Like all revolutionary ideas, it came to us while we were drinking. It was Saturday night and we were celebrating another successful protest march. Ten thousand people showed up that afternoon to tell the government that we will not sit idly by while they lead us into yet another disaster. Sure, the "official" count according to the police was only three thousand, but that's just another example of how they'll say anything to belittle the Movement. I mean, who are you going to trust? The pigs?
We were about halfway through a case of Rolling Rock when Timmy, pessimist he is, starts going off on how the march meant shit and we hadn't accomplished anything. We argued with him saying it raises awareness, that by confronting the public with the truth they've been blinded to we could get some real change going. He was having none of it. Tim's always been an argumentative guy and, well, he'd been drinking. To make his point, he staggered over to the television and started flipping through the local news channels. "See," he slurred, "not one god damn mention of the march. Fat lot of good we did today."
He had a point. All we saw were the same molded plastic Barbie dolls reading the same litany of murders, rapes, disasters, etc. off the same teleprompter. Hell, they probably shared studio space. Greg, always trying to put a positive spin on everything, suggested we put our heads together and think of a better approach to educating the public. Granted, we were all drunk at this point, but we had an amazing brainstorming session. Tim was so excited that not only had he won the debate, but we were actually doing something about it as a result, that he ran into the kitchen to grab the whiteboard we use for messages and the occasional dick joke. Soon he had it propped up on the couch, writing down any remotely plausible suggestion.
We had come up with a lot of dumb fucking ideas when finally it hit me like a police baton. Our goal was to educate the public and the most direct way to do that is through television (sadly enough). So how do we get on television? We had left the news on during our brainstorm with the volume muted but you could still see the images roll by of overturned semis, burning houses, and missing white girls. It was so simple. We spent the rest of the night planning for the next march.
That morning we gathered our empties and drove out to the quarry. There we practiced our best spirals, smashing glass against rocks we set out away from us. We were all excited about our new plan to spread awareness, but we were also pretty hungover. After six or seven tries, I eventually got it down to the point where I could nail a rock thirty yards out. Of course, the bottles ran out pretty quickly, but we had honed our skills nonetheless. Afterwards we went to Denny's to hash out the logistics of the operation.
When the day of the march finally came, we could barely sit still as we triple checked our gear. We gathered at Greg's house at nine o'clock because he had a car (no bikes today, we needed to get out of there fast). Yeah, early start, but I wanted to have time to make sure everything was ready. Tim wanted to smoke a bowl to calm his nerves but I had to stop that shit cold; our heads needed to be clear for the mission. There'd be plenty of time to celebrate afterwards. After reviewing the plan for the fifth time, Greg pointed out that we needed to haul ass out of there if we wanted to get to the march on time, so we piled into his car and left.
When we arrived, riot police were already lined up on the sidewalk along the march route. Perfect. Stupid pigs won't know what hit 'em. People were already gathering together as the usual speakers made their ineffectual speeches. Not to worry, today we'd give them a voice. The march organizers started corralling people to the starting point and fortunately they were wearing bright red arm bands to make spotting them easier. Another bonus. Today they were the enemy.
The march started to the tune of "We Shall Overcome". They only made it a block before windows started shattering. All this technology and look what a simple rock can do. The police, predictably, immediately formed a line in the path of the marchers. To their credit, they came right up to the police line. Sadly, they pussied out and just shouted at the cops. They were going to need further persuasion. At this point, we wrapped bandanas over our faces. With our sunglasses, not only did they conceal our identity, but the inside layer of activated charcoal would come in very handy after the next thirty seconds or so.
Out of nowhere, three Rolling Rock bottles sailed out of the crowd in perfect spirals. Their mysterious numerology containing a mixture of gasoline and sulphuric acid. Taped carefully around the outside was a paper towel that had been soaked in a solution of potassium chlorate and ordinary baking sugar. It's amazing the things one can learn on the Internet. The bottles, having never been designed for extended flight, began wobbling middair until they shattered on some poor little piggy's riot shield. Those fuckers now found themselves the main course at our impromptu barbecue.
Right on cue, the police charged the crowd. We knew we had to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible, so we dropped our homemade CN canisters (this one isn't so complicated - it's called a can of spray mace with the trigger taped down when "activated") and got the hell out of there. Not long after that the cops added their own chemical clouds to further obscure us and send everyone else running like hell. We each ran a different direction and ditched the bandanas as soon as we could breathe. Later, we met up and drove home to celebrate.
We were halfway through another case of Rolling Rock before Greg finally got the nerve to turn on the television. Tim was already passed out and I was flying high; alcohol, THC, and adrenalin making a heady cocktail. We had done it. Over two hundred arrests and thirty-three injured. Nationwide, people and pundits were talking about the march. Our march. Greg and I settled on Fox News for shits and giggles and watched as the talking heads tried to make sense of the chaos we had sown. Raising my beer to our triumph, I sat back confident that the voice for peace was silent no more.