Reading for comprehension

February 28, 2011February 28, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments

There is at least a partial solution to be found in one Coloradan’s complaint about the rising cost of fuel. See if you can find it:

For drivers such as Robert Wagner, 51, a high school teacher from Thornton, Colo., the higher fuel costs mean cutting back on movies and dinners out for him, his wife and their two children. “We’re very, very frugal right now,” he said as he trickled enough $3.09-per-gallon gasoline into his Chevrolet Suburban to get him to his next pay day.

Now try to figure out who will get the blame for this appalling state of affairs. Will it be (a) auto-motoring Americans who insist on surrounding themselves with more armor plating than a phalanx of Middle Ages knights aboard Percherons, or (2) a Kenyan-born Muslim socialist richly deserving of impeachment?

And the Oscar for flat repair goes to …

February 27, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Mikey O'Schenk goes soft on me — You should never assume this position so close to Nude Life Church.

While the rest of the world was wrestling with big issues — union-busting, dictator-toppling and the Academy Awards — Mikey O’Schenk and I tackled the small shit, like stopping twice on today’s ride to deal with a softening rear tire.

The first time O’Schenk felt his rim kissing Mother Earth we stopped to air the leaky sumbitch up a tad and continued along our merry way through the Air Force Academy. Alas, that temporary fix wrote a permanent finis to the tube, as he managed to pull the guts out of the valve when unhitching the pump.

So I loaned him one of my spares — O’Schenk usually rides with one while I pack three, one for each of my velo-personalities — and we limped on home. This is not a figure of speech, as O’Schenk had run a 20km footrace the day before and was feeling the burn.

I hadn’t done diddley and was as frisky as a young stoat, which must have been irksome to my companion, who is several years my senior. A couple, anyway. OK, call it a year and change. This is a creative process I’m involved in here, and if it occasionally demands that I simply make stuff up, well, so be it.

Gadhafi my lawn, you young punks!

February 25, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

However you spell him, Col. Moammar Gadhafi appears to have a serious case of the brain cramp going on. Long thought to be as crazy as the proverbial shithouse rat, he’s backed into a corner in Tripoli and vowing to fight to the end, whatever that may be.

McClatchy offers an interesting capsule glimpse of “The King of Kings,” and it seems that if he were just a teensy bit loonier and a skosh dumber, why, he could be a House Republican from Colorado or perhaps a candidate for the presidency of the United States.

A late review

February 24, 2011February 24, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

Good Lord. Did Donald Rumsfeld play Jon Stewart like a harp or what? We watch “The Daily Show” a day late via streaming Innertubes and that shit was painful to see, like watching a mean cat play with a sick mouse. I haven’t seen a contemptuous beat-down like that since Darth Cheney flogged John Edwards in their vice-presidential debate. A bunch of us watched that one-sided pissing match at a faux Vegas beanery during Interbike and there just wasn’t enough beer and tequila to make us think the lefty was getting the job done.

Meanwhile, the price of regular unleaded shot up a dime per gallon between Monday evening and Thursday afternoon. Blending light, sweet crude with the blood of Libyan revolutionaries is apparently a pricey endeavor.

Pimps up, hos down

February 21, 2011February 21, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 30 Comments

Today, Turkish (a.k.a. Turkenstein, The Turkinator, Mighty Whitey, Big Pussy, et al.) and Miss Mia Sopaipilla present a bit of guerrilla theater illustrating the two-tiered system being forced upon us by the oligarchs.

The Turk’ represents the moneyed elites (fat, white, enjoying the view from the penthouse) while Mia portrays the downtrodden proletariat (of color, hunkered down in the shabby basement of the economy, yearning for the bright light of freedom from oppression).

Now and then the Turk’ reaches down and gives her a swat, just ’cause he can. She puts up with it for a while, then casts off her chains, pins back her ears and chases the big capitalist bastard round and round the house until he accedes to her demands for equal access to the litter box, the occasional half-sardine and the Tower of Meower, which is to be designated The Turkintower or Mia Mountain depending upon which of them is in residence at the time.

At no point does the deficit come up for discussion.