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Mutate Or Die

And so another midsummer’s new Moon birthed in the Gifford-Pinchot. This is becoming a ritual of some sort. I’ll have to continue it next year, regardless of what festivities are held there.

The Tenth Annual Autonomous Mutant Festival was a success, I’d say. Hobos, hippies, punks, gypsies, clowns, and all other sorts of degenerates gathered in the enchanted forests of Cascadia for celebration, music, chemicals, and what-not. Sadly, the weekend brought with it those who were there only for the booze; the type you wouldn’t pay a second glance to here in our culture of make believe, but, thrown into a forest of Mutants, looked incredibly out of place with their buzz-cuts, blue jeans, and white XXL undershirts. Their drunken idiocies are part of why I chose to break camp early.

And I missed bananas.

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