Ohio Freeway Shootings Normal, Say Locals

ccording to Columbus residents, in spite drawing considerable national media attention the recent series of fourteen unsolved freeway shootings over the last few months are business as usual for the southern Ohio city.

“The media likes to make a big deal out of this because of those Black Panthers or whatever it was shooting up the gas customers in D.C., but they’re just looking for something to sell,� explained lifelong resident Tammy Kennedy. “Actually this year’s not as bad as normal, I got shot three times last year. But I think that was partly because I was driving a red car. I sold that car and got one that blends in better with the road this year.�

“The thing you have to understand is it’s hunting season,� said Columbus mayor Richard Freebing. “That always plays a factor. If this were happening in July, that might be cause for alarm… unless there had been a gun show recently. Then it would still be normal. Or if the Bengals won or something. But any time of year it happens. Once you strip away the media hype, all you know is that people get shot in Ohio. That’s it, big deal. So we’re not too worried about it. You have to accept that everybody gets shot, it’s just a fact of life.�

Ohio transport authorities closed a section of Interstate 270 Saturday night to perform ballistics tests in hopes of returning the bullets to their rightful owners. The 20-mile stretch of highway between I-70 East and I-70 West was closed from 5 p.m. EST to 7 p.m. EST Saturday, according to Chief Deputy Steve Martin of the Franklin County Sheriff’s Department. The closure was made necessary so investigators from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms could take ballistics measurements while the road was clear of cars and gunfire. He said the work needs to be done at night but would not elaborate.

Unnamed sources for the commune, however, indicated that an escalating series of boasts between ATF agents had led to the necessity of the testing being done in pitch black, by blindfolded agents who had their hands tied behind their backs. Representatives for the ATF denied these allegations, explaining instead that the timing was for safety reasons, as field agents believed they’d be harder to shoot at night.

Thus far the 2003 Columbus shootings have resulted in only one death, that of 62-year-old Gail Knisley, who was hit by a stray bullet while she was shooting at a passing motorist who had cut her off in traffic. However, several abandoned buildings have been damaged in the shooting spree, and a local duck is listed in critical condition.

Though local residents believe the shootings are linked only by falling into the “stuff shot in Ohio� category, they have not been immune to the national media attention. Local police have had their hands full in recent weeks, fielding dozens of complaints from residents who want to be a part of the media circus. Sunday, a woman driving near the southern section of I-270 heard a noise and found she had a flat tire, according to police. No bullet was recovered in that incident, but the paint on the car was scratched and there were several “bullet hole� decals affixed to the driver-side door of the vehicle.

Early Monday, a home bordering that highway in the city of Obetz was struck by a bullet. No one was in the residence at the time, Martin said, holstering his revolver and whistling at his own impressive marksmanship.

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You know me, good people—I am not one to bitch and moan. No, wait, I'm confusing myself with my wife Arvelyn, which explains the odd choice of high heels this morning. I am one to bitch and moan. So let's get cracking, shall we?

I have had one of those ugly perspective-changing experiences this week. I decided that it is time for me to move out on my own, away from treasured friends Lee and Camembert, away from the free rent of the apartment, off to live by myself at long last. I've never had my own house, all to myself, without a wife, family, anything of that nature. I started to think it might be a lot of fun, like camping out.

With that as my ambition, I said good-bye to Camembert and Lee, packed my troubles (and unmentionables) in my ol' kit bag and moved out to find a house. Fortunately, I have thousands of dollars left over from my investment in jumpsuits in the '70s, so money is no object. But I would advise all of you out there, money or not, to buy the house in the future before leaving your current residence. Did you know they never let you move in the same day? They have all sorts of inefficient background checks and nonsense like that, and they wait for your check to clear, which I admit is a good business practice. But don't talk to me about good business practices when your living in between the commune offices and Denny's for a good long time.

Though I wouldn't say I had misgivings about the house I bought, I probably rushed in a little quick. There were some problems with the roof, mainly it being absent from the house, and the windows and doors were also missing. Which was no real problem, I can buy new windows and doors, or learn to make friends with the animals and vagrants sharing the house with me. But the most unexpected part of it all was that I moved into an "urban" neighborhood. That's right, a %100 "urban" neighborhood, in the suburbs.

Can I say "black"? Just to quit playing coy. You got to at least give me "black." In my lifetime I've been through five or six words I get used to using and then can't use anymore, you've got to sympathize. So I'll just say "black."

Yes, this neighborhood was like something out of Roots. Not the Roots I saw, really, I mean there were no slaves and everyone basically worked as middle-management and had lovely homes and dressed very modern—but they were all black. Except for the Hispanics and Asians, but sometimes I could squint my eyes and confuse them for white people, so I'm just focusing on the black people in the neighborhood right now.

Don't get me wrong, friends—I love black people. At least the idea of black people. And I tried to get along with everyone, I surely did. The first Thursday night a bunch of my neighbors were having some sort of "big black jam" in their backyard and I, trying to be friendly, joined them immediately. For a while everyone just studied me curiously and smiled with feigned politeness, but eventually one racist—I don't think it's going out on a limb to say racist—came over and asked me to leave; that I wasn't "family," and his backyard jam was strictly limited to "family" only.

And as much as I hate stereotypes, these people get awful loud when they're watching their "black shows," like ER. They were so busy screaming at me to get away from their window before they called the cops that I couldn't even hear the diagnosis on the fat kid, though I guessed diabetes. Once I get my TV I'll be able to watch in the peace and quiet of my own white home.

So now people are moving out of the neighborhood. I mean, it's only one family, and they claim their house was sold before they moved in when I challenged them with it, but it's enough so I can take a hint. Maybe one day the Rok Fingers of the world and the… uh… well, you know, black people… maybe one day we'll sit down together at a table and share a mutually agreed-upon non-ethnic food. But until that day, I'm going back to live with Camembert and Lee. My white brothers.

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The Greek philosopher Plato introduced most of us to the concept of Atlantis through his writings and limericks in ancient times. Others didn't hear about it until they made it into a happy meal. But regardless of its origins, Atlantis is a concept that has fascinated man for ages, like deodorant socks.

Plato described Atlantis as a 24-hour party island located west of the Mediterranean, by most interpretations. This is an idea that has stuck, because it sounds fun and everybody digs party islands. Others have interpreted his writings to indicate that Atlantis was anything from a cheese-filled Danish to a promiscuous teenage girl who, borrowing a term from the modern poet, was Plato's "Cherry Pie." But since many of these interpreters never actually bothered to learn ancient Greek, we're going to stick with the party island theory.

Throughout the ages much debate has arisen over the location of Atlantis. Many scholars have argued that it simply doesn't exist, and that Plato was just yanking our spank. Other scholars have argued that fuck you, what do you know about Plato, you spank-yankers? A third group of scholars called for a more civilized debate, and were pantsed.

Many others believe the remains of Atlantis make up the Bahamas, thanks to a famous 1932 reading by Edgar Cayce of striking-out baseball fame. In 1969, geometric stone slabs were found underwater at Bimini in the Bahamas that seemed to add credence to this theory. Believers claimed they were part of an ancient Atlantian roadway, while skeptics argued that's fucking crazy.

In 1970 Dr. Ray Brown claimed that he was scuba diving near the Bari Islands when he found a huge underwater pyramid that was lit from within. Without missing a beat, skeptics argued that he was the one lit from within, and they had to be shushed. Inside the pyramid he allegedly found a crystal sphere, which he said gave him God-like powers. Unfortunately, he couldn't show the sphere to anyone or exhibit the powers in any way, since that would be hot-dogging. While many respect the cleverness of his hot-dogging defense, few believe Dr. Ray actually found the crystal, or graduated from high school. The piece of shit Datsun he still drives to this day would seem to prove them right on both counts.

Some fringe theorists believe that Antarctica is actually Atlantis, and that the island boogied on south when the earth's crust slipped, in ancient times. Despite charges that they're the ones who had their crust slip, believers of this theory point to an ancient Egyptian map that shows Atlantis near the current location of Antarctica, and gives the island a shape corresponding closely to the land mass only-recently known to exist beneath Antarctica's ice. This amazing evidence might be more convincing if the map itself did not have a "Crazy Maze" game printed on the back, however.

Other theorists argue that Atlantis is located in silly places like Mexico or England, but most of them just want to be loved. One tantalizing theory has it that Atlantis was actually a nearby planet which exploded, most likely from placing too much faith in people like Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck.

In 2001, scientists searching for a cure for baldness made an extraordinary find off the coast of Cuba. Sonar imaging revealed a vast plateau of geometric rock formations 2,200 feet below the surface, hinting at pyramids, roads, buildings, and several Starbucks. This begs the question: Will this finally be the elusive proof of Atlantis that crackpots have spend ages in search of?

No.

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