Sunset with a side of Aurora

January 19, 2019

The Big Yellow Ball returned to the sky yesterday, as did the color blue.

We had a lovely bit of color yesterday afternoon to close out the work week.

If we’re lucky we might be back to what passes for normal around here, weather-wise, for the next few days, anyway.

The Jamis Aurora Elite, ready for its closeup.

This would be useful, as I have a Quick Spin video to finish for the Adventurous Cyclists. It concerns the Jamis Aurora Elite, which I last reviewed in June 2011.

It’s surprising how little the bike has changed over the years, and that goes double for the price, which has been pegged at $1,699 for the better part of quite some time.

That ain’t bad for a steel bike with rear rack and fenders. A small bright spot in an otherwise dark time.

Road trip!

January 18, 2019

“Next stop, Trump Tower. Whoops, did I say ‘Trump Tower?’
I meant ‘prison.'”

Oboy, it’s Infrastructure Week again!

Any chance we might start with a simple cobbled one-laner leading from the White House to USP Victorville, suitable for a fat bastard in a tar-and-feathers jumpsuit riding a splintery rail?

 

Here’s the turd, there’s the handle, what’s your hurry?

January 18, 2019

His Lardship on the throne.

Once again Charles P. Pierce breaks it all down so the rest of us can lean on our shovels.

Waiting for Mueller is now an unacceptable and inadequate response from the national legislature. Mueller’s job is to see if the president* and his minions should go to jail. The House’s job is to determine if the president* should not be the president* anymore.

Bring it. Impeach the sonofabitch. If nothing else you give him a fresh case of ants in his pants to distract him from rendering the Republic uninhabitable.

Here’s more, from Adam Serwer and Yoni Appelbaum at The Atlantic.

‘No, no, no, no …’

January 17, 2019

Meanwhile, from our No, No, No No No, No, No (Yes) Collusion Department. …

‘I’m not even supposed to be here today!’

January 17, 2019

“What kind of convenience store do you run here?”

Ho boy. If Kevin Smith isn’t all over this, he should be. “Clerks III: Roll Another One.” It’d beat the hell out of being a clerk at the Quick Stop, or an independent contractor on the Death Star.

Jay and Silent Bob would have to hustle to sell weed outside it, though. Maybe Trek could kick in a couple e-bikes so they could keep up.

Stand down, clown

January 16, 2019

We’re all bozos on this bus. Some of us more than others.

The speaker of the House lays an epic troll on Il Douche, suggesting that he postpone his State of the Union speech or submit it in writing.

I dunno. I don’t remember anything in the Constitution about black crayon and Big Chief tablets. Y’think he can manage it in  280 characters?

That’s what I call some prime-time Pelosi.

Stone free

January 15, 2019

His Excellency recovers from the tortures of the damned, a.k.a. a visit to the vet.

While the shit-mist continues to blot out Old Sol in DeeCee, we’ve had a little sunshine in our back door today.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) had been under the weather about a month back, and so I chauffeured him to his personal physician, who diagnosed a bit of arthritis in the hips and (of all things) a pair of stones in his bladder, an affliction with which we are all too familiar.

The vet recommended that we replace his dry kibble with a canned prescription diet and a side of nutriceutical antiinflammatory, then come back in 30 days to see whether the change in cuisine would solve the issue without more heroic measures.

If It didn’t — well, as I noted, we’ve been down this stony road before with the late, lamented Mister Boo. And we were not looking forward to approving yet another round of surgery on yet another of our comrades.

Today was the day for His Excellency’s followup visit, and not only did the Turk pass with flying colors (and without knifework), he’s actually shed a few ounces on the new diet.

Since his rock has apparently rolled, I played him a little Jimi to celebrate.

Roman hands and Russian fingers

January 14, 2019

A tip of Dr. Dogbyte’s scrub cap to Terry Gilliam’s “Twelve Monkeys.”

OK, lemme see if I have this right here:

It’s a disgrace to ask whether the pestilence of the Benighted States is a useful idiot stooging for the Russians.

But it’s OK to ask whether his predecessor was a Kenyan Muslim socialist not born in this country.

Got it.

Hard reign in Swamptown

January 12, 2019

What a blockhead.

The pestilence of the Benighted States, Wally O’Steele, a.k.a. Artie Deal, wants a Big, Beautiful Wall® at the nation’s southern boundary to keep brown people* from crossing the border to work anywhere other than at his hotels or golf courses.

Unable to procure funding for same, he has instead walled off the feddle gummint from its own tax-paying citizens, idling more than a few of them in the process and forcing others to work without pay while selling their Christmas presents on eBay to keep from freezing to death in the dark.

It’s a hard reign, and the water — if that’s what it is — just keeps rising.

Man the lifeboats and rig for heavy seas, matey — it’s the latest episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

* Russian oligarchs and Saudi princelings get a pass, of course, along with a coupon for a complimentary fluff and fold at Artie Deal’s Motor Inn & Money Laundry.

 

P L A Y    R A D I O    F R E E    D O G P A T C H

• Technical notes: This episode was recorded with a Shure SM58 microphone and a Zoom H5 Handy Recorder. Additional bad noise via an Audio-Technica ATR2100-USB mic and a Sony ICD-UX533. I edited this hot mess using a Behringer XENYX 1200USB mixer wired to a 2014 MacBook Pro with an external LG 24MP59HT-P monitor and Apple’s GarageBand. Obligatory Cultural References From Bygone Days© courtesy the Bard of Hibbing.

Girl Scouts to pay for Wall?

January 10, 2019

Eat me.

With neither Mexico nor the United States interested in underwriting his dreams of a Wall, President Wally O’Steele has proposed privatizing the project by handing it over to the Girl Scouts of Southwest Texas.

“They’re gonna have to sell something a helluva lot tastier than Thin Mints to make the nut, but that’s how the cookie crumbles, amirite?” slobbered O’Steele, flanked by his alleged wife Melons, wearing a Girl Scout uniform three sizes too small and lobbing condoms and poppers into a mostly empty Luby’s parking lot in McAllen, Texas.

“No Brownies!” he added, digging with a stubby finger at a crust of Adderall clogging one nostril. “Not on this side of my Wall, anyway.”

In other news, Samsung’s new washer/dryer lets you decide when you’d like it to explode.