Y’know, it’s really pointless trying to write funny stuff for money when there’s so much hysterical free stuff already out there. Satire is a very poor second to the real deal. Case in point: Texts From Last Night. Some examples:
(859): im in a kiddie pool, high, with a keg in arms reach. If i had a sandwich and a blowjob this would be the best day ever
(312): I’m peeing chunks and puking liquid. Did I at least have fun last night?
(610): Where did you get a picture of my penis
(201): whoever gets the blood i just donated is getting a shit ton of free thc
From our The More Things Change Etc. Department comes this cartoon by Pat Oliphant, circa 1976. This is not the first time the swine have sought revenge upon the long pigs for turning them into chops, bacon and green chile stew, and it won’t be the last.
In other news, the prez met the press again last night, and once again I was struck by how pleasant it is to hear an occupant of the Oval Office speaking in complete sentences free of pointless rancor, no matter how idiotic the question.
Speaking of idiots, Rep. Michele Bachmann (R-Bizarro World) seems to be out to take the title of Most Crazed Legislator from the Colorado delegation, renowned for heavyweight nutjobs like Tom Tancredo and Marilyn Musgrave. Notes Steve Benen at Political Animal in recounting Bachmann’s latest vacation from reality:
The economy under Coolidge was worse than the Great Depression? That’s pretty nutty. The New Deal created the Great Depression? That’s certainly yahooism at its finest.
But of particular interest is Bachmann’s belief that FDR passed “the Hoot-Smalley Act” and that “took a recession and blew it into a full-scale depression.” First, the name of the law was “Smoot-Hawley.” Second, it’s a real stretch to argue that it was responsible for the Great Depression. And third, the Smoot-Hawley bill was championed by Republicans and signed by Herbert Hoover, FDR’s Republican predecessor.
Bachmann is blaming FDR for a law sponsored by Republicans, which was implemented three years before he took office.
Perhaps Bachmann is thinking of the Hoot-Smalley Act, drafted by Hoot Gibson and Stuart Smalley, which created the Daily Affirmations 12 Step Program for Those Addicted to 12 Step Programs.
I’ve never followed the Tour of the Gila in person, though I’ve written it up long-distance and edited other people’s on-site coverage. This year sounds like a good one to continue that tradition of maintaining a safe distance, since the UCI seems to have gotten all exercised about the idea of a trio of Astanas — Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer and Chris Horner — toeing the start line at the start Wednesday in Silver City, New Mexico.
What transpired since the UCI nixed their appearance depends upon what you read, whom you believe and whether you trust the translations of what was said. But the long and the short of it seems to be that the promoter pitched a bitch, USA Cycling and the UCI spent a couple of days hunting an out, and hey presto! The ProTour Astana trio is cleared to race — not in Astana duds, but in kit from Mellow Johnny’s, Big Tex’s Austin bike shop.
The Continental Pro boys from BMC, meanwhile — who reportedly trucked the entire road show in, ready to race a full eight-man team — are likewise whittled down to a trio, one that can’t fly the BMC flag. Somehow I doubt they’ll be rocking the MJ kit in solidarity.
It all sounds like so much ice-cold horseshit to me. I’m with m’man Chris Horner, who told my colleagues at VeloNews: “It’s a pro race, you should be allowed to race your bike. If we are skipping ProTour races to do a non-ProTour event, then it makes sense. But you should never, never, never just not allow a rider to race his bike. … Every man should be afforded the right to work.”
We’ve enjoyed a couple days of rain here in Bibleburg. It’s a nice change from precip’ you have to shovel, but it makes the trails awful gooey, especially in Palmer Park, where most of the nifty single-track has a clay base that holds onto tire tracks the way a bog-trotter does grudges.
No matter. I haven’t had a chance to get out anyway. Too busy serving up news nuggets out of the old velo-barrel. I don’t work much or very hard, not compared to most folks, but the chores do tend to bunch up every other week, making Sunday through Wednesday feel like Bizarro Santa’s workshop on Dec. 24, with platoons of red-eyed elves scurrying around like roaches and the fat man barking orders. Fill the bag, bitches, time’s a-wastin’. Places to go, people to see.
Some light work for VeloNews.com drifted over from Monday into this morning. That done, it’s time to crank up the laugh factory for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, which requires a distinct shifting of mental gears. Grinding and clashing noises ensue.
During my 11 years as a newspaper copy editor I rarely wrote anything under my own byline. Something about banging away on other people’s stories dulls the desire to tell any of your own; for me, at least. Writing comes mores easily now that I’m not a full-time rim rat, but occasionally it still feels like trying to start the White Tornado on a winter morning. Floor it three or four times, twist the key, hear her crank, c’mon you sonofabitch … errr rrr rrr … stomp stomp … errr rrr rrr … stomp stomp stomp … errr rrr rrr. …
Chairman Meow's tomb is a colorful sight come springtime.
Chasing typos around the Intertubes instead of wheels along the trail. Feh. Sunday is no-fun day if you happen to be an editor for a cycling website, even a part-time one.
Each writer presents a different editorial challenge (some understand deadlines and English, others not so much); each promoter supplies results in a different fashion (HTML, Excel, PDF or not at all); each photographer has his own little quirks (giant jpgs with incomprehensible filenames, teensy jpgs with no captions). I, of course, bring my own peculiar habits (surly bibulousness) to the project.
Back in the day, when I was still a newspaperman instead of whatever it is that I am now, all these disparate personalities congregated under one roof, where we could all shout at each other over not much and then go get convivially shitfaced once the presses started rumbling.
Now we’re in Spain, Belgium, Wyoming, Boulder, Georgia, California and Bibleburg, and shouting over IM or via e-mail just isn’t the same. Plus a guy in León can hardly buy a round for another guy in Bibleburg, and vice versa.
We had more hands back in the day, too. We’re always undermanned at VeloNews.com, but this weekend the herd is especially thin for a number of perfectly defensible reasons. So instead of doing a little leisurely swashbuckling through a couple of short stories, I found myself pretty much glued to the office chair from 6:30 a.m. to late afternoon, hacking at this and that, frantically twisting my Strunk & White Secret Decoder Ring and muttering dire imprecations that would land you a chat with Human Resources in one of today’s newsrooms. And it ain’t over yet. California and Georgia have yet to check in. And they wonder why I drink.
I did get out to snap a couple pix of Chairman Meow’s tomb, though. She has a colorful honor guard again this spring, and if it ever rains, they should get plenty of reinforcements.
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