LocoFotives is a conclave of wickedly disturbed, insatiably twisted, rapaciously pixelirious pixel manipulators who are totally mad, as in certifiably loco, tan loco como un coyote: as crazy as a coyote, as in loco motives as a train of thought, as in any other language, sie sind verrückt, pazzeschi, fous, loucos, locos, LOCO.

But not too dangerous. Well, not dangerous at all, if we supply them with enough roadkill and fermented algae.

Most of them have been in the business of altering photos to fit their satirical needs since before the advent of the computer. When clip and paste gave way to pixels and Wacom tablets, the depths of space became their limit, so be forewarned: never believe what you see. Where they once were restricted to cartoon pages and editorial sections of newspapers, including the San Juan Horseshoe (which didn't limit them at all), these artists/cartoonists now have been leaving their hilarious and irreverent deposits all around cyberspace. Their works have been featured on numerous websites, including the deliciously sarcastic All Hat No Cattle and Internet Weekly.

Graphic works include political satire, animated GIFs, parodies (unabashed abuse) of famous art, advertising and religious spoofs, and unstinting lampoons of the famous and infamous. Not even their family and friends are safe.

With all of the members having been suckled at the hairy breasts of Monty Python and weaned on “The Life of Brian,” they believe in “looking on the bright side of life” in the darkest, most twisted way they can. Most of them will tell you John Cleese and Terry Jones and the Python lot are their heroes… that's the Terry Jones who has started a War on the War on Terrorism, not Indiana Jones who eats cockroaches for dessert.

They very graciously point out that their satire may disturb the viewer who is rectally repressed or has unresolved issues concerning his/her mommy. It might also frighten the citizen who believes his/her political party has a direct line to the Creator, or his/her country is somehow divinely favored above all other countries, or his/her flag is more important than his/her huddled homeless neighbor down by the railroad tracks.

Nor are their works prized by those who see the world in black and white, without all the scintillating colors of glorious and good humanity where it is at its best in the peasant and tribal villages around the globe. LocoFotives is nutritiously irreligious, believing the Great Spirit is manifested in myriad ways throughout the planet. Like Mark Twain, who scrawled, "Born irreverent —like all other people I have ever known or heard of— I am hoping to remain so while there are any reverent irreverences left to make fun of" [Holograph manuscript of Samuel L. Clemens, in the collection of the F. J. Meine], the LocoFotives have no intention of slipping into reverence of any sort. God is too big to fit any one religion, they tell me, which causes these crazy coyotes to parody institutional and restrictive religious views, hellfire and sulfurous demons with enthusiasm. Who can bind up Unlimited Being in a pulpit? “A sermon is a sorry sauce when you have nothing to eat it with,” muttered Oscar Wilde. Who can dare claim dogmatic knowledge of so great a Being who BANGED the universe into life, scattering delight and love in an orgy of joy that isn't interrupted until greedy pimply kings and generals hurl nuclear weapons at it? To confine Unlimited Being in a moldy cheese box, or to annihilate anything brought into life from the guts of Unlimited Love, the LocoFotives folks say, is to “spit in the face of Allah.” Errrrr, they weren't as polite as that, but their irreverence springs from anger and tears when even the smallest of their human family is snuffed out in the name of profit somewhere on the planet.

LocoFotives’ loco motive is to celebrate life, celebrate the diversity of the planet and her peoples, celebrate all the colors that make music in the galaxy, and to hell with political correctness, false gods, fundamental poppycock, and personally embossed enema bags.

One LocoFotives member, claiming to be “just another guy in a skirt,” blames his insanity on his Scottish DNA. K.O. Walker (known as K.O. Peck Tate to those who run for the loo when he comes near them) says, “Satire is like a skunk – you don't actually fully experience it unless it stinks.”

Grab a skunk and join the LocoFotives for lunch!


Mossy Coyote

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Kedmôgidaômwawôgan,
Wawidahômwawôgan,
Kwsilawakamigzowôgan
Compassion, Understanding, Respect

CAPTION CONTEST	ANIMATED GIFS	POLLY TICKS
WE'LL PUT ANYONE IN A KILT	GALS WE KNOW	GUYS WE KNOW
EXTRATERRESTRIALS	RELIGION	TRUTH IN ADVERTISING
SPORTS	FAMOUS ART	HOLIDAYS

WISE AULD WIMMIN

My old grandmum looked like a puffin, small, plump, white, with a black shawl over her shoulders, and she was full of strange sayings from what she called the “Caledonian Book of Wisdom.” She seemed to quote it where pious folk quoted scripture. Most of the time I had no clue what she was talking about, yet much of what she muttered over steaming oatmeal got lodged in my brain for posterity. She seemed to know more about the devil – “deil” – than a decent woman ought, and she seemed certain the devil was the one running the show. When I reached my teen years, she constantly warned: “Raise nae mair deils than ye're able to lay.” I wasn't interested in laying devils, until I met Maggie Mackinnon, but that's another tale. Dad always countered that one with “Never let a puffin judge the guids.” I still don't know what they were on about. However, one of gran's oft-repeated lines of a Sunday has finally come round to making sense: “The deil an the dean begin wi ain letter; when the deil gets the dean the kirk will be better.” My translation: “Beelzebub and Bush begin with one letter; when Beelzebub gets Bush the world will be better.”

K.O. Walker