, It was the end of the weekly open-mic and about 6 of my fellow comics and I where on stage performing drunken improv for the two dozen or so customers that remained. Dante’s is an interesting kind of bar, it’s the kind of place that on a given night the entertainment may be a lesbian rapper, cowboy poetry or naked women on a trapeze, in short it’s the bar Stanhope plays when he comes to Portland. . To add to the ever present weirdness the bar management employed , and by employed in mean gave free drinks to, “Prozac The Alcoholic Bunny”. Prozac’s job description consisted of two things,#1 sit at the bar and consume alcohol, and #2 wear a full length pink bunny suit including head, that’s it, no standing on a street corner handing out fliers while wearing a sandwich board during lunch hour, just drink and wear the suit. I would say that out of all the jobs that exist that require warring an animal costume this was a pretty good one in fact I would guess that in the animal costume wearing community the prospective applicants for this job probably rivaled the Packer season ticket waiting list. The only potential shit-end to this vocational stick is that there are members of the dinking community that when presented with a 6 foot pink bunny take the opportunity to wrestle it, which leads us to our story.
Around midnight the staff from the local comedy club rolled in. At the time Portland boosted only one week long club ,which for the purposes of this story we will call “Harvey’s“. A few members of the staff have remained consistent throughout the 15 year life of “Harvey’s” one is the manager-bartender who we will call “Tim”. The thing about the staff of comedy clubs is that they work there for the same reason the comics do, we are not 9-5 type people. We are night people, the type that like to drink too much, consume illegal chemicals and hangout at bars that employ giant human stuffed animals. I guess their is a case to be made that Tim’s assault on the bunny was just an overly friendly greeting gone awry ,but in any case this is what I witnessed.
I looked in to the crowd to see Tim holding Prozac in a headlock yelling “you got to get up there, you got to get up there“, the sight of a grown man doing battle with a mascot was something that I shant soon forget, then a ruckus as bar security moved in pushed all the action out of the bar and into the street, I leapt from the stage and out the door to find people pushing each other, Prozac’s head was completely off now breaking down the third wall of disbelief ,or is it fourth wall, anyway I found Tim his shirt ripped bleeding slightly from the lip and I asked him what happened. His response was simply
”I was just fucking around and then the bunny got serious”
It took a moment for the sublime beauty of this statement to pierce my consciousness .The subtle perfection, it was Bukowski meets Gump, who among us has not gazed into the bathroom mirror and had that same thought. Your bunny may be your relationship or your job but at one time you tried to give your bunny a bear hug and things got out of hand.
So heres to you America, may you never stop fighting that bunny.
2006-06-07
15:00
“Win a Dream Date With Aug,” first of a 3 part series…
Rumors of my demise have been slightly exaggerated. If you look closely at the dates on my road diary, you will notice the last entry was made somewhere in ‘05. My lack of correspondence has nothing to do with lack of actual activity, simply an inability to sit at this machine and notate it all. Since that last entry, I’ve moved to New York (city as well as state), signed with an agent, shot two television shows (keep your eyes on Comedy Central), had sex with a porn star and attended my ex-girlfriends wedding with a blind date. Each of these events individually are worth an entry, but today we will be concentrating on the wedding of my ex-girlfriend. You have been warned.
The catalyst of the majority of my comedy has always been current events; there are many reasons for this. When you write a joke about Congress trying to change the constitution so an enormous Austrian bodybuilder can become president, you are dealing with relatively virgin territory . When you write a joke about the differences between men and women, the ground is not only not virgin, it is in fact the equivalent an elderly crack whore that started in porn in her pre-teen years and who could no longer get the pleasure she needed from typical old multiple penetration scenes, so she had to sell herself into sexual slavery in Thailand in order to experiment with the stuff she really wanted to get into. Artists have been commenting on relationships since the first organisms crawled from the primordial ooze, so what do I have to offer to the discussion? That being said, a guy like John Grey can still become a household name as late as the 1990’s by making the groundbreaking statement, “men and women are different.” This proves we are still looking for someone to bring something new to the table, no matter how incredibly obvious, to answer the ancient question, “how do we get and stay together?” So, being your fearless leader, I shall weigh in on the issue:
My breakup with Edie was actually quite amicable; many breakups are not. I ran into a great example of a bad breakup while working in Louisville last year between a radio DJ named John Zigler and a television host named Darcy Divita. It seems Mr. Zigler and Ms. Divita had been on a dozen dates, which Ms. Divita decided was a nice, even number. Mr. Zigler did not take the rejection well and went on the air to shout his feelings to the world, or at least to Louisville proper, that Ms. Divita didn’t wear underwear, has breast implants and was “well kept down there.” Despite the compliment, Ms. Divita took umbrage and sued Mr. Zigler for two million dollars. “Defamation of character,” she clamed. Mr. Zigler countered it was not slander, because it was complete truth. In other words, he intended to prove, in court, that Darcy Divita shaved her pussy. U.S.A!! U.S.A!!
The problem is all this happened two years before the trial, so I would imagine Ms. Divita is probably in disguise by now, like a fugitive forced to grow a beard to avoid recognition. Or maybe she went all Scott Peterson and died it blonde. Either way, the FBI may have to create one of those computer generated time lapse photos they use for missing kids. You know, a “this is what the pussy would look like today.”
Ever since the trial, whenever I see a TV newswoman I think about her vagina and wonder how she keeps it. I imagine Connie Chung sports the Divita, Katie Couric probably has the partial Divita, Barbra Walters the anti-Divita, with all that long grey pubic hair, her vagina probably looks like Einstein’s head.
But I digress. About a year after my breakup with Edie, she announced she was getting married. Since we were still friends, she sent me an invitation that read, “Auggie + 1.” I saw this as a wonderful opportunity to explore the nature of new relationships and announced, on The Bob & Tom Radio Show, the contest, “Win a date to my ex-girlfriends wedding.” Like most things in my life, I did not think this out. The prize that was being offered was a free trip to Portland, Oregon and of course a chance to accompany me to Edie’s wedding, therefore creating the most awkward first date possible.
I set up a website and waited for the entries to trickle in. I assumed that out of the four million or so Bob & Tom listeners, maybe twenty women would be interested. I received over two hundred submissions (U.S.A!! U.S.A!!). Now, I know a lot of you have a fairly grandiose view of Team Aug and how the funny comes to be. I’m sure you imagine a compound, set on a property deep in the mountains, or perhaps a giant bubble, deep under the ocean, complete with dozens of employees constantly bustling with the every day activity of creating setups, punch lines and sight gags. In reality, Team Aug is on a bit of a skeleton crew comprised of myself and whomever I can talk into doing my typing. So I had the pleasure, and at times horror, of sifting through all the emails myself.
The rules were simple: Number one, all entries had to have been born (and continue to live as) a woman. Number two, all entrants had to be at least twenty-one years of age. Number three, all entrants had to be comfortable in the presence of drinking, occasional drug use and all other forms of blatant debauchery. You’ll notice in these rules I neglected to include anything involving not being married, which would come back to haunt me, but more on that later.
It’s a strange feeling being a grand prize. Keep in mind, I’m a man who did not actually kiss a girl until eighteen years of age. When I was fifteen, I got my first drivers license and no kidding, the stats were 5’ 140lbs. Trust me, the 140lbs was not muscle. My formative years were spent on the speech team, and lets face it, normally, to be surrounded by that many teenage virgins you need to participate in a suicide bombing. This did not make for a lady killer. But take heart, young pasty fat boys (my fan base), twenty years and a successful comedy act later, women were quite literally competing for me.
As I read through the emails, I was struck by how many truly appealing women were interested in this endeavor, especially considering the prize, and how many articulate and thoughtful emails I received. Thankfully, crazy was also well represented, which means these two factions would be running neck and neck.
The stage was set. In future entries, you’ll go deep inside the selection process, followed by the actual date and its aftereffects. This ending is called a cliffhanger. I learned this literary tactic from years of sitting home on Friday nights watching “Falcon Crest” while the rest of you losers were wasting your time dating (and kissing) girls.
2005-07-11
19:44
2005-07-11
Dear President Bush:
How are you, I am fine, I know it has been a long time since we talked, but lets face it, ever since you stopped drinking you’re not that much fun anymore. Any hoo, now on to my point.
Firstly, I want to thank you for reminding all of us of September 11th in every speech you do. Sometimes, I, like most of America, forget that it ever happened. Why just last week I found myself not being vigilant, just hanging around thinking unvigilant thoughts, wearing non-vigilant clothing, eating food that was completely void of any vigilance, what so ever. But then there you were, like a vigilant candle in the darkness, vigilantly remind America that we are at war, I thank you for that.
Secondly, I know you don’t read the paper so, maybe you didn’t know one of the Supreme Court Justices is retiring. I think it‘s one of the chicks and you have to pick a new one. Well sir, I would like to throw my hat in the ring for this position, I know at first glance I may not seem like the most likely candidate, first there is my age, I'm only 34 and the average age of the current bench is infinity, but I would like to point out that I live a very unhealthy lifestyle and will probably only outlive a few of the current guys.
Another problem may be that I never went to law school, this is a good point, but in my defense neither did Superman, Batman or Wonder Woman and they ran the whole Justice League of America, which ruled in such ground breaking cases as
Mixiplix v Grundi, and the famous Wonder Twins Monkey Custody case Zan v Jayna where it was decided that Glekk would be awarded to Jayna because, lets face it the form of water just does not a parent make.
What I lack in legal education, I make up for in real life experience. Fifteen years doing standup would make me the perfect justice, at least the most entertaining. When a lawyer made an objection, I could say something clever like, “Counselor, maybe we should fit you for a full bodied condom, because if you are going to act like a dick, you should dress like one”. Or when writing a dissenting opinion I could refer to the other justices by saying “ I’ve seen younger faces on cash”, or “ I wouldn’t screw Ginsburg with Souter’s cock”.
As far as my interpretation of the law goes, well you and I have very similar views. I also believe in a strict interpretation of the Ten Commandments also known as the Bill of Rights. I believe that people should have the right to worship as they chose, as long as they believe that I am the Lord thy God and thou shalt not have any Gods before me.
I believe that Thou Shalt Not Kill, unless it’s Capital Punishment, Abortion,
Doctor Assisted Suicide, part of a War, self defense, a guy trying to steal your car stereo or a dog that’s been left at the pound for more than a week. But besides all of those, we should err on the side of life.
I believe that one should Honor His Father and Mother, you did by following in your fathers’ footsteps, becoming president, I did by following in my fathers’ footsteps and becoming a drunk.
I also believe you should never Covet My Neighbors Goods, unless he has a country that you want to run, then it’s on like Donkey Kong.
I also believe that people should not make themselves Idols that should be left to Simon Cowell.
I also believe you should not take the Lords Name in Vane, unless your Gods’ name is cocksucker.
We may however disagree on this No Adultery thing, I mean if you think about it, doesn’t that commandment infringe on our right to freely assemble?
But I guess my best argument for being considered for the Court, is damn do I look, good in black.
In closing, Mr. President there are those that would disagree with my appointment to
the Supreme Court, but maybe those people don’t remember September 11th..
2005-04-16
12:19
Okay, a lot to get caught up on. First of all, this Thursday, April 21, 2005, I will be on the Bob and Tom Show again.
Hunter S. Thompson was a lot of things to a lot of people. To some, he was a great writer; to some, a counter-culture icon; to others, Johnny Depp and to others Bill Murray. To me, Hunter S. Thompson has always been the perfect example of the American anti-hero. A man who embraced life moment by moment, fueling himself with the instant gratification of intoxicants and various mood-altering drugs, as opposed to the long-term gratification that responsibility brings. Well, Hunter S. Thompson shot himself last month at his home in Colorado. Some will tell you, this is proof that living life under a mind-addling alcoholic soaked haze is not as fulfilling as we thought; and some will tell you that this is just one more piece in the every growing case that hard work and achievement and a loving family are the cornerstones of a meaningful life. Well, I say that's just crazy talk. I say, this is the time for the debaucherers of the world to re-focus our efforts on a life committed to defiling ourselves. Whether it be the euphoric rush brought on by a pill given to you in the bathroom stall of the dance club, or the sweet subtle numbness you feel after smoking pot out of a converted Dr. Pepper can. Remember, too much is never enough. I know the other side tries to make their case with a few anecdotal cases of artists overdoing it. They might try to bring up Ernest Hemmingway, Kurt Cobain, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Jimmi Hendrix, River Phoenix, Elvis Presley, Hank Williams, Keith Whitley, Janis Joplin, Bon Scott, Jim Morrison, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dylan Thomas, William Faulkner, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Wolf, Fredrick Exley, John Kennedy O'Toole, Freddie Prinze, Jack Kerouac or Lenny Bruce. But they always seem to leave out the chemical induced success stories like Keith Richards, and' well, I can't think of anymore right now, but that's just because my short-term memory is shot. So lets remember, to paraphrase the sergeant in Hill Street Blues...'let's not be careful out there.'
2004-12-29
14:27
I'm always amazed at where you can find great art. Yesterday, at a rest area, outside of Manden, North Dakota I entered a stall and was greeted by the phrase "all fags will diet" scratched on the inside of the door. After further investigation, I concluded that this work, most likely had two separate authors working completely independent of one another. The first had penned "all fags will die" as an obvious commentary on man's inevitable mortality, and the second had added the "t" most likely as a commentary on the pressure society puts on homosexuals to look good. Although I enjoyed the profundity of both statements, I'm not sure how I feel about the second artist changing the first's work. Not unlike Ted Turner colorizing Frank Capra's movies.
Graffiti in bathrooms has always fascinated me. When I was a teenager, I cleaned my catholic high school in the summer to pay my tuition. When I got to the girl's bathroom, I was always struck by the complete dearth of graffiti on the walls. I mean really women, what the hell are you doing in there? This time should be spent expressing your creative soul. The walls of the men's room are filled with the heart and souls of it's past inhabitants. One of the most popular submissions, on the bathroom canvass is "I will suck your dick" followed by a phone number or sometimes the more adventurous just put a date and time suggesting that they are willing to fellatiate right there on the linoleum. This particular type of graffiti used to make me feel uncomfortable. Now I look at it as the personal adds for the most lonely, sexually deviant people in the universe. Another good one is when the outhouse vandal uses prose. They take time to rhyme their message. It often includes the phrase "brokenhearted" and is the poetry of the common man. They tell the tale of a Tom Joed type character who metaphorically "came to shit but only farted." I mean, really, how many of us can same the same thing about our lives. All of us...that's who. I have occasionally come across more obvious political statements. Recently at a Flying J, someone wrote Kerry 04. I don't know what affect that will have on swing voters, but preach on brother. Another common thing is a testing your love or distaste for a particular artist, i,e, "Metalica Rocks" or "Kenny G is a feltching shit-eater." Which leads me to my call to action. I have come up with a way you can all spread the word of Aug in the most grassroots of ways. It involves only a pen and a willingness to vandalize public bathrooms. Write "auggiesmith.com" everywhere you relieve yourselves. That's right, I want to see my name shoe-horned in between the phone number of some slutty girl and a Nazi symbol. This will be especially effective if you women take up the cause, as you are working with a completely blank canvas. Together we will prove that there is no such thing as bad publicity.
2004-07-16
14:41
This story was on the front page of the Birmingham News on Monday:
Truck drivers looking for trouble, reporting it
Monday, July 12, 2004
GINNY MacDONALD
News staff writer
"Michael Dykes of Magnolia Springs drives a semi for AAA Cooper Transportation. He is also a spy for the federal Transportation Security Administration.
Dykes is among 200 drivers and members of the Alabama Trucking Association trained by state troopers to spot terrorist activity.
Dykes' training, funded by Homeland Security, has already paid off.
Last November, while driving on Interstate 10 in South Alabama, he noticed a man's head bobbing up and down in the back seat of a car.
"The car was in the fast lane and I was watching this guy in my mirror," Dykes said. "There was a guy driving, but he had kind of a dazed look on his face."
When the car got beside his truck, Dykes saw a man lying on the back seat, tied up and bleeding.
"I said, `This ain't' right,'" and he called the Baldwin County Sheriff's Department on his cell phone.
Deputies stopped the car near the Florida line. The car belonged to the man who was tied up in the back seat and had been stolen.
The two other men in the car had carjacked the vehicle in Mississippi. They told authorities they had planned to dump the car owner after they crossed the Florida line.
But the truck driver stopped them.
"I can see a lot more from my truck than other drivers," Dykes said.
Dykes joined the Highway Watch program last year.
The truck drivers report suspicious activity such as people hanging around bridges who don't look homeless; people with suspicious-looking baggage and strange vehicles on the road.
The drivers have a contact number to call if they spot something suspicious. They give the contact person their identification number and make their report.
"We just keep an eye out, and I am nosy, so that helps," said Dykes, who has driven an 18-wheeler for 21 years. "You see so much on the road, and some of it is not pretty."
If other AAA Cooper drivers see suspicious activity, they report it to Dykes. That will change soon when more drivers are trained.
The American Trucking Association is negotiating a $19.2 million contract with the Transportation Security Administration to train more truck drivers across the nation. But first the association must get all state trucking associations to sign on to the program. Alabama is among 35 state trucking associations that have the program.
Under the contract, 7,300 more drivers in Alabama will be trained using $220,000 from the security administration.
But not all of those will be big rig drivers, said Gene Vondereau, director of safety for the Alabama Trucking Association.
"We will also be looking at school bus drivers. Anybody who travels the highways a lot will be a candidate for training," Vondereau said.
The transportation "army" also receives calls for diligence when the national terrorist alert is raised. Such was the case when former President Reagan lay in state in Washington, D.C.
On that day, members of the Highway Watch program received the following alert from the Transportation Security Administration:
All Highway Watch drivers - please be aware that the Department of Justice, the FBI and other government agencies issued a new terrorist warning today. The United States has credible intelligence from multiple sources that several members of al-Qaida are determined to launch an attack in the United States in the next few months. Highway Watch participants are asked to be on the lookout for seven suspected al-Qaida operatives who are believed to be operating in the United States. Thank your for your continued commitment in keeping America safe and secure.
When an alert is issued, Highway Watch members are given updated information on what to look for.
"Our drivers see a lot through their windshields, and now, if something looks out of line, they can quickly get the information to the right people for appropriate action," said Bill Graves, president of the American Trucking Association.
For more about the Highway Watch program, call Gene Vondereau at the Alabama Trucking Association, (334) 834-3983."
Well we can all relax. The war on terrorism is all but won. America has unleashed a secret weapon...an army of truckers and school bus drivers. This should come in handy if Al Qaeda's next evil plan is to cover the glory hole between the men's bathroom stalls at the Husky Station outside of Missoula, or highjack all of the nation's issues of barely legal magazines.
What I like most about this story is that if the guy had not been trained by homeland security, he wouldn't have been able to deduce that when a men is tied up and bleeding in the back of a car, "this ain't right." Look, I'm not saying truckers can't fight crime. Of course they can! Anyone who has seen BJ and the Bear knows that much.
I'm just saying that when you have been driving 22 hours straight, staying awake with the help of cross tops and amylnitrate, you are going to see A LOT of things that look suspicious! In fact, I see something that looks suspicious in this article. We are spending $220,000 to train 7300 truckers to look out for terrorists in Alabama. That's $30.00 a trucker (or I should say, Urban Crime fighter). Now I'm sure that $30.00 bucks gets you some pretty intense training but I'd like to save my government some money and do all of the training right here! ATTENTION TRUCKERS: IF YOU SEE ANYBODY IN A TURBAN IN THE STATE OF ALABAMA CALL TOM RIDGE AND JOHN ASHCROFT. HE HAS OBVIOUSLY BEEN SENT BY OSAMA TO ASSISINATE FORREST GUMP AND CRIPPLE OUR DEMOCRACY!
2004-06-23
16:47
Have they buried Ronald Reagan yet? I ask because for a while, it looked like Fox News Channel was trying to turn his funeral into a summer replacement series. Good God! Put the man in the ground already. The whole thing was starting to stink of Weekend at Bernie’s. Dragging a man's rotting carcass around the country is not a memorial,it's what inbred racists do when a black man whistles at a white woman. I never thought it would take longer to get buried than it did to die of Alzheimer’s.
I became politically aware in the 1980s, so Reagan was an important President to me. I was raised to be a Democrat for two reasons: Number one, I am Irish-Catholic and that's what the Kennedy’s are, and Number two, I was raised by a single mother who was a social worker so, believe it or not, she was not a huge Reagan fan. In fact, she was downright liberal! So I was too. When I was 13, I put up signs for Mondale-Ferraro, when I was 11, I wore a t-shirt that said "my body my choice." This, of course, was back before the word "liberal" had taken on the same connotation as communist or known sex-offender. This was back when being liberal or conservative just meant a different way of looking at things and not a reason to be mortal goddamn enemies. Let's face it, the Democrats and Republicans are no longer political affiliations, they are rival street gangs that feel the annihilation of the other is the best answer for our country. The congressional motto has become "they pull a knife, you pull a gun, they put one of yours in the hospital, you have a federal inquiry on everyone they have ever fucked", okay, that’s not the official motto but it should be. What is it going to take for these people to realize that there is no them and us, there is only us.
One of my favorite examples of the perceived importance of partisanship is when the news identifies someone's political party when it has nothing to do with the news story. Last month, where I live in Oregon, it was reported that a man named Neil Goldschmidt (former Governor, Secretary of Transportation, and Mayor of Portland) had been screwing a 14-year-old girl while he was the mayor. The story was shocking enough, but the reports kept listing him with that "D" after his name to identify him as a Democrat. Oh yeah, like him being a Democrat has anything to do with him being a goddamn pedophile. Why don't they just categorize him as Neil Goldschmidt-Yankee Fan or Neil Goldschmidt- Jew. By the way, slightly off the topic, Goldschmidt was in his mid-thirties when he started schtooping the 14-year-old, and the abuse went on for 3 years. He can't be arrested on statutory rape charges because the Statute of Limitations has run out, so people are saying that he got away with it but let's look at the facts people. If you were in your mid-thirties, you can't just continually have sex, there has to be some talking. And really, isn't having to have a conversation with a 14-year-old girl punishment enough?
But back to the point, your saying to yourself, sure Aug, we think the whole partisanship thing is a problem too, but what the hell do you want me to do about it? Well I'll tell you, my mother taught me not to trust Reagan. Not because he was a Republican but instead because he was in power. That's right America, there are no Democrats or Republicans, only those in power and the rest of us. It is time to find common ground and that ground should be to mistrust and despise all people in power! What I'm telling you is that it is possible to disagree with both Clinton and Bush. What I'm saying, is that it is all American's right, no, repsonsibility, to bitch and complain no matter who is in power, or what letter comes after his name.
2004-05-25
22:30
A FEW PEOPLE ALWAYS MESS IT UP FOR THE REST OF US
Last Saturday I did a personal appearance at Tower Records here in Portland Oregon to promote my DVD. The idea was, at 1:00 o'clock in the afternoon I do a 20-minute set, then sign merchandise for all my adoring fans. To promote this, I was going to go on a local morning radio show on Friday and spend 3 hours being funny and telling my adoring fans to show up at Tower Records. The morning show was hosted by a DJ named Marconi and his sidekick Tiny (an ironic pseudonym). I have heard their show before and always found them to be juvenile, unfunny morons, or in other words, perfect morning DJs. My in to the show was my friend and fellow funny comic, Lonnie Bruhn, who sits in regularly on Fridays on the morning Fart and Jack-off joke fest. The show would have been great because it is my perfect demographic and I have always worked well with Lonnie. The problem came on Wednesday when the moron twins (they aren't really twins) decided it would be funny to run the audio of Nick Berg being decapitated and give a humorous play-by-play. Strangely enough, the listening audience took umbrage to this. Maybe it was making fun of a man's murder or maybe these tight--asses don't like to here the last death wail of a 28-year old before they get their coffee. Either way, Marconi and Tiny lost their gig, and I lost my chance to pimp my DVD and personal appearance. The results are two fold: first of all, only 5 people came to Tower Records, 4 of whom I knew (by the way, thank you 1 guy who I didn't know who bought the DVD and was a wonderful crowd). But, more importantly, the FCC got more ammunition in their war of attrition to sensor free speech. Look, I don't like to judge art I haven't experienced. But in the cases of Dirty Dancing, that Whoopee Goldberg sitcom and doing play-by-play to a man's death, I don’t need to. They are all evil, senseless wastes of the First Amendment.
The point is, that morning, the radio station was flooded with calls from listeners that were offended by what they heard, and the perpetrators were punished by being fired. That's right FCC, we didn't need you telling us what we should and shouldn't hear. We decided for ourselves.
POWER TO THE PEOPLE!
2004-04-09
15:34
In order to truly understand Auggie's message, you must first understand one simple, but vital thesis. "Our society is designed to keep you in your house."
I'm not saying that this is necessarily an organized conspiracy, it doesn't have to be, because a nation of overweight, scared, inbound, socially retarded drones is becoming the symptom of the larger disease. All day long, you are given reasons in America not to leave the house. Condoleeza Rice testified that before 9/11 they had been hearing sketchy reports that there may be a big attack against America but she said there were no details. WOW! Sounds exactly like what the rest of us have been hearing for the last three years. No specifics, just be afraid! And at first, we seemed to be united in being afraid. A nation standing shoulder to shoulder in fear, plastic wrapping our houses and hording duct tape because a good patriot is always paranoid. We were given terror alerts that changed color faster than the on-ramp light on the freeway and in the end, what happened? Nothing! Not one other attack on American Soil. Which leads us to one of two conclusions. Either covering your house in sarran-wrap and ironing your mail works, and scares off the terrorists, or the government made it into a bigger threat than it is. Well, why would they do that Aug? I say a scared society is one that needs its leaders. Someone to tell us everything will be okay. Just stay in your house, play your video games, look at internet porn and let us handle things. Then the big bad terrorists can't hurt you. And oh, by the way, if you do go out, gas will cost $2.00 a gallon and, even if a terrorist doesn't kill you, which he probably will, one of your fellow Americans will. I mean don't you read the paper, it's dangerous out there. Oh, and don't eat anything or you will probably get the mad cow. And oh, don't drink anything since alcohol is technically legal, but drinking alcohol and driving, walking, boating or being in motion in any way shape or form is illegal. And oh, if you smoke, like you've been told by the media to do since you were young, you should just stay home because it's illegal to smoke indoors in America. And oh, if by accident, you do meet an actual live girl that will go home with you, you'll either wake up the next morning in an ice-filled bathtub with your kidney gone, or two weeks later, you will discover a lesion on your penis that resembles Nixon's profile. And oh, if you have kids, better not leave them with a babysitter cause they will probably be molested, you know, just like you were. What? You don't remember that? Well you will with enough therapy. So, you go to a movie because what could happen to you there right? So you pay the $19.00 to get in and the other $20.00 for a soda and a box of Junior Mints so big, a homeless guy could sleep in it afterwards, only to sit next to a paranoid parent that brought his screaming kid to an R rated movie to save him from being photographed for the internet by Uncle Bad Touch. Really brother, wouldn't it just be easier to stay home and not have to interact with any live people? I SAY NO! The fear ends now. The only way to win is to not be afraid, or to paraphrase a Stalone classic, "fear is the disease, Aug is the cure."
12:03
Alright everybody, I realize I have been derelict in my duties of updating this page but that all ends today. Expect a road diary update at least once a week from now on.
Your pal
Aug
2004-02-25
09:47
I think if Voltaire were alive today, he would probably write an opinion column for a weekly alternative newspaper in Seattle or Austin. I say this knowing little about Voltaire, except that he was a poet and philosopher and the only guys I know that describe themselves that way usually work the day shift at a Burrito place and perform open mic poetry every Tuesday at some Coffee house called St. Agatha’s Scar. So, my logic is that Voltaire would reach the upper echelon of these guys and achieve the intellectual Holy Grail of telling the rest of the world what is wrong with them, and get paid for it. I think the column would be called Voltaire’s Corner and next to the bi-line would be a shadowy picture of Voltaire, looking sternly at the camera, resting his chin on his fist. He would become well known for his biting political satire, and pimp slapping of the status quo. This popularity would pay the literary dividend of appearing on Charlie Rose and the Daily Show.
My point is this is the path a greater thinker must take in our age if he chooses the written word as his vessel. On the other hand, if Voltaire had chosen the spoken word, the only real option would be stand-up comedy. Lets face it, poetry readings will never become popular because of the universal truth that there is nothing more uncomfortable then listening to other people’s child-hood traumas as read from a Mead Notebook. So, Voltaire would hit the road, opening for guitar acts at hotel bars across the Midwest. After a while, “Johnny Voltaire” (as he would become known) would grow tired of always having to drive and getting the small room at the condo. So he would change his act, like you know, sell out. He would say things like “those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities…with my dick!” With that, a new catch phrase would be born. Then Voltaire would be making $10,000 and air for the weekend, and unloading his entire stock of “with my dick” t-shirts. All the while, some bitter old hack would sip Jim Beam at the Red Lion Bar, after a show and tell some young comic how he gave Voltaire the line “with my dick.” Droning on most of the night, about how everyone else in the business screwed him, without taking any of the blame himself for not writing a joke since Family Ties was on the air.
I guess my point “those who make you believe absurdities CAN make you commit atrocities”, but they can also make you laugh or feel better about yourself or make you look at truth with a different view. That is, at its face, what any good art is, including good stand-up. Through this page, I will endeavor to make a written text to explain stand-up comedy, the artistic process, the worldview and the basic motivation for needing to be funny. I realize that this may be a long process. Let’s face it, what the hell do you have to do with your time? I also realize my motivation and world-view may not be the same as other comics, but lets always remember, my way is right, theirs is wrong.
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