For the mainstream, straight art world and for the world of performance art, if they had known about The Bodacious Buggerrilla, it would have been like experiencing a “scream,” “a field holler” from a chain gang, disquieting, alien, and insistent. It would have, in fact, been a cry for fundamental change. Bodacious didn’t come out of the whitewashed artist studios, the galleries or the museums of the art world, it was a creation of day laborers, students, janitors, and single-parent mothers. Bodacious came out of the back alleys, the jazz joints, and the rituals of the black church. It came out onto the street, and when it came, Bodacious came “hard.” It was loud, raucous, raw, and irreverent. It was black guerrilla theater, performance, and radical farce. It was angry, compassionate, loving, and hopeful all rolled into one. It was Screaming Jay Hawkins, John Coltrane, “my man Miles,” and “Brother” Malcolm. It was surreal, sarcastic, and funky. We are talking about The Bodacious Buggerrilla who used grotesque caricatures of “Big Government,” “Big Business,” “Uncle Tom,” and the LAPD to examine, critique, and expose the political corruption and atrocities of our time.