Teen Anarchy At Earth Day 2000
Earth Day in DC. Been looking forward to this since I joined the IAA (International Anarchists Anonymous) in Seattle to protest the WTO and kicked over a giant "N" on top of Niketown with my Air Jordans. Seattle blew chunks cuz the only music on the streets was provided by a group of Mercer Island housewives with their big fleshy arms around each other singing Paula Abdul songs. That's when I decided to mask up and throw a trashcan through Starbucks. But DC was gonna be different. My favorite punk group, Operation Cliff Clavin, was gonna be playing, the Anarchist Soccer League was gonna bring 150 soccer balls we could kick all over the place, and we'd get to totally mess up the meetings of the International Monetary Fund and World Bank and ratchet up the pressure to abolish third world debt. Hey, just because I like to make pipe bombs and set dumpsters on fire doesn't mean I don't understand the sociological ramifications of a monolithic economic organization. And also there was gonna be half a million people banging up against each other in the Capitol Mall, more than half women, more than half of them not wearing bras, and the rest wearing thongs. So I fly to DC on my mom's credit card and head straight for the giant dingus and the place is just stupid with people handing out pamphlets to save the trees, selling plastic recycling containers and gathering around a bunch of "theme" tents. There was the "water" tent, and the "earth" tent, but the fire tent burst into flames before we could get to it. Then the music started. Some big fat bald guy who looked like a walrus and said he gave his sperm to Melissa Etheridge was singing some crap about kings and rulers who do stuff we don't know about, then some cowboy named Clint bust out with "Happy Birthday Earth Day," there was a chick who kinda looked like Brandy and kinda sounded like Brandy but wasn't Brandy, three old people who looked like they came out of the bible named Peter, Paul, and Mary, then some cool-looking Indians, whoa, I mean, Native Americans, sang some blues-rock and reminded us that killing Indians wasn't cool, some wasted-looking dudes called 3 Blind Guys or 3 Blind Eyes I can't remember cuz by then I had grabbed a length of chickenwire fence with my anarchist buds and we faced off a line of police officers on motorcycles. We had the crowd pressing up against our butts and we were totally stoked to rush the cops, but then a voice came over the sound system saying the park permit for the event was over an hour expired and we all had to go home. That meant NO OPERATION CLIFF CLAVIN! So we ditched the fence, grabbed a bunch of kazoos and buckets and airhorns and formed a Chaos Marching Band blasting the musical message of lawlessness all the way to the Watergate hotel where we had to wait two hours to get a burger. One thing I realized, we have got to get more organized if we're gonna stop global warming, third world financial serfdom and Leonardo DiCaprio.