Viva La Revolution!!
(A May Day Adventure)

Little do they know; it's just a bag of dog doodie.

     But these people had torches. And were surrounded by riot police. Who actually were throwing torches.
     Whether this was to intimidate or reload the rebels, I had yet to decide.
     So, as we approached the Revolution, I began some battle cries. Albeit quiet, and meant only for me, I screamed out my manly protests:

Now imagine it a little less cultish, and a lot more in color.

"Viva La Revolution!"
"Viva Communism!"
"Viva La Policia!"
"Viva Capitalism!"
"Viva me! Oh god, no. I just want to live!"

     The "rioters" had chants of their own:
"Who's streets?"
"Our streets!"
     Not entirely sure what the chant was about, I needed a second to think. I mean, all I ever wanted a street for was to drive or to walk, on occasion to skip. I pretty much had everything I wanted from the streets already.
     Perhaps these people wanted to Naked Dance on the streets. Or eat their lunch off the streets. Or eat naked lunch off the streets. As the streets here are mainly inhabited by hobos, however, I had to reccomend again all their protests.

     Fortunately for my own vain arguments, the police chose this moment to charge in. Little do common, law-abiding men know, but one riot police running full speed is equal to about seventeen men on fire. So, as the multi-human fire-endowed superman came running, everyone cleared a path and screamed. I was actually physically afraid that I might light on fire.
     Not necesarily from the police, but from my own shivering self. The friction contained in my sandpaper suit actually had potential to kill. And at the very least to sand.
     The chanting basically died out.

Now imagine this one filled with far more tears.

     I took this chance to make my own:
"Who's yogurt?"
"Our yogurt!"
"Who's failure?"
"Our failure!"
"Who's crippling fear of riot batons?"
"Ours!"

     So, riot police took formation and began to charge at us. Yea, us, who stupidly got surrounded by the rest of the crowd, and pushed up against a wall. And as they came at us with their bats, or batons, or bats made of bees. And I started to freak out. But, oh god, bees aren't hard, but they have such hard stingers and I'm allergic to ouch and oh-god-we're-all-gunna-die, I took the manliest stance possible.

     I tossed my hands onto the top of my head, like I was arrested already. I started to scream, "I'm not a threat! I love the police!". And I gave the universe my puppy dog eyes. And just at that moment, I came to a conclusion:
     It wasn't me the police was after. That would be an insult to their training and skills. And an even larger insult to their skillz' mama, who by the way wears army boots.
     I was sure, by the time I'd screamed that all the police were "Sirs" and to be respected, that they knew we were on their side. Moreover, through my genious use of the word "sir", they also knew that I was some sort of underground ninja, with a sensei who could cut through steel with his eyes. And that my cohort was an air force pilot, capable of cutting through steel with his eyes. And that when our crazy powers combined, no revolutor in the world could stand up, as long he was standing on a floor made of steel. Near our eyes.

Insert some joke using the word "Shirly".

One officer looks straight at me:
"I love Capitalism!"
"I love democracy!"
"I even mixed them together! I love Captrlocracy! Democralcism. Cremotilopoly. Oh god, I'm an inventor; I'm still working on it. Just don't hurt me!! I invent things!"

     It was about the time that torches were being thrown that I peed myself and went down to University (a street). At University was more the type of Mayday I expected.
     There were still police and riot batons, but there was also a May Pole and dancing. More importantly, there was also an overpowering smell of alcohol and urine.
     The two catalysts to revolution.
     Just like the ocean and male pattern baldness, alcohol and protesting were meant to be together.
     It's as hard as making pie with premade crusts and premade filling. Put the star-shaped-piece in the star-shaped-hole. I made pumpkin pie!

Our hobos may have smelled more like urine, but they were made of just as much crayon.

     It was also about this time that my friend had to hit the bathroom. And several people followed him inside. The police had found our weakness. The Revolution's weakness.
     Defecation and the desire to poop.
     It was around this time that the number of potty jokes totaled two.

     As the violent ones turned to storm the prison and I lost my desire to dance, the hobos seemed less and less likely to be fun. And even less likely to turn into strippers and suck my penis. Or better still, turn into strippers made of Nintendos and sucked my penis until candy came out.
     It was finally time to go home. I have urine and bum drool all over my shirt. And it's just like the miracle of child birth. Every time I get aroused, a police man scares me 'til I cry.
     You really have to consider. If Captain Planet really ever had taken polution down to zero, whatever would the Toxic Avenger have to feast upon?
     Captain Planet - he's no hero at all. He's a murderer.


By Danny