[Update: I've been asking friends what they think about this post, and the more or less universal response is, "At first I didn't know what to think, but then I read it and saw that it all leads up to the link to the Red Cross fund." Being funny (or trying to be) is just how I deal with things (including my own problems). If you'd like more of an explanation, then this comment might make things clearer for you.]

One of the hardest things about living in the wake of Katrina is that, because of the attention it’s getting, other, hard-hit parts of the country aren’t getting the attention they need.

Nobody, for example, has said a word about Rainstorm Herman, which hit my hometown of Portland, Oregon recently, leaving in its wake a trail of carnage and tears. The US Meteorological Weather and Environmental Defense Force (don’t bother looking it up – it’s a CIA black-ops project that supposedly doesn’t exist (your tax dollars at work, my friend)) has been spotted in the area since Rainstorm Herman hit a few days ago. Their green choppers have been hovering over the city, and their Men in Green (MiGs) have been spotted near areas of intense downpour.

And, yet, we haven’t heard anything about it. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

But, photos on teh intarwebs don’t lie, and feast your eyes upon this:

Katrina and its “Long Storm Finger”

Although the mainstream news agencies haven’t picked up on it (BLOGGING IS THE FUTURE GRARGH! BLARGH! ARGH! MAINSTREAM IS BAD BLAGH! RAGHG! GRARGH! BLAH!), when Katrina was on its way to inconvenience the greater Louisiana area, something known among scientific circles as a “Long Storm Finger” whipped across the plains of ‘merica and gave Portland a lashing it wouldn’t soon forget.

I’ve been held up in my apartment all morning, waiting for the safety of daylight. The wreckage of Rainstorm Herman has been awesome. I took this photo out of my window (which, thankfully, is still in one piece). It’s of the courtyard at my apartment building that separates the poor people (me) from the rich people (the people on the other side of the courtyard):

Take my furniture, storm

While it doesn’t look that bad, the reality is that storm didn’t destroy the tacky lawn furniture I hate so much. WHEN IS THE ARMED FORCES GOING TO COME AND GET RID OF THAT TACKY LAWN FURNITURE? WE NEED YOUR HELP HERE, G DUBYA! HELLO-OO-OOOOO-O-O – THERE WAS MORE THAN ONE STORM THIS MONTH, YOU JERK.

Cheap lawn dressings aside, supplies are running a little thin:

Enough food for hours

I have about half a bottle of Aquafina left, and one half box of Puffins Breakfast Bars, but that’s only of so much use. Each Puffins bar contains 24% of my RDA of potassium, and that’s kind of a big deal because potassium in large quantities is known to disrupt heart activity in strange ways. This means that I have little choice but to venture out into the storm-ripped streets of the city. I don’t know what I’ll do once I’m out there, but I’ll figure it out. I live on top of a Safeway grocery store, and they might have some advice on where I can go to get some food.

Wish me luck.

On the Move

I made it safely from my apartment to the hallway. I haven’t encountered any mutants yet, but I think it’s only a matter of time before they start emerging from the sewers to take back the land. In case I run into any, I’m bringing along a three foot salami that I got for Christmas last year. The first mutant to attack me is going to get its second head beaten off by an eight pound slab of pig fat. I’m serious. It’s kill or be killed out here, and when the shit hits the fan, I’m going to swing my salami.

Yeah.

Holy crap. I knew the damage would be bad, but I had no idea:

Mutants taking over a building

This is a shot of a building right across the street from my apartment, and as you can see, it’s been stripped down to its bare building molecules. I had heard reports of wind gusts as high as 25 miles an hour during Rainstorm Herman, but… wow. You just have to be here to see it. The image doesn’t do it justice.

I can also see some people moving around inside... Holy crap – looters! Or are they mutants? It’s hard to tell from here, but it could be either looters looting, or mutants scaring normal people, or maybe even a turf war between the mutants and the looters, which means that this town is going to hell in a handbasket much faster than I expected. I’d do something, but I’m only one man with one salami, and substantial as that is, I know I couldn’t defend that entire building on my own. Maybe while I’m out finding fresh water and supplies I’ll try to round up a few strong and sturdy types to join Rainstorm Herman Mutant Control Unit Alpha. Safeway might donate a few salamis to our cause, and if it turns out that we don’t see much action, then we can have a nice picnic later.

WAIT… I’m getting a new report about the building from one of my field correspondents.

Hang on…

Wait…

OK – here’s the situation. The building isn’t undergoing a mutant attack right now, nor was it stripped in the high winds. It’s actually still being built, and the strange, lurking movement I saw inside was just union workers taking an extra long lunch break.

Move along. Nothing to see here.

On the Streets

I stopped by Safeway and picked up new supplies without incident. I was told by a cashier that word had spread of a savior brandishing a Hickory Farms Salami, coming to battle the mutants and looters. I smiled knowingly and patted the salami which was safely sheathed and concealed at my side (it’s OK – I have a permit to carry concealed chopped and formed pig byproducts). I winked at the cashier and brushed my trench coat aside to reveal my salami. The cashier’s eyes widened.

“It… It’s you?” he asked, hoping that I really was the Salami Warrior and not just some random guy showing him his long, cylindrical meat.

I held my finger to my lips and looked furtively from side to side.

“Ssshhhh… Just know that you and your people are safe. For now, fight the good fight, my brother.”

I took my goods and left. He watched me silently as I walked out, awed by my long stride.

Then I beeped when walking through the anti-theft gate, and I had to go back to the counter to have the anti-theft device in some batteries deactivated.

“I am SO sorry, Salami Warrior,” he said.

I wished he hadn’t said it so loudly. Several people in line took a few steps back and looked me up and down.

“It’s OK!” he said, “He’s here to protect us. Show them, Warrior – show them your meat!”

I reached down to move my trench coat aside again, but before I had a chance, all the people moved to the neighboring line.

Whatever.

Carnage

I left Safeway and started walking toward Starbucks. My local Starbucks isn’t just a hep spot for a latte, but also doubles as a nuclear fallout shelter. If I could find forces for my Anti Mutant Military Paranormal Containment Battalion Unit Alpha Bravo, it would be at Starbucks.

The walk was mostly uneventful except for one brief moment when I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. It was short and lurky.

“Hmmmm,” I thought to myself, “Mutants are short and lurky.”

Then instinct took over. Before my brain had put a period on the sentence I was thinking, my able hands had unsheathed my salami and brought it to bear on the short and lurky thing. Adrenaline surged through my veins, my muscles contracted, and I let fly.

There is now a parking sign on 9th and Clay in downtown Portland that is partially covered in salami. My weapon has also been reduced by about a foot, but it’s still usable, so please do not send me another salami. AGAIN, I REPEAT: THE MAIL SYSTEM IS ALREADY BURDENED ENOUGH IN THE WAKE OF THIS DISASTER, AND I DO NOT NEED YOU TO SEND ANY MORE SALAMIS. I WILL MAKE DO WITH WHAT I HAVE. I AM A TRAINED PROFESSIONAL, AND TWO THIRDS OF A SALAMI WITH WHICH TO DEFEND MY CITY AGAINST LOOTERS AND MUTANTS IS STILL BETTER THAN NO SALAMI AT ALL.

Sorry about the yelling there, but I know that there are do-gooders out there who will want to help by rearming me, but all you’ll do is make it harder for the US Postal Service to do its job (and, believe me – they have a hard enough time on a good day, so let’s not make things worse).

Arrival

In spite of being attacked by a parking sign, I made it to Starbucks in one piece. However, things are in chaos here as well. I thought this would be a good makeshift HQ from which to conduct operation Kill All Mutants Who Are Attacking Our City From the Sewers and Also Maybe Outer Space, but I was wrong.

What did I see when I got here?

Mutants forcing baristas to take dollars for food and drink

Two mutants were at the counter. I was too late. Even worse, they were looting.

Yeah, you heard me (read me, whatever) right: mutant looters.

They had taken dollar bills and held them in such a way that the sharp corners were being aimed at the baristas behind the counter. I wanted to jump in, but one false move could have given someone a paper cut, and I don’t have my medkit on me, so I just waited. Fortunately, the baristas didn’t try anything stupid, and the mutants were given their grande mochafrappucappucinolattianos without a struggle. The mutants even handed their sharp dollars over in exchange for the drinks, which is just adding insult to injury – a reminder that, even without their weapons, the mutants are a powerful force to be reckoned with.

Then, like enough damage hadn’t already been done, there were people looting the condiments stand and taking, yes, taking creamer and pouring it in their drinks.

Looters taking advantage of an unguarded condiments stand

I had to do something. The looting was out of control.

I stood up, pulled out my 2/3 of a salami, and announced, “THIS STOPS HERE.”

The store froze. All eyes were on me. I counted the two mutants from before as well as a couple looters. If I moved quickly, I could have all four down and under control with minimum collateral damage.

I leapt at the first looter and managed to successfuly stun him in the arm with a roundhouse-salami-power-swing. However, before I had time to nail the second, a couple people lunged at me. They wrestled the salami from my hands and pinned me to the ground. The looter that I nailed was holding his arm. I heard him say, “Ouch.”

Trapped

This figures. I should have known.

I mean, if I were the mutants, I would have done the exact same thing: knock out the center of communications for the area, take control of the foodstuffs, and then pose as normal people doing normal work. It was a trap, and I walked right into it.

I’m in the corner right now, being held down by four mutants, and I’m typing this post out on my phone using my tongue. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to remain online.

We’re supposedly waiting for the “police,” but you know as well as I do that if the mutants have infiltrated Starbucks, the police didn’t have a hope in hell. This town is clearly under control of the sewer mutants, and there’s nobody left to protect it.

I’ll write again if I can, but I have the feeling that within a few hours the mutants will be cutting me up to use my organs and limbs in their own weird and mutilated bodies.

Uh-oh… I can see flashing red and blue lights. They’re here.

Pray for me.

Mutant Fighter Hero Rory Blyth signing off…

After Blog Mint [?] :

If you felt as guilty about enjoying this post as I did about writing it, then the least you can do is donate a few bucks to the Red Cross Katrina relief fund.

I normally don’t get caught up in things like this, but a city’s basically been ruined, and there are a lot people who are SOL because of it. Young people, old people, sick people, stupid people, good people, bad people… Some of them are probably nuns and some are probably homicidal maniacs, but they’re all screwed, and five dollars isn’t all that much to help them out. Also, if you’re a Microsoft employee, then your donation should be matched by the company (I think it works that way – at least that’s what I’ve been told).

We bought Louisiana (and some other land) from the French for about $15,000,000, and it looks like they aren’t willing to cover current damages under warranty, so get spending, you bourgeois fat cats.