The Nehawka Hog Roast - Fritz the Cat

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Bar scene crowded, a little rowdy. (Voice over) "care if we put up a flyer?" we’re having a party. "No problem put it on that window over there." Focus thru window on parking lot, hands intervene, pull focus back to focus on flyer.

7th annual Nehawka hog mast
3 bands -3 hogs-20 kegs of beer
$300 - July 22-23

Cut to police dept. "that Nehawka group's at it again. This time they're advertising. These things are all over Lincoln and South Omaha." (Handing flyer) "Looks to me like they plan to sell liquor outside a licensed establishment. What do you think Sargent?" (Smiling smugly, kind a faraway look in his eyes.) "Should be easy enough to make that stick. "And if we can confiscate the gate and the beer and maybe grab a gew minors...." (Trails off)
Cut to interior office - "hello Sheriff, Capt. Sharp here at State Patrol. Fine, you? Look, it seems some of your citizens are planning an illegal party for the 22-23 of July. Yeah, they’re all over the area. Yes. No, now the liquor commissioner has been informed and he thinks it best the state assist. Yes Sheriff. I’ll get, back on this. Thanks."

Cut - same office- Capt. Sharp addressing two men- mid-twenties, longish hair, stocky - handing two flyers - cover this. Get there early. Make sure you pay to get in. Johnson, you watch who keeps the gate money. I want to know whose pocket to look in when we get there. Hansen, you keep your eyes open for anyone dealing drugs. Buy some if you can.

Everyone knew there was going to be a party. The Nehawka boys had a string going. They wouldn't stop now. I heard the date about a month early. That's a lot of advance notice. They had flyers posted in bars and hangouts for 50 miles.

We were probably lucky no one got shot. These days you'd have dealt with a swat team. In those days (summer of 76) they thought three state patrol cars, three county patrol cars, and two pickup trucks to haul off the evidence was enough.

They say everyone has 20-20 hindsight and the legal system may have made yesterday’s lessons obsolete in today's court of law, but the general consensus is that if things had been done a little differently, at least some of the bother could have been avoided. Case in point: The flyers. You can sometimes get by posting directions to a keg party if the true purpose of the party, getting drunk, is left unstated.

If you charge to get in the gate, charge for the hog and the band and give them the beer for free. At least it’s a point your lawyer can argue. Word of mouth advertising has always been safe, but I suppose that’s because word of mouth parties are mostly smaller. The monster parties are the ones the pigs fuck with. The bigger they are, the easier it is for the media to present as a nuisance or as possibly dangerous. Plus the pigs know that if someone can bankroll a party for 1000 people, they can hire a lawyer and pay fines.

Case in point: Although the sight of a Falstaff truck in the middle of a pasture unloading 20 kegs of beer is the stuff stories are made of, the overall story would have been more satisfying if one could have ended with "and we got clean away." If the beer had been delivered to a bar and transported to the party in private vehicles, the prostituting attorney would have had one less charge to make stick.

I have never understood why the distributor agreed to deliver to a pasture. A slip up, no doubt. I don't think he got burned for it though. But then a liquor distributor would have friends to smooth over rough spots like that.

The Nehawska hog roasts were becoming an institution. They partied hearty in that town. You knew you wouldn't run out of beer, and you could smoke pot with everyone's blessing. In later years the bicycle jump was a regular event. Pedal full speed down a slight incline, hit a ramp and jump into three feet of water and two feet of mud. Furtherest jump wins.

This was to be the 7th annual Nehawka hog roast. A mystical number and it turned out to be quite a charming day. Some people (old fogeys and chamber of commerce types) would no doubt think me perverse in characterizing day in which self-acknowledged (you damned right and proud of it) law breakers cursed, spat on, punched, defied, and, yes, I think humiliated the duly constituted constabulary of the state of Nebraska and the county of Cass the lawful performance of their duties They think of charming as a gentle stream rippling over rounded rocks with fluffy dandelions catching the sunlight. I'm thinking of charming in its magical sense, used as an incantation or talisman. Something you say or hold onto when evil threatens.

When I'm under the pigs thumb, or when the police get a budget increase, or a new prison is built, or when Reaganomics claims another victim, I think, yeah, you're on top now, but I remember the Nehawka hog roast. We were on top that day and maybe we can get back up there again. It's proof against the blues.

When I get feelin' lonely, and oh so low down,
I go where lights are bright, with people gathering' round
Cause its proof.
It's proof against the blues.
Yes it's proof.
And it's time you got the news.

If somebody hurts you, it's true, though sad to say,
You’ll be feelin' so much better, if you think that they'll be down some day.
Cause its proof.
It's proof against the blues...
Yes it's proof.
Everyone's got to pay some dues.

The man in blue is just doin' his job, and he's doin it on you.
You know I'd like to knock him down, just to see what he would do.
Cause it's proof.
It's proof against the blues.
Yes its proof.
Someday we'll see what job is whose.

When bodies come a messin up, and gettin' in your face,
You've got to set them down a notch, into their proper place.
Cause i proof.
It's proof against the blues.
Yes it proof.
You just won't wear those shoes.

I headed to the party around ten in the morning. I was pleased when a couple of cars passed me containing people who would score high on the partyer's profile. Longer hair, older car, laughing.

I had to park quite a ways down the road when I got there. There were quite a few out of county cars. I met and paid the gatekeeper, and followed the music. There was Dave at the hog roaster. "Hey, Dave, how is it going?" "Bitchin, man. We started parting yesterday afternoon." "Whens the hog going to be done?" We put the big one on air four this morning. It'll be done At 8 or 9 tonight. The smaller one should be done this afternoon. Well take it out and get the other small one in. It'll be a late night snack." You goanna eat the smaller one this afternoon or save it for tonight?" "Shit man, folks is like starving dogs around a hog. I'm not standing between them." "Far out. I'll keep my eyes open." "You'd better, this first one will probably go fast.

Two women were throwing a Frisbee. Nicely muscled bodies, no bras, loose T-shirts. I tripped over a clump of grass. There were the horse tanks, blocks of ice in them, waiting for the beer. A small tank already contained a tapped keg. Filling a cup was Jim, Dave's brother.

"Hey Jim, how goes it?" All right. We’re about to finish the bike ramp. We ought to be able to really get out there this year." "I'll be down in a bit."

Caution Be Careful signs flashed in my mind as I drew a beer. Pretty early to be drinking beer. It would be a shame to pass out and miss the party. I'd have to pace myself.

Down at the bike ramp things were ready. The ramp was about two feet wide and seven feet long. It was maybe a 30º degree angle to the surface of the water, and stuck a foot or so over the shore line. "Looks like this ought to hold together." "Damn right. This baby is built. A Last year was a little shaky and I think it held the competition down a little. But you know that if you want to draw a world class bicycle jump crowd, you have to pay attention to details." "Isn't the ramp a little narrow?" "Shit, that's part of the challenge; we’re giving out a trophy you know. If you want the trophy your body has to touch farthest from the ramp. But first you have to hit the ramp, see? Shit this is six inched wider than last year’s ramp. Of course a guy missed it last year. Missed it with the wheels but hit it with the pedal. Nasty spill. Good thing he was drunk. Shut us down for an hour while someone fetched another peal. But don't worry, that won't happen this year." "Jesus Christ, six goddamn inches isn’t all that much." "Hey, that's the biggest board I could find. Anyway, that's not what I was talking about. If someone does miss the ramp and break the bike it won't shut down the show, because this year we've got two bikes." You guys think of everything, don't you?" "Hey baby, world class."

I decided I was probably a world class bicycle jumper. Anyway, it looked like fun. A guy would have to be awfully unlucky to hurt himself seriously.

Back at the keg, I could hear a band warming up. I filled my cup and drifted over. Blue Grass music. I recognized one of the guitarists from other keg parties. Not bad music, great if you consider they were probably doing it for free. Most of the crowd were rockers, and these guys were really just holding he stage for the main show. Here comes the beer. God it was funny to see that Falstaff truck negotiating its way through the pasture. It pulled up to the horse tanks and sure enough, unloaded 20 kegs of beer and a CO2 pumping system, with three pumping stations. All right. None too soon either.

There was a line at the one keg that was tapped.

I wandered down to the horseshoe pit. A few hits, a few misses, an occasional ringer. It looked like fun. Maybe I'd learn the game someday.

Hungry and Jim and Bic were rolling in. I walked over to meet them. Hungry looked good. He was just finishing losing 100pounds. He went from 320 down to 220. Before you'd never see him without long pants and a shirt. Today he was wearing shorts and his shirt would no doubt soon be off. His self-consciousness had melted away with his fat.

I don’t think he could have done it without white crosses, and he was still doing them every day, though not as many. The trick now would be to get off the white crosses without gaining back the weight. "Hey Brian, you got any papers?" "Yeah, I think so. D’ya space yours off?" "I thought they were in my jacket. Here, roll a doobie." "With pleasure." "Yeah you damn mooch. How come you always have papers, but never have any pot?" "Hey, I carry pot. It’s just too early in the season." "Yeah, homegrown." "Hey, that's good enough for me. It’s a light fogging. I get lightly fogged and remember my papers. You get heavily fogged and forget yours. Then we meet and get heavily fogged together. See how nicely it works out?" "Especially if you bring the papers and not the pot." "Yes, exactly."

You ain’t got that doobie rolled yet?" "Here, light it. Besides if you rich folk hadn’t bid the price up so high I'd still be buying it. I quit at $40 a bag." "Rich folk shit, you make as much as I do."  "Well, I'm not going to spend all my spare money on a high. Shit, there are plenty of ways to get high without spending a bunch of money. You're just not going to have the fashionable high, that's all. As for me, give me those cheap thrills.

Cheap thrills, no bills. You'd be surprised how little it takes. Low rent, well spent. Leave the condos to the yes men and fakes. Leave your frown, and come on down. You can have some fun if you take the time Rejoice, good choice. If you do it right it won't cost a dime.
Feel tight? Fly a kite. There's more to life than working, you know. Need that scene? Try caffeine. Then snicker at the price of that snow. Stretched thin? Chuck it in. The high life costs much more than you see. Lay your pride, aside. And try a little low life with me.

When we finished the second joint someone said "I'm thirsty." "Think 320 gallons of beer will slake that thirst?" "If it doesn't get to hot this afternoon." We stopped at the kegs. Running nice. Ice cold. Went over and listened to the band for a while. After a while the band went on break, the radio came back on, and I headed for the keg.

Next down to the frizzbee circle. 8 or 10 people were in a circle throwing 4 or 5 Frisbees at random. I found a space and got in. The spot was, naturally, at the bottom of the slope. All my tosses were aimed up hill, except two short ones. Now I'm not much of a frizzbee player but some of these people were good. If the toss was low they' caught it between their legs, maybe while jumping. Higher it was behind the back. If it was over their head they would time a running jump arm's length snatch if they could. If they aren't high enough or low enough for a spectacular catch a friend of mine likes to stand stock still with his hands at his side until you'd think the frizzbee was past him, then suddenly in a big swoop snatch it out of the air. It’s always a crowd pleaser when someone makes a good catch and without breaking stride, passes it on. Nice.

It was getting close to bike jumping time. Someone was shaking the ramp to see if it would stand, and another guy was wading around cleaning sticks out of the pond. "Hey Bob, think that ramp will hold?"

"For a while, anyway," "Who's first?" "Whoever gets up there." "How you gone judge the winner?" "Judge’s decision is final."   "Fix!" "Who’s the judge is?" "George and Joe." "Fix!!" "Shit, for this trophy?" "Hey, that's a goddamn bowling trophy." "Yeah, we searched all the Goodwill’s and couldn't come up with one bicycle jump trophy." "Well, I guess you could tell people it's for a 300 game." "You could, but you'd find it easier to tell people it was for 2nd place Scotch Doubles in 1966." "Anything else I should know?" It's a circulating trophy. You have to bring it back next year." "You cheap assholes." "The winner gets the honor and glory. The trophy is just icing on the cake." "I know, I was just kidding. You got a trophy gir1?"

Then came a cry of "Look out below." Down the runway came the first contestant. Eyes fixed on the ramp, on he came, pedaling furiously. He drifted first to one side of the track, then the other. A few feet in front of the ramp he stopped pedaling and tensed. He stood up as he hit the end of the ramp as if he were a ski jumper. In the air he kicked the bike out in front of him. Drawing up his legs, he landed in an ass first cannonball. One of the judges stood near the place he had landed. "Wow, a hot dog." "Yeah, he was here last year.

Actually, he was just being safe. Best to get away from the bike if you can." Another guy started down. He stayed in the track better, but wasn't as flashy. He stayed with the bike and landed about two feet closer than the first guy. The next jumper was my buddy, Casey. He was pedaling every bit as hard as the first guy. As he got closer I could see his face. Eyes huge, jaw clenched, tight lipped. The picture of concentration. He didn't even stop pedaling when he hit the ramp. When he left the ramp he drew up his feet and pushed the bike straight down. He took the lead by about four feet. I whistled and applauded. "Good jump, Casey." "Jeez, I'll be glad if no one beats that." "Why, you've got two jumps, yet." "Whoee, I'll be glad if I don't have to use them. That shit was spooky." "What do you mean, spooky?" "I'll tell you after you jump." I headed up the hill, pushing Casey's bike. About half way up a guy passed me going down. He didn't beat Casey. There was a good crowd watching the event. The band had quit and the radio was playing. There was pretty much a steady stream of people coming from the road. I gave up the bike and found who I Was behind. Three in front of me. The next contestant was a little drunk. He practically fell over when he swung his leg over the seat. He weaved four feet to each side of the track. About ten feet in front of the ramp he went down. I found out later his foot had slipped off the front of the pedal, catching his calf and forcing his toe into the ground, bringing the whole mess down. He lost some hide, but not too bad. I'd have to try not to do that. I plotted my strategy. There was a pretty good path beat by now.

I should stay in the path. Less rolling resistance. I could probably pump harder with my head down. Could I stay on the path with my head down? Fuck no. Have to keep it up at least a little. What about pedaling on the ramp? Probably never win if I don't. I decided to play that one by ear. Push off the end like a ski jumper? Probably handle that. What about the bike? I wasn't sure if I could pull my legs up to clear the handle bars. According to Newton I should push the bike behind me. How the hell could I do that?

Someone hands me a bike. Still thinking about my dismount, I pushed it over to the staging area. I looked down the course. All clear. The thought crosses my mind that I should have taken a piss. Not for the first time I wondered if adrenalin made you want to piss. Relax kid, relax. I pushed off and started pedaling. I raised my head enough to see 10-15 feet ahead. Push hard, kid. Pump hard.

About half way down I noticed I was no longer gaining speed. Should I have started closer? I was actually getting a bit winded. Shit, I had only gone fourty yards. Fucking cigarettes. I was still pumping hard. My eyes focused on the ramp. Should I pedal up the ramp? Shit, was I even going to hit the ramp? When my right pedal went down, the bike pulled a little to the right. When the left pedal went down the bike pulled a little to the left. The net effect made the ramp appear to be vibrating from side to side. Jesus. About five feet from the ramp I stopped pedaling. The ramp quit vibrating and I hit it square. I pushed when I got-to the end of the ramp.

I still hadn't decided how to get off the bike and ended up riding it in. I was about four feet short of Casey's mark. The bike was up to its axels in mud and I sunk to my knees before I freed it. I noticed my knees were a little weak when I reached the bank. I handed the bike to someone to push up the hill.

Damn. Did I want to go again? Not really. That's spooky. That last second while you're still pedaling and the ramp is still vibrating and it flashes through your mind what happens if you miss by just an inch. Anything was possible.

I headed away from the crowd to the fence row and pissed on a tree. Maybe it was beer and not adrenalin. Better to have an empty bladder if you wrecked. The picture of a water balloon bursting passed through my mind. Happy to say I'd gotten away without bursting a bladder that time.

What was it that possessed people to risk bodily harm when there was beer to be drunk? I remembered the vibrating ramp again. Honor and glory? Shit. By the end of the day you'd have to remind everyone but your best friends that it was you who had won. Your friends esteem, then? More likely. But then one bicycle jump one way or another surely wouldn't affect your friends consideration of you.

Then maybe it's to maintain an image. But that's despicable. Like you had a part to play in life, and dare not refuse. Most undignified, I decided. What, then? The thrill of it all? That's what Hunter Thompson Would say. For the adrenaline rush. Life for a cheap thrill. Jeez, I didn't know. A guy could get seriously hurt. And what about the race car drivers who could easily be killed. Do they do it for the rush? Now that's jaded. To go faster, deeper, higher, further, etc. than the other guy.

What makes people ask questions with at best dubious answers when 50 yards away 15 kegs of beer on ice wait? Since no one was using the bike in the staging area, and I had to go that way anyhow... I pedaled at a leisurely pace to about the halfway point, and then pedaled hard. I stopped pedaling about five feet in front of the ramp, plenty of time for it to stabilize, and pulled back on the bars when I left the ramp. At my apogee the bike was almost in front of me and I kicked away hard, going for distance. The bike landed about ten feet past the judge, I about ten feet in front of the judge. "Yea, yippee I won, I won." "You drunken bastard, it's where you land not where the bike lands." "What? Bullshit, who sez?" "Get out of the way fool. Let some serious competition have a chance." I decided to watch another then go hose off. Here he came, long hair flowing in the wind. I could see that he was grinning and then saw that he was naked. That crazy fucker. Streaking by bike. What next.

I walked up to the house and hosed the mud off as best I could. Then up to, the kegs. Still 17 of them. With all the activities people weren't hitting them too hard. Still plenty of time. There were people everywhere. Must have been close to 1000. I filled my cup and headed up the hill. Five or six people were standing around sniffing something out of a small jar. "What is it?" "Amal Nitrate, want a hit?" "Sure." I took as deep a hit as I could. Smelled like paint thinner or glue or something. I concentrated on my brain to see what would happen. I thought I felt a slight feeling like the top of my head was lightly lifting off. Hmmm. Maybe another. I waited. The guy offered me another. This time I made doubly sure I got all the air out of my lungs. Putting my nose in my cupped hands as he uncapped the bottle breathed in the maximum hit I could figure out how to get, and focused on my brain. Hmmm. Once again a feeling kind of like maybe my skull had hinged open and the top of my brain had elevated an inch or two end would zing away if it could only get shed of the bottom half. It faded away after only a few seconds. Shit. I thought that stuff was supposed to have some kick to it. Maybe the jar had been open too long and it had evaporated. Maybe they were glue sniffers and were pulling my leg. They were still hitting it as I walked off.

Looking around, I saw a big crowd around a table near the hog roaster. Shit. Nothing but bones will be left when that pack got through. Oh well, I wasn't hungry yet, and there were still two more to go. They were loading the third hog into the recently vacated cooker. A red pickup was passing through the gate. What the hell, I thought they weren't going to let any cars in the pasture. Maybe it was the owner. The truck drove slowly through the pasture and backed up to where the kegs were. What the fuck? Three men got out and two of them were in uniform. Shit, a bust. I could hear the warning going to the crowd. "Pigs. The cops are here." I could see a couple of people crawling thru the barbed wire fence and disappearing into the corn.

Minors, no doubt. I headed for the kegs. It seemed everyone else was headed that way too. God. This was a catastrophe of major proportions. A thousand people, three hogs, three bands, beautiful sunshine, and no beer. All the makings of a heavy, heavy depression.

I reached the kegs. One of the cops had been drenched down one shoulder. People were pissed. "Hey dude, what you think you're doing with our beer. That's bought and paid for." "Hey pig, back to your sty." Most of the people were quiet. Once, when all three officials were looking down one cop got drenched with beer. Less than half a second later the other one did too. They didn't slacken their pace. The guy in civilian clothes looked confused and embarrassed. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself. The two cops faces were set. They loaded half the kegs, closed the tail gate, and got inside. They pulled away. Shit, this can't be happening. I followed, trying to think. "Off the pigs. Fuck the pigs." The cops had the windows up and the pickup was receiving an occasional beer dosing. For once I applauded good beer being spilt. The gate. I left the pickup and headed straight for the gate. I should beat the truck no problem.

I began yelling. "Come on you chickenshits. We can't let them get our beer this goddamn easy. Come on you mama's boys. They'll be in your back yard next week." Another guy was already at the gate. I helped him close it. We stood on the backside of the gate as the truck pulled up. I wired the gate shut. Both cops got out. One guarded the beer and the other came up to open the gate. He tried to pull it open before he realized it was wired. He unwired it but by that time there were ten people determined that the beer wasn't leaving. He pulled for about ten seconds then turned and went back to the truck. I don't know if he just gave up or if his partner called him. While he guarded one side of the truck people would unload the other. The cops put a couple of kegs back in but pretty soon all the kegs were on the ground and they were reduced to guarding that. The gate was right next to a barn, so I went around the backside. The pickup was right by the corner of the barn. The main stash of beer and the cops were on the other side of the pickup, but there was one keg on the ground on this side. No one saw me get it. I headed for a nearby cornfield. I went about 20 rows in then followed a row for about 20 yards. It ought to be safe here. I wondered where that tapper I had seen earlier was. I filtered back into the pasture. I headed for the horse troughs. I looked back at the gate and liked what I saw. One guy was about 30 yards off, staggering up the hill with a keg as fast as he could go. A state patrolman stood between a big crowd and the keg stash. He was yelling. There was a smaller crowd around the kegs. The second pickup was still by the horse tanks. It was loaded with kegs. There was someone in the back of the truck yelling at a small crowd that the party was over, they should go home. Probably an undercover agent. But look, he had a  tapper in his hand. He must have realized how valuable it was. Kegs were disappearing, but the pigs still held the dispensing equipment. There were people by the pickup, but no one was unloading any kegs. I slipped up behind the truck. "I don't like it either, but the cops say we have to go. We'll have to fight this in court now. Please go home. We'll have another when we're on better legal footing." He sounded like a narc to me. I had noticed that he was holding the tapper loosely. This should be easy. I plotted my escape route. I turned sideways, dug in my toes, grabbed the tapper and ran, "Fitzpatrick, I’ll get you." Shit, he knew my name. I had planned on having a big enough lead to crawl through the fence, but he reacted faster than I thought he would, and was right behind me. I considered paralleling the fence, but there were three guys down there who could have been his partners. "Fitzpatrick, I’ll get you." I concentrated on the top strand of barbed wire; it was lower than most fences.

Probably not much higher than a high hurdle. Go for it did. I watched it pass below me, Shit, I cleared it with ease. "I'll get you Fitzpatrick." But he didn't cross the fence. I ran a long way down the corn row.

It was over my head. I had vanished. I stashed the tapper straight out from a big tree. No one was looking for me. I decided to observe from the outskirts of the crowd. That narc knew my name and had promised to get me. I didn't want to get arrested. I was the only
one who knew where that tapper was.

The second pickup was heading back to the gate. The narc was still in back gesturing and shouting. They had been joined by the county sheriff. They came to a group of people standing by the trail. A girl walked right in front of the truck and it had to stop. The crowd started bouncing the truck up and down and pushing sideways on it. The narc jumped out. Then everyone stopped shaking the truck and backed off. Shit they were doing good. Shaking the shit out of the beer, but what the hell, it would settle. Now it might get away. But then I saw it. The truck was spinning its tires. Its front tire was in a ditch. It had been an ambush. All right. The driver gave up. As soon as he did someone slipped under the truck from behind. Twenty seconds later he slipped back out and walked away. The county sheriff decided the was needed at the gate and headed that way. People immediately started unloading the beer. Pretty soon they were all gone. Some of them were headed for secluded places, but about half were going back to the horse tanks. I liked it.

A show of audacity. This time we should be able to spirit them away in case of another attack.

The drivers and cops had gotten out of the truck and walked to where their partners were guarding two lonely kegs of beer. God they looked dejected. They huddled together. People were cursing them. The county sheriff walked over to the crowd. He looked kind of hesitant. A cheer went up from the crowd. He walked back to the truck, got the CO2 tapping equipment out, and handed it to a girl. They were giving up.

The officers were, of course, only interested in our safety. A11 those people out there where the police couldn't watch out for them and the demon rum about, well, someone bound to get hurt. Better to just nip it in the bud. Having a party is one thing, but when you start selling liquor outside a licensed establishment you only ask for trouble. It gets too hard to control. It's against the law and we won't have it. If you don't like it, write your representative and ask him to change the law.

You've all heard of the Boston tea party. A group of good patriots got together dressed as Indians and dumped a British freighter's cargo of tea overboard. They grew tea in the colonies but England wanted the colonies to drink India tea, which it grew, freighted, taxed, and sold.

You probably haven't heard of Mahatma Ghandi's march to the sea for salt. A11 salt sold at that time (late 1940's) in India had to have a British tax stamp. Ghandi's plan was to make India unprofitable as a colony for England. He intended to subvert the salt tax by marching several hundred people a couple hundred miles to the sea where they would distill salt as they had done for centuries before Britain imposed her rule. Despite several fatalities at police hands, Ghandi's crew completed its mission, helping India gain its independence. Neberaska taxes all liquor sold in this state. If liquor could be sold anywhere it would be impossible to make sure it had been taxed. Rather than take a chance on losing some tax revenue they will send thugs out to break up all parties they don't control. They can do that because they make the law.

Back at the horse tanks they were already back in business. "Jesus, nothing but foam." "If you'd been gentle throwing those kegs out of the truck it wouldn't be so foamy." "Not me. Joe shook it up running with it. It wouldn't have been so bad, Joe, if you'd put it up on your shoulder and run with it." "Goshguys, I'm sorry. I was trying to hide it too, you know. Look, it's getting better now." "Hey, we kicked those pig's asses, didn't we?" "Fucking A, Jack, we were tough." "The part I liked best was when the Sheriff got knocked off his feet."
"What happened? Shit, I didn't see that." "Yeah, the old fart was guarding that 1st truck by the gate. He was standing in between the crowd and the truck telling people to cease and desist when someone got him in the side of the head with a big ol' chunk of ice. Knocked his tired ass to the ground. I was kind of surprised when he got up." "Why did that guy crawl under the second truck when it was stuck?" "That was Jack, he had some pliers and was cutting anything and everything.

He got the break lines, the emergency break lines, and a couple of wiring harnesses. That truck is hurting." As if to verify his story the first truck pulled the second truck away. I had seen them down there chaining them together but assumed it was just to get the second one out of the ditch. But no, they kept pulling it through the gate and away.  "I thought I was going to shit when Jeff hit that state trooper." "Hit him with what?" "With his fist, dude." Must have crossed that cops eyes for him. This cop was standing with his arms out to his side like he’s protecting these four kegs from this crowd of people that’s right up in his face. Jeff is about ten feet back. He runs full speed and smashes his fist into the cop’s mouth over the crowd shoulder. I think it lifted the cop off his feet. I know it sailed him over the kegs. I think it crossed his wires, too. As soon as he quit rolling he’s up on his hands and knees looking around. I figure he’s looking to see who hit him, but then he sees his smokey the bear hat which he’d been knocked plumb out of, and he takes off on his hands and knees after that hat. I said a prayer "Lord God, please blow that hat over past them cow pies." Unfortunately the good Lord had mercy on that poor fool and let him catch his hat."

"Fitzpatrick, I couldn't believe you hurdled that fence. What did you do with that tapper?" "It's hid. I'll bring it back when it's safe." "When's that?" "When I'm good and drunk. By the way who was that narc I got it from?" "That was no narc that was your host." "Crenshaw?" "None other." "Shit, I thought he looked familiar. No wonder he was trying to cool things down. His ass is in a bit of a jam, huh?"

"He thinks he'll be able to keep his liquor license. "Lord, I hope so, this whole mess is too bad"  "Too bad shit, I think we should do it every Saturday." "The cops won't be so stupid next time. They will either stay away, or they'll have 50 cops with helmets and batons waiting just out of sight. I just hope they aren't on their way now." "Ted and Joe are watching. They will lay on the horn if the cops come back."º

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