It's that time again, Dear Imaginary Reader! Thursday means it's time for the next exciting chapter in our month-long series The Kuato Tapes! It's all part of our celebration of Kuato Appreciation Month! Well, I say "part", when in fact this is about all we're doing to celebrate. We tried to organize a parade in downtown Wichita, but the fascist mayor put the kibosh on that. Apparently Kuato isn't a big enough deal around here to warrant his own parade.
I secretly believe that our request was denied because the powers that be didn't want our big-time parade to overshadow the town's annual River Festival event. It used to be called that, at any rate. These days, it's simply called River Fest in an effort to appeal to the cool kids. Of course, the cool kids tend to stay away from River Fest, so perhaps it's all just a waste of time.
River Fest just ain't what it used to be. I remember when I was a wee lad, my mother used to take me and my brother down to the garbage-strewn banks of the Arkansas River to take in the festivities. I have such fond memories of the big "Sundowners Parade" which kicked off the whole shebang. A random hobo was chosen out of the beered-up mob to become the parade king, dubbed "Admiral Windwagon Smith" by the town elders.
After his coronation, where he was stripped nude and annointed with sacred oils, he donned his caricaturish military garb and led the massive parade through the winding streets of Wichita, laying waste to local businesses with impunity, setting numerous fires and relishing in the chaos and carnage in his wake. As the dying rays of the setting sun reflected in his beady eyes, he became a larger-than-life figure, some kind of unkempt demi-god, dancing in the flames of madness, leading the drunken dregs of humanity through this sneak preview of Hell we jokingly called River Festival. It was so much more than that. It was a symbol of our fair city's indomitable will, our "never say die" attitude.
At the conclusion of this procession of the damned, Admiral Windwagon Smith would lead his sweaty, bloody, soot-streaked flock through the very river itself. Legend has it that when the original Admiral Windwagon Smith is reborn, he will be chosen once again to lead the parade, and when he does, the rushing waters of the Arkansas River will part to allow the faithful to pass unencumbered through its depths, and he will lead them safely to the other side. This event, it is said, will usher in the End Of Days.
But it hasn't happened yet. On the last year that this original version of the "Sundowners Parade" took place (1996), 37 people were swept away by the current, and another 12 were trampled underfoot and drowned by the stampeding masses. It truly was a sight to behold, watching this mass of entranced pedestrians marching fearlessly into the scummy river, eyes glazed over with religious fervor, following this disheveled prophet into the abyss. It's the kind of thing that sticks with you.
And the amazing bathtub races! Such excitement! Two dozen inebriated madmen churning down the river in rheir homemade floating chariots, lashing out at each other with whips, short swords and tridents. It was like Ben-Hur on water. The Arkansas River ran red with blood on those glorious days.
On the final evening of River Festival, Alice Cooper would preside over the closing ceremony, the sky alive with blazing fireworks as the current Admiral Windwagon Smith, unmasked as a false prophet, was presented before the crowd. The mayor himself would unsheath the ceremonial River Blade, forged from the heart of a (now extinct) river dragon, and slit the pretender's throat. Then he kicked the still-warm corpse into the mob, and they would tear him apart as Mr. Cooper sang "Welcome To My Nightmare".
Those were the days, I tell you.
In 1997, the Wichita City Council met behind closed doors and chose to overhaul the entire River Festival experience. In an effort to make events more "family friendly", almost all bloodshed was removed from the two week festivities, and the bathtub races were deemed "too controversial", and banned outright.
There is still an Admiral Windwagon Smith chosen every year, but he/she is no longer a mentally disturbed hobo, but rather a local business leader or used car lot owner. There is no violent march through the quivering streets, no looting, and no fires. There is no deadly passage through the Arkansas River, and the presiding Admiral Windwagon Smith is not sacrificed to Rll'Hor, the pagan god of fire on the river bank as fireworks blaze overhead. Alice Cooper has not been invited back.
Sure, some of you bleeding-heart liberals out there may applaud this "evolution" of River Fest as a step in the right direction. You pat us on the back and tell us that we've finally abandoned our violent past, and we can now join so-called "civilized society". But I lament the loss of our blood-soaked traditions. I feel like our city has lost that vital spark that made it so vibrant in the sepia-tinted days of my youth. If this boring spectacle called River Fest is "civilized", then I mourn progress.
And I implore you: if we are not allowed to find our long-prophesied hobo king in the reincarnated Admiral Windwagon Smith, then how will we know when it is time to rise up and consume the world in the cleansing fire of Armageddon? This is folly.
Anyway, we were talking about Kuato. In this podcast, you will discover everything you ever wanted to know about the glorious creature known only as Kuato. Actually, you'll probably discover much more than you ever wanted to know, because chances are you never wanted to know anything about the little mutant bastard.
Regardless, the answers wait below, if you are brave enough to listen:
The Kuato Tapes
Tune in next week for the amazing conclusion of The Kuato Tapes!
P.S. - That Thor thing is probably still coming. I honestly don't know.
You're off your meds.
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