My friend Skip Badiny passed over the weekend. Skip had been a cop in California before bailing out with his new bride Mary to hide from the madness in these Missouri Ozarks. But those men in blue wouldn’t leave him alone and he was soon jailed for the heinous crime of growing marijuana.
Many people he thought were his friends turned their back on him and Skip became a recluse. Except for the occasional motorcycle ride, he stayed on his 60- acre organic farm, where he and Mary worked the land producing vegetables for a growing customer base in the area.
Skip wasn’t a bitter hermit. On the contrary, whenever I visited Skip, he would break out the buds and we would talk endlessly about the fucked up state of this banker-enslaved jumping jack authoritarian world.
When Skip called me “Brother”, he meant it. He was a hippy before that word was hollowed to its current meaningless state by Madison Avenue marketers and hordes of wannabe taker miscreants.
Skip refused to watch American news, instead watching the Russian station RT to get his news every night. He saw the dangers of the digital world before anyone else, refusing to ever get on a demon-generating computer.
Skip didn’t need to be constantly “connected” to distant relatives, half-assed friends or surly neighbors. He held his wife Mary, his daughter and a few good friends close and that was enough. That was natural and he didn’t have time for the phony or contrived.
I hadn’t laid eyes on Skip for a few years. But he didn’t care and neither did I. We were like two rocks on different Ozark hillsides, trying to hold the soil in place while it washed away beneath our feet. And it was enough to know the other rock was over yonder doing the same.
Skip was an outlaw and a redneck in the best sense of those words. He lived his life in total opposition to the system and took part in it’s charades as little as possible. He never required or demanded anyone’s attention. I’m not sure I’ve met another man with more quiet integrity.
Whatever heaven is, Skip is there and this pathetic excuse for a world is worse off without him. He represents a dying breed of kind selfless independent folk, real human beings who are not tethered to a particular Facebook meme, socially-engineered grouping or dogmatic badge. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that shallow-minded horseshit.
I can see Skip now, riding down some endless highway on a Harley, his long hair flying in the wind, smoking a fatty and laughing lovingly at this ridiculous shadow world he has left in the dust.
You will be missed and I’ll see you on the other side. Ride on Brother Skip!
Dean Henderson is the author of five books: Big Oil & Their Bankers in the Persian Gulf: Four Horsemen, Eight Families & Their Global Intelligence, Narcotics & Terror Network, The Grateful Unrich: Revolution in 50 Countries, Stickin’ it to the Matrix, The Federal Reserve Cartel & Illuminati Agenda 21: The Luciferian Plan to Destroy Creation.