It's said that the openin year of any decade is likely to be a whopper & 2010 proved to be just that. I ain't talkin musically, hell, when it comes to that, it was just same shit, different outhouse. Course it may've been a different matter had I been closer to the scene, yet I can't be everywhere, as hard as I try.But mor'on that later.
As y'all is painfully aware, we's gripped by terrorist fever worldwide. Perhaps it's my nature, blurred & blunted via my various personal exploits, what's more or less crawlin through the bowels of evil & rippin out they's intestines (or worse). I have torn out more steamin coils've addled entrails than one of them fantastical bird-eaters in a Bosch paintin. Imagine a house party on Austin's east side durin a (non sanctioned) SXSW function. Now picture cuttin a swath through that rabble in the middle of the night w/nothin but a saif. And instead of vacuous dipshits sportin warm 40's, it's rabid, bearded bastards w/bombs! It's us unsung fellers whats keep our country free of inscrutable tyrannies so's a band like-for instance-Kurt Vile & The Violators can tours 5 weeks at a time & not sweat them (free) cold ones. Now if they's had an off night or someone's got a bone to pick, that's on them. But your gettin le picture, correcto?
And the funny thing is, I was alls set to give up the life this yr. Then Ranger X come to me w/a dire plea & there I was, in the thick of it once again. This time the wretched excess took us into Micronesia, which is just about the last place I figured I'd be chasin trouble. Seems some errant faction at the behest've this half-cocked sheik (whose real title cannot be divulged) had gone & set a bunch've goons into the islands w/the intent of eventually gettin into Yap & stealin a Loran-C transmitter. So's Ranger X & I was dispatched in as Peace Corps workers w/orders to infiltrate & destroy said sect w/extreme prejudice.
I gotta tell ya, for the most part, it sure is right nice in them islands. The folks don't care about much-mainly just gettin by from what I could see-but we's learned how to fish in outriggers, I was honin my skills by spearin lobsters in the coral reefs, why I even learnt me a fairly knowledgeable amount of Yapese & Woleaian languages. In regards to the latter,I'd have never though my Latin background would've come in handy in such a place, but that only goes to show. After a while I was even barter'n in they's stone money & was savvy enough to earn me a 12' disk (fancy that!) alls my own. Never mind they's would never get my name right,thems all knows whose money that is.'Mr. Rowan, Swolan, Bolan", howsever they refer to me, ain't no one gonna bone me outta my "wealth". And I appreciate'em for that.
But then come the call. The desert infidels had made it on land, time for us to vamoose. So's we was spirited way off to Kapingamarangi, a good 3 days journey east. I'll tell you's all what; this leg of the mission made that 1st bit seem like we'd been coddled in the lap of luxury. It was some primal livin, but we was there to teach & learn. Well, in a spy sort've way. Got met up w/our Kapingi cohorts & they's was quite a lot. There was Hawaii Henderson (an expert w/machete's), Rommel Pickey (an amazing tactician & also master of Tuba, a fermented coconut drink) Sackius George (this feller knowed his way around the various lagoons, reefs'n whatnot) + Montgomery Conrat, Patton Tintin & Amila Tenten (the 'doctor'). It was beginin to look like our own private 'Bridge Over The River Qwai' except we didn't have none of them geisha-lookin women givin massages 'n whatnot likes in the movie. No, alls we had was betel nut & this nasty concoction Monty Conrat would make called Sakau. I couldn't tell you's exactly what it was, but it involved some root of a pepper plant what got ground, then mixed w/water, then strained through hibiscus bark. This would yield a slimy brown sludge one might associate w/the contents of a septic tank, but for them, it was the equivalent to a Quaalude mudshake. It was also a prime source for dysentery & cholera I was told & the reason these fellers was picked for our mission was on account they's was impervious to the side effects.And after a long day of machete fightin, jungle runnin & map makin, you can't blame a feller for wantin to wind down w/a cuppa-even if it did look like they'd shook a colostomy bag into a cup.
After a couple weeks of trainin, the team was ready. All us trudged aboad Sackius' boat & made the journey up to Pohnpei where we's would hang tight till word come in as to our D-Day. And we weren't there long. As an aside I gotta tell you's all this-one night in the 'VIP' section of some wild ass bar there I met the President.Now, I knowed he was someone of substance. Hell, ain't every feller in Pohnpei's got 3 painted ladies hangin off of him as he yammered very loudly, orderin rounds've beer for the house. He was dressed down in some old (read; vintage) track shorts, a starchy white wife beater, little black socks & a pair of homemade (read; organic) sandals.He got to eyein me up so I went over & broke the ice. "Excuse me sir", I said, polite as could be "haven't I met you before in Williamsburg,Brooklyn"? He sort've sputtered for a second, then lifted his head back, eruptin w/the loudest roar of laughter I's ever heard! Thick as thieves after that we was. The Woodbe charm strikes again.
But the fun come to an end not long after. The goons was on the move back over to Yap & we had about a weeks worth of travellin to do what to catch up. So off we went. It was Katey bar the door; no sleep, just pure adrenalin, we skimmed along the Pacific like a flat rock across pond, makin time like bat's outta hell. Once landed, we got situated & hunkered down for the wait. Bam-we got alerted to a samll boat of armed individuals headed into a lagoon near Rumrung. We's stealthily made our way into the village, our intent was to surround & eradicate. No prisoners, no alibi's, no mess. Them dopes may've seen what they's was tryin to do as Allah's will (or whatever), but it was a fools errand, plain & simple.See, what them terrorists didn't know was all that Loran shit had been dismantled & moved way back in the late 80's! With any luck it was gonna be like shootin fish in a barrel. Long story short; it was, mostly. But a couple of them buggers got away. We was able to trace'em to Palau, only to find out later they was scoped out by a couple locals on Airai who chased'em into some mangroves where (evidently) they was eaten by saltwater crocodiles (no bodies was ever found). So.......CASE CLOSED. The Ranger & I did our share of celebratin afterwards. By now we was back in Guam, under the watchful eye of the powers that be, but even they's will look the other way for the odd patriots, & I do mean ODD. Ranger X eventually made it back down to his compound in the hill country of Texas, but I decided to head back to Kolonia where a Mr. Mister (honest, that's his surname. The president's right hand man. He's never heard the band, which is why they's still alive) had me a fancy suite w/all the proper "accomodations". And it's where I's remained since. I told Capt'n Siltbreeze to send my records & all over here so's I would get back to music writin & make an honest livin again (HA!). I thought maybe this yr I'd do a proper 'best of' for last, but boat mail is only a scant faster'n a snail, so's I'm just gettin what's alls been saved. And if it's alright to you readers, I will commence to the have's now & save the have not's for later.
So now it's well into April & I ain't got that list, least not YET. I'll be postin'em-my best's (or close to's) come this week. I's just been so damn busy w/my new venture; a slew've pork sandwich & taro cake (fried banana's too) stands along the beach. SNOUTS is the name & while's it's stictly word of mouth, we got a steady clientele. Ranger X done come back too & head over to Yap to help this fellow Texan start up a microbeer company. 'Brio Beer' it's called.Again, under the radar, but that's how we role.They was able to get some hops from an old CIA buddy on Samoa, took over some old warehouse, built vats, kilns just about whatever they needed. And presto, we's got our own sustainable scene goin on. Even got Rommel Pickey doin some picklin & I'll be damned if Mr. Mister don't have a yen for bread bakin. And who knew Monty Conrat'd be such a whiz at whippin up mustard & various other condiments? Hell, It's only a matter of time till we's got tall bikes, leash laws & the girls is wearin wellingtons at the mere mention of rain. Maybe even pizza!
But enough about how all 'n all great MY life is. I'll be gettin back to review writin tout de suite. For the record, I like the Iceage lp fine, though I don't see's how it's construed as Hardcore. But I never claimed to be no Stretch Armstrong neither. Now where'd I put that writin quill?
Best wishes from Paradise,
Roland Seward Woodbe
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