I know how it is. Every once in a while, you just want to go crazy, get naked, and hang out in downtown Norway. And I’d encourage it, friend, except you have that awful habit of wearing tube socks even when you are otherwise nude.

Why? Has nobody told you the ’70s are over?

It’s just unbelievable. For years, the annual orgy called Fudafest has been baking away in Norway and I haven’t been once. I’d like to tell you exactly how many years the hemp-soaked nudity fest has been going on, except when I go to the Fudafest Web site to research the matter, it says this:

“Dude, the server is temporarily unable to service your request due to maintenance downtime or capacity problems and stuff like that. Please try again later, man. OK? Awesome. Are you going to eat that onion ring?”

And I’m only making up part of that.

Organizationally impaired

I’ve said for years the only reason marijuana isn’t legal in this state is that pot-smokers are so lousy at organizing. Every year, they pass around a petition to legalize their weed of choice. Every year, 600 people sign it twice, forget to sign it or fall asleep in the middle of the signature. A couple of dozen people have actually eaten the petition.

It’s ugly. If those guys could clear their heads a little, we’d probably be using hemp as currency by now and Cheech Marin might be president.

Don’t get your bongs in a knot, Friends of Mary Jane. I have no beef with you. Though I’ve always gravitated toward beer-drinkers, I find you pot-smokers a charming lot. While my liquor-crazed friends are out staggering into parked cars and looking for fights, you’re home crashed on the couch, eating ice cream with Doritos and watching “The Benny Hill Show.”

The ’70s are over

Benny Hill every time. And while that stuff is hysterical under any circumstance, I’m going to say this again because I care for you very much: The ’70s are over. Change the channel and take off those ridiculous tube socks.

I’m rambling because I’m reluctant to get to the point, which is Fudafest. I’ve never been and that alone is a marvel.

I’m a fan of disobedience. Since I was a kid, I’ve recognized the necessity of questioning authority. I’ve always enjoyed the temerity of those who rally when they sense their personal freedoms being threatened. I envy those who make it their ambition to never lay down before the overbearing fist of government.

And yet, I’m too young to have protested Vietnam. When seething throngs were gathering to decry nuclear power in the ’80s, I was a kid more interested in the swelling sweaters of my female classmates.

While thousands protested global trade, I was meandering and unfamiliar with the terms “global” and “trade.”

I want to be angry, you know. I just can’t find the right reason to get that way.

Which is a real bitch because I want to go to Fudafest. I want to go because I enjoy calamity and chaos and nakedness a whole lot and I can’t afford to travel to San Francisco.

And it seems to me that if you end up at a frothing sea of personal indignation like Fudafest, you have to know why you are there. Are you there because you think pot should be legal? Are you there because the government has pushed you too far? Are you there because ever since you were 5 years old, you’ve had this weird craving to walk around a turn-of-the-century Main Street without any clothes, and holy crap, what a chance.

I like pot-smokers, for the most part. I like cops, too, except for those who give me tickets and make me put my clothes on.

And I get the feeling that this year’s Celebration of Pot and Love in Norway is going to turn into a weird shoving match between the two groups. I get that feeling because the Fudafest Web site just roused from a nap to announce itself thusly:

“FUDAFEST (Fully Unclothed Dancing Activism Festival) is a clothing optional protest against unjust laws, esp. marijuana laws.”

And then lower:

“Aaron Fuda started FUDAFEST in 1992 with the hopes of bringing the hippies, punks and metalheads together to fight for their rights. Their right to party, dance and be naked.

“The town of Norway has made it impossible for a proper FUDAFEST to exist, therefore WE are forced to protest in town.”

And then near the bottom of the page:

“ALWAYS SAY NO TO SEARCH. NEVER TRUST THE POLICE.”

And so joining the rising voices of reverie and protest I expect a sea of blue with voices of their own, pointing out each indiscretion as covered by the law. “What you hold in your hand is illegal! What you did behind that bush constitutes a felony! What you are doing on that Civil War cannon is not only illegal, but disgusting!”

Which is just the way it ought to be because if people are going to test the boundaries, there has to be someone there to point out where those boundaries are. And to me, that’s always educational and entertaining and I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

And so in anticipation of Fudafest, my best wishes for fun and safety. A toast to personal freedoms and another for the upholders of the law.

And a special cheer for the good people of Wal-Mart, where tube socks can be had for three bucks a dozen.

Mark LaFlamme covers crime for the Sun Journal. He much admires Walter Mitty.