Published Monthly at Adolfs Trailer Park, Greased Morton, Ohio.
Volume 1, No. 1 May,1969 Price:           
Two canned goods
or one joint     

Power to the Painters

By The Son
Okay, so your favorite trailer park owner and mine, Adolf the Fascist, has been, like, hassling me because Bo painted a really cool pink peace symbol on the side of my trailer, #37. He says the straight neighbors are complaining 'cause it makes the park look like there's nothing but a bunch of heads (he actually said "hippies") living here. "Far out, Adolf," I said. "The more freaks we get in here, the cooler this place will be." But he says heads don't buy trailers. They usually rent and don't pay their rent on time. And when they paint a bunch of "hippie signs" all over his trailers, he has to, like, repaint them after we move out. I tried to tell him that we are all brothers and sisters here and that we are not into ownership of material things--that, though he traded green paper printed by our corrupt government for these trailers, they do not belong to him in any cosmic sense, because everything really belongs to everybody, so really these are our trailers, too. We're just granting him titular ownership. (He perked up at that word "titular," until I explained that it has nothing to do with the female anatomy.) I also told him discriminating against us--either because we rent or because we have long hair or because we're exercising our human right to express ourselves creatively by decorating our homes--is like completely uncool. But could he dig it? Could he rise above his middle-class capitalist background even for one minute? Take a guess. He's a fucking one-man moral majority. But that's cool, right? We've got the power, and we shall overcome the Fascist establishment,

                      Photo by E.L. Hubbard
because we are together. (We busted the Morton High School dress code, didn't we?) So Bo will be coming around to all your trailers with jars of Day-Glo paint he shoplifted over at the Ontario store in the Morton Plaza. (As Thoreau said, civil and commercial disobedience are our duties!) The paint is, like, free, but we are taking donations of canned goods for the free store we're setting up over in the wash house. So paint something freaky on your trailers--you know: eyes, ankhs, peace signs, anything. Then we've got Adolf by the balls, right? He can't throw us all out. He'd lose 50% of his capitalist pig income. As to the other fifty percent, which comes from our straight neighbors, we're launching the "Turn On A Straight Neighbor" drive this weekend. If you see your straight neighbors grilling some dead animal meat out on the patio, pay them a visit, take a joint with you and turn them on. If they're not into it, drop a hit of acid (half a hit for the kids, I guess) into their beer or their lemonade or whatever they're drinking, and presto: a straight cookout becomes a freaky painting party! Desperate times require desperate measures. Right on! Power to the people! Demand your right to paint!
Publisher: Adolf
Editor-in-Chief: The Son
Fashion Editor: Tonya
Lifestyle Editor: Storm
Circulation: Bo
Little Esther

Beer is a Canned Good, Too

Circulation Update
By Bo
Hey, brothers and sisters, I'll be delivering The Voice of the Trailer Park to your trailers like once a month, you know, like, whenever I can get it together. I'll try to get it to you in the early afternoon, so you can read it when you first get up. If you're like me, you dig the morning paper with a cup of coffee, a pot-sprinkled brownie and the first joint of the day (makes the news a lot more interesting). You know we're not into making any kind of profit on the paper, so you don't have to pay anything except canned good donations to the Wash House Free Store. But please remember, a can of beer is a canned good, too. You can pay for your paper and donate to a good cause (the Bo MacLellan Memorial Beer Fund) at the same time by leaving a cold can of Hudy outside your door. Lugging papers is like, physical labor, man. It makes me fuckin' thirsty, if you dig where I'm coming from. But if your donating, like cans of corn and beans and shit like that, please take it over to the wash house yourself, 'cause I can't carry anything I can't drink.

Page 2A


Advice from the Asylum

DEAR MONA: Although we've never met (we moved in since you've been, uh, away), we are your neighbors in trailer #38. Frankly we're a little disturbed by what goes on in your trailer when you're not there. It seems your son has all manner of long-haired freaks in and out, sitting on the patio in various stages of bizarre dress or undress, smoking some very funny-smelling cigarettes and playing something that they call "music" at an unheard of volume. We are trying to raise two small daughters, upon whom we think this sort of thing is a bad influence. We hope that you will speak to your son on our behalf, for the sake of maintaining a wholesome family atmosphere in the trailer park we both call home.
Who in the hell died and made you Khrushchev, you Commie son of a bitch? I know what your real name was before you snuck your spying ass into this country to spread your propaganda! What the hell business is it of yours what my son does on his own patio? His friends come over there to study and keep him company when I'm gone, and there's nothing wrong with that. If you don't like it, keep your sniveling nose in your own goddamn business and those two little grade-school sluts of yours in their own goddamn trailer. And if I hear your wife breathing on my telephone line again, I'll cut your goddamn balls off with a butcher knife, you no good piece of Kremlin shit!

Freaky Fashions

No Such Thing as Too Short!

by Tonya
Happy Earth Day, everybody (when is it, anyway? Are we the only people in Greased Morton who celebrate it?) It's such a bummer to live in a town that's too uncool to have even one pair of bell-bottom blue jeans in any store anywhere. But if you go down to Tri-County Mall (thumb, don't drive, if you go on Earth Day) you can get Male hip-hugger blue jean bells for $8.50 or Landlubbers for $7.50 at Merry-go-Round. I like Male because they ride a little lower and break-in a little faster, but some chicks prefer Landlubbers because they fit their hips better. Different strokes . . . While you're at the mall, stop into Little Pleasures for essential oils, which are all natural fragrances and so much cooler than straight perfume. I used to use White Shoulders in high school, but now I've switched to natural Rose Oil. My boyfriend wears patchouli, which is hip, too, but he's never told me where he gets it. Somebody said that Storm chick wears it, too, but I haven't seen her lately. Can't figure out which trailer she lives in. Anyway, spring is here, and summer is on the way, so that means: Mini-skirt Season! Unlike high school, the trailer park has no dress code, so there's no such thing as "too short," especially when you're asking that sexist pig Adolf to let you slide on your rent for a few days.

Trailer Park Lifestyles

by Storm
Peace, everyone. It's been really far out to have so many people getting into Tuesday Meditation with me. Last week I could just, like, feel all of you creating this beautiful aura that surrounded the whole trailer park, you know? Wow! Anyway, I know most of you don't have clocks in your trailers because trying to divide the day into synthetic segments is very far from cool, but we do need to find a way to meditate all at the same time. So, when you hear "Mass in F Minor," by the Electric Prunes, playing really loudly on a day that sort of feels like Tuesday, consider it noon, which is the new time for Tuesday Meditation. That's when I will be meditating on the patio of trailer #37, and you can join me there or just meditate on your own patio or in your trailer if you're still crashed out. Now if you happening to be balling at noon (my favorite way to start the day), you're automatically excused from meditation, but: If both (or all) of you can possibly try to meditate and ball at the same time, that would be really cool. It's hard (I know, I know) to concentrate, and you have to, like, make your sexual movements sort of a physical mantra that matches your breathing (like, uh, "in, out, in, out," you know?). I've only been able to do it a couple of times myself, but when I did, wow! The orgasm was like fucking fantastic. I just came and came and came. Just thinking about it now makes me . . . oh, wow, what day is this? . . . I think have to go meditate, like now I'll ball ya--I mean I'll see you later . . . Peace . . . Uuuuungh!


TVTP Calendar-May 1969

Every Wed: Acoustic Jam and Tie-dye Party at the wash house.

Earth Day: Draft Card and Bra Burning in front of the Trailer Park Office. (If somebody can find out when Earth Day is, that would be cool, so we can all do this together.)

Every Tuesday, noon (?): Tuesday Meditation, trailer #37 patio

Little Esther's Teen Turn-On: Trailer #34, whenever her mother goes down to Kentucky.

Every Sunday: Vegetarian Cookout on the patio of trailer #37. Bring a straight neighbor, if you like, but no dead animal meat, please.

Gig of the Month: May 32, 1969/Eden Park Pavilion/ Mt. Adams Country Joe and the Fish with the Sacred Mushroom, Balderdash and Cincinnati's own Big in Iowa (Voted "Best Local Band of 1969" by The Voice of the Trailer Park)/MC: WEBN's "Jelly Pudding" host Michael Xanadu/"Be there or lose hair!"
The Voice of the Trailer Park (c) 1999 William G. Coleman. All rights reserved.






of the