NEW WAVE AT BVJ

THE RECYCLE OF LIFE CONTINUES

Two fresh scrotoss faces emerged from their creative placentae at Big Valley Jamboree last weekend, both wired together with superior sinew.

The one with wooden beads is filled with pebbles and has a comfortable weight. It's possibly the best one yet.

The smaller, moosehide number - already muddy by this point - is filled with painful pennies. We named him S.C.R.O.D.O.K due to his vicious temperment and keen sense of honing in on sunglasses and fragile elbows, not to mention the "nether regions."

Other highlights of the weekend included various drunks proving that women are inherently better at the game at first, and me crushing a thread-hole punch to shards with my bare hands. GRAW! But most importantly, after a minor newspaper mention, a stranger drove by our RV campsite and asked the dangerous question: "Is that the thing called scrotoss?"

You better believe it, dood. The word is spreading. Next stop: Nihon!