Whiteclay preview.

We're going to Whiteclay, Nebraska for Spring Break. Me and three other people, each with our own purposes. None of us have a noble or moral reason. There are no shocking facts to expose that haven't already been exposed. You know about Whiteclay sure you do. Right accross the South dakota line from the Pine Ridge reservation, four liquor stores and a pawn shop. Capricious pawn shop owners who know their Adam Smith and don't feel the least bit of shame, thank you very much. Natives who are being actively ignored by the society that conqured them and have chosen surrender over charging the windmills of studied cultural indifference. Local police who look the other way so long as the natives don't show their faces in Gordon or Rushville.

Yes, you know all about Whiteclay. There have been several journalistic expose's. All of them have revealed that, guess what, the place is a shithole. As for me, I do not seek to expose anything or shame anybody. I seek not to construct pity-party personal profiles or give tribal leaders and local whites another sounding board to scream at each other. Me and my comrades are going to crawl right into the gutter with the people. We will drink Hurricane and Thunderbird and dance in the noonday sun and listen to out-of-date rap music right along with them. You may find this distasteful, very well, just what are you going to South Padre for than?

As for me, I seek to discover some deep,semi- hidden truth about the rural plains. I aim to reveal the nihilism behind all the God, country, and football nonsense. Not just in Whiteclay, not just in the western wasteland, but throughout the entire Midwest. Obsession with loyalty and tradition is based on fatalism and psychosexual submission. At the heart of America lies nothing at all, only a desire to deny one's own personality and acheive immortality by crawling into a black-and-white photograph and holding still. So I guess I do have something to expose, just more pretentious than what everyone else tries to expose.

Coming with me will be Mr. Paul Clark and his exceptional video skills, I'm sure we can produce something that can entertain the public. Ms. Rebecca Ankenbrand will be coming to give us all a reason to maintain our sanity in public. Mr. Dan Feuerbach is the amoral bastard who came up with this idea. He will surely get us all killed with his lack of respect for the downtrodden, but friends are friends you know.

I plan on keeping a journal of my thoughts, feelings, and observations. I hope to put these feelings toghether into a coherent narrative when I return. It will surely be groundbreaking. It'll make your akward teenage children want to be me.

We leave on Sunday, and I'm afraid that this is the last you'll hear from me before than. If you didn't already know that Whiteclay has no internet access, you are profoundly stupid. I'll be keeping my journal in shorthand, and if I should "disappear", anyone in the area should keep an eye out for a yellow legal pad covered in chicken scratches.

Yippee-Ki-Ye motherfuckers.