Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Hey Hey Freedom: Target Ham

From the look of the scene, I could tell immediately that these kids were doing peyote. There was a shit ton of dots going through town right now and I’m sort of surprised that I didn’t see more scenes like this. In the mirco-town of Kelp Wells, New Mexico, there was jack shit to do besides blow shit up, ingest any substance in the neighborhood of “mind-altering,” and jerk off. So far, no semen had been found on the premises, but the forensics teams were just getting started.
There was ham everywhere.
Here is the way we think it went down.
Suspect A has, what looks to be, a little city that he has made on the roof of the apartment complex. He had built a little hut. He has a toilet, which was not hooked up to any plumbing and was constructed of cardboard. Using furniture from his second floor apartment, items from the refrigerator, and bits from the roof itself, he fabricated a tiny grocery store, a bank (no trace of currency, probably in suspect’s possession), a park, and, what seems to be, some sort of attempt at an upscale fashion boutique. Last and definitely not least is his construction of a post office.
The post office was, by far, the most elaborate of all the buildings on his little “Main Street.” He had mail bins for all the other stores, a break room for employees, and a little fake museum that contained, what looks to be, around forty years of fake/handmade postage stamps.
This was his communication to suspect B.
We only know this because of the “postmarked” letters we found across the yard in the shallow cave that was the tentative home of suspect B.
Suspect B had constructed a fairly classic Tarp House. Duct tape, large blue and silver tarps, bed sheet hammocks, etc.
The Tarp house was constructed symmetrically around a large spike that rose rough 7 feet in the air. This was where suspect B would attach the Daily Ham. By Daily Ham, I mean a fifteen-pound ham from Food Lion, ($1.29/lb.)
Suspect B’s bed sheet hammock was located directly under the Ham Spike. Everyday around sun down, Suspect A discharged shots from his rifle (unlocated) into the Ham perched precariously above Suspect B’s bed. This continued until the ham fell from its High Ham House and into the “sack” with suspect B.
The difference in line of sight to the Daily Ham and the skull of Suspect B from the point of view of Suspect A must have been inches at most. He was a good shot and his accuracy never wavered, except for the last time.
Judging by the amounts of Exploded and Scrapped Ham around the Ham Spike, this must have gone on for weeks.
As if this was not puzzling enough, the letters written from Suspect A to Suspect B (never from B to A) were some of the most beautiful echoes of friendship and love I have ever read. A more literary and straightforward representation of absolute understanding and compassion I have not seen.
One thing I can’t figure out, who delivered the letters?

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