I got a li'l white dog, his name is Bill
He lives behind my house here on the hill
That's ashore, to a landlubber. On terra firma
Wag your tail for 'em, Bill. Don't bite 'em
From the album Po' White Trash
If we were all good people, we could work in perfect rhythm.
If worms had daggers, birds wouldn’t fuck with them.
Todd Snider, "If Tomorrow Never Comes"
Jack Saunders
Garage Band Books
Box 10501
Panama City, FL 32404
Copyright © 2009 by Jack L. Saunders, Jr.
Large Pyle was the Chronicler-at-Large of the Mall Builder culture.
That
is, he had a web site on the worldwide web, The Daily By-Catch, and posted
what he wrote to it every day.
He wrote white papers, on a variety of topics.
Politics, the economy. Arts and letters. Local humor.
He made fun of the
burghers of his home town of Point and Shoot, Florida. But he also made fun of national
figures. Celebrities. People in the news.
Michael Jackson. Walter Cronkite.
Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
A MoJo is a mobile journalist. They don't have
a desk at the office. They're freelancers. Independent subcontractors. They can be
let go at will. For no reason.
They have a cell phone with a camera in it.
They are their own paparazzi.
"Eek, paparazzi," Pee Wee Herman
says. "No pictures. No pictures."
Pyle wasn't a MoJo. He had a
room of his own with a door on it. Confined Space.
That was the name of his
writing studio. By Permit Only.
Everyone had a permit. It was free.
It's the machinery that's dangerous,
William S. Burroughs says. In Naked Lunch.
And of course in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson
called an early fax machine the mojo wire.
Hunter S. Thompson was probably
the ultimate free-lancer.