for 20 June 1996. Updated every THURSDAY.

 

 

The Free, Dumb Fighters

So the Montana Freemen gave up. No
surprise, really. Their name gave
them away - whatever their arsenal
of firepower, the choice of
nomenclature belied a lack of
brainpower. "Montana Freemen"? Come
on, it sounds like a softball team.
If I were in charge, my gang's name
would command respect, incite fear,
and look good on a T-shirt. A name
that, when it crossed the lips of
Tom or Dan or Ted, would have
screamed "We've got our own legal
system and we're not afraid to use
it." Something not quite so...
wussy.
 
Nothing too crazy. No, they'd change
it. "Branch Davidians" has the
definite lyric of a professional
newswriter. And the news folks,
being no fools, won't walk into
anything undignified. Remember when
the Voyager 2 spacecraft was zooming
straight for Uranus? My, the laughs
we anticipated, but just as the
Voyager 2 got close enough to focus
its space camera on the seventh
planet from the Sun, they changed
the pronunciation.
 
 
Well, I'm ready for them this time. I
cannot - will not - squander my
15-plus minutes of fame. So, I
compiled a list of possible names
for my band of merry men - along
with huge caches of semiautomatic
weapons, Teflon-dipped ammo,
freeze-dried beef stew, toilet
paper, and extra batteries for our
Walkmans. We want a name that will
tell the nation we mean business. A
name that says we're not fooling
around. A name that yelps, "We're
the kind of guys who read Playboy!"
 
And so our name will be The Really
Super Cool Guys. I mean it's
perfect, dontcha think? Strutting
our bad selves around in that
babe-magnet deleted camo, growing
Sgt. Pepper facial hair, reeking a
manly musk of gun oil and sweat, and
all the time catching ourselves in
the mirror, doing our best DeNiro.
 
Plus, by calling ourselves The Really
Super Cool Guys, the FBI and the
BATF will be so very jealous. During
negotiations, federal reps will
definitely try to downplay just who
we are and claim that we are not
actually, really, the real Really
Super Cool Guys. Rather, it is they
who are the Really Really Super Cool
Guys, because of their rigorous
training, better equipment, tailored
uniforms, and government health care
programs. And while it's true the
people holed up in the compound may
have a lot of guns and stuff, they
are in fact, faux Really Super Cool
Guys. But the brave citizens of the
Republic will be watching and
listening and they will know.
 
 
Now you're probably thinking, "What
about the female members of your
gang? Don't they deserve some
recognition?" Sure they do, and even
though our little Militia band was
created as a reason to get out of
the house on weekends so we could
drink beer and play with guns, when
push comes to shove with the Great
White Father in Washington, we want
our women with us. So we've created
an auxiliary of the Really Super
Cool Guys: the Really Super Cool
Guys' Gals.
 
I mean it's only right to show these
fine ladies who wash our camos and
raise our kids while we're out
fighting for freedom that they're
just as important as any male member
of the Really Super Cool Guys. And
if any of the Really Super Cool Guys
get sick during the siege, there
will be a Really Super Cool Guys'
Gal at the ready to to look after
him and bring him orange juice and
change the channel on the TV.
They're needed, there's no denying
it.
 
The press will be the toughest group
to deal with in the long run.
Newsrooms and TV stations across the
land will be abuzz with denial.
"Wait," I can hear them chatter, "I
didn't risk my pecker covering
Grenada and Desert Storm to just be
a Guy Who Tells Stories About Really
Super Cool Guys. I'm a Really Super
Cool Guy!" Well, they might be, but
they aren't, though they could be if
they joined us because the Really
Super Cool Guy name will be
trademarked. And if I know the law,
and I do because I have a copy of
the U.S. Constitution in the privy,
no one can be a Really Super Cool
Guy without special permission from
us. That's the law, and even though
we can interpret the law to suit our
own means, the press must obey it.
If the Fourth Estate starts to
circumvent the law, then where will
we be? In very deep kimchee, my
friends.
 
 
What about our other choices for
names? I could have settled for Guys
With Guns That Chicks Adore and Guys
Proud To Share Their Penises with
Super Models. I was almost ready to
march under the banner of The
Henpecked Guys Who Do Really Cool
Things on the Weekends Away From
Their Wives and I almost voted yes
on Guys Who Wear Camos Because Their
Wives Refused to Iron Their Hooded
White Outfits. But we kept coming
back to you-know-what.
 
Oh, there were a few clinkers. I add
them here because as a Really Super
Cool Guy, I can admit that I'm not
perfect. They included: Guys with
Hairy Backs and Bad Teeth, Guys with
Low IQs and Crappy Educations, The
Bumpkin Brigade, Hicks with Big Guns
and Little Dicks, Really Stupid Guys
with Too Much Time on Their Hands,
Flaming Assholes of the Twentieth
Century, The Heavily Armed
Not-Too-Bright Losers, and The Free,
Dumb Fighters.
 
Sure, there were some good things
about the ones we tossed, but they
didn't have that edge, that Madison
Avenue panache, that "Jenny stay
quiet" as they would say in France.
No. So we talked about it, argued,
went in the woods, and made
bang-bang, voted, re-voted, voted
again, and finally came up with a
name we could live with. A name that
would ring true and clear and bring
tears to our eyes each time Rush
said it on the radio. A name that
would be right up there with The
Knights of the Round Table, The
American Revolutionaries, and The
Weathermen.
 
The Really Super Cool Guys are here.
We're biding our time, packing our
gear, and just waiting for the Feds
to screw up. Then we'll come forward
and show the American public that if
the government is going to act
foolish, then two can play at that
game.
 

as told to
Jacques Merde