opinion
New bill directed
against activists
Political activists should take note of S1722, the
Criminal Code Reform Act.
Under this bill, many activities now legal would
become federal crimes. Some of those activities in*
elude picketing at an induction center, counseling a
conscientious objector to resist draft registration, or
signing a petition opposing an undeclared war. Also
outlawed would be any civilian speech or
publication opposing a war.
This bill was introduced by Ted Kennedy(watch
out Teddy supporters), and will be voted on in the
senate soon.
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According to a spokesman from Senator Bob
Packwood’s office, the bill has not been “pulled out
of the air.” According to the spokesman, the
Criminal Code Reform Act started in 1966. “At
the present time the bill is overstated,” he said.
Packwood is currently going over the bill with
lawyers and members of the public to get the best
answer to curing this sore spot.
With existing laws, it is illegal in some states, for
anyone to counsel a conscientious objector in a time
of war. The spokesman said the bill would be a
revision of existing laws which would make people
aware^of what is and what is not permissible in a
time of peace or war. If the bill passes, which the
spokesman feels is unlikely in its present form, we
will see an infringement of our rights to the freedom
of speech and petition.
■ If there are any political activists out there or if
you are just a concerned American, write Senators
Packwood and Hatfield and tell them you are for the
First Amendment to our Constitution.
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Partying not always great American pastime
By Tod Bassham
Of The Print
Parties. I hate parties. Here
we are, the greatest industrial
nation in the world, and we
have nothing better to do at
night than to huddle together in
a small room like cows,
ingesting varous drugs to
brighten up the meaningless
drizzle of our existence. Well,
still, I might as well go. Who
knows? Maybe the world will
end tomorrow and won’t have
to face my hangover.
Yep, it’s just as bad as I
thought it would be. People
running all over the place,
giggling like idiots, having fun
and completely ignoring the
fact that all the world is
miserable. It’s terrible, really,
how happy most people are.
No one today truly understan
ds anymore the ancient art of
melancholy. Who feels now
the solemn, intellectual despair
of the existentialists? Where are
those few, graced with bitter
sweet melancholy, who once
blessed our planet?
Today if anyone gets
depressed, does he lie back
and savor the feeling, content
to be a martyr in his Vale of
Tears? Noooooo, he goes to a
shrink and gets cured. O, what
evil times!
Page 2
Just think what a better
world this would be if everyone
were depressed. There would
be no more wars, no inflation,
no murders on the street. If
everyone just quit^striving after
this Ghost of Happiness, then
they would stop all this dog-
eat-dog exploitation jazz. Who
wants to make money, or kill
his neighbor-, if he’s depressed?
Wishful thinking, I guess.
Meanwhile, I’m still here at this
silly party. Listen! In the kitcen
they’re talking typical party
talk.Jeez, I was so sick, I threw
up 58 times all over the car.”
“Oh, yeah? I can beat that. I
once drank a quart of vodka in
10 seconds, and I was so
sick....... ”
No
wonder Khomeini
doesn’t like us. I think I’ll try to
establish a rapport with
someone in the living room.
“Hey,” I say to a likely
looking person. “Do you want
to talk about the starving
people of Cambodia?”
“What about them?”
“Well......... they’re starving.”
“Far out. Sayr I got the mun
chies. See you later.”
The Cambodians are star
ving and he’s got the mun
chies. Oh, what a cruel, cruel
world! Depressed, I go into a
•corner of the room and stare
into my beer bottle, thinking of
how much the bubbles remind
me of the faces of friends who
have betrayed me.
Unfortunately, this looks
really weird, and is sure to
bring some friend over to ask
why you are staring into your
beer bottle. It never does any
good to tell them the real
reason.
“Hey, man, what’s the mat
ter?”
“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. “I was
just thinking of a scene from a
play.”
“What’s that?”
“You know, the one where
Jacques sees the Fool in the
forest sitting talking to himself
saying:
Hour by hour we ripe and
ripe/And hour by hour we
rot and rot,/And thereby
hangs a tale.”
What poetry! But does
anyone understand?
“What’s it mean?” my friend
asks. I look at him. A convert,
maybe?
“Well, like, life is this big rot
cycle. We’re born, we live, we
die,
and out of this
meaningless, pin-the-tail-on-
the-donkey is spun the fiction
of our days and ways; the sad,
sweet tale that keeps us going
when everything else has
failed.”
“Oh.?
Can’t win them all, 1 supl
pose. Gee, I’m depressed.
gprint
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