Boo
Month: October 2012
Cinéma not-so vérité
There goes the (Hyborian) neighborhood: It seems the 65-year-old Arnold Schwarzenegger plans to reprise his role as Conan the Barbarian in “The Legend of Conan,” another sword-and-sorcery epic scheduled for release in 2014.
There is probably no truth to the rumor that the Governator is simultaneously working on a monster movie set in the gritty world of professional cycling. Said to have the working title “Frankenhein,” it stars Woody Harrelson as Lance Armstrong, Schwarzenegger as Hein Verbruggen and a gray-flannel bag of bullshit as Pat McQuaid.
The winter of my distemper
Whaddaya know? Seems it’s not gonna be 70-something and sunny forever.
It was bite-ass cold this morning, and thank God only Herself had to be up and at ’em early. Me, I burrowed ever deeper into the blankets and stayed there until the crack of 7:30, when it was still too friggin’ cold for my taste. Why, I actually contemplated pulling on the old sweat pants once I tunneled out in search of hot coffee.
Happily, one need only read the morning news to get the blood boiling.
The UCI is starting to look like a Dumpster full of rats into which a lit string of inch-and-a-half Black Cats has been introduced. I’d prefer to nuke the entire site from orbit (it’s the only way to be sure), but if I can’t get a big bang I’ll take a series of little ones.
More shoes are said to be dropping directly (think an earthquake whose epicenter is directly under Imelda Marcos’ closet), so if it sounds like the combined New York, Boston and Chicago marathons are pounding by outside your window, well, you heard it here first.
Elsewhere, John McCain is about three brain cells away from telling squirrels to get off his fucking lawn. The whole point of marrying into the booze business is to avoid drinking the cheap popskull that dissolves you into an asshole and a mouth with nothing in between. I married into the book business, f’fucksake, but you don’t see me reading any of Sean Hannity’s bullshit.
Speaking of which, and finally, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog was at the last debate. So there is some good news after all.
Public service announcement
I don’t often make pitches like this, but a friend and colleague finds himself in something of a financial hole and I’d like to help some other friends throw him a long green rope.
Patrick Brady, the guiding light behind the website Red Kite Prayer, provided space and funds to Charles Pelkey and John Wilcockson last year when they found themselves abruptly double-flatted with no spares in three-legged-pit-bull country. Now Padraig himself is in something of a pickle, having kissed the planet at speed and, as a consequence, incurred some medical bills to which the insurance company is giving the old ho ho ho.
Long story short, another friend is soliciting small donations on Padraig’s behalf — basically, the equivalent of a tasty microbrew that one might buy for a riding buddy — and if you feel moved to kick in a fin or two I will see to it that he personally kisses you on the lips once his lips are more or less back where they belong. That is all.
Foreign affairs
Monday served up one helluva wild ride on the Schadenfreude Express.
It began with Texus Maximus going all minimus, from seven Tour de France victories down to two stage wins and a 36th-overall finish in 1995. And it ended with LL Cool Prez making a punk and a chump out of the RomneyBot v2.012, which came off looking like it would get laughed out of a Know-Nothing primary for a school-board seat in Stumpbroke, Mississippi.
The Cyclist Who Shall Not Be Named (TCWSNBN) was always a poor winner and a worse loser, and it must’ve really stung to be called out from the pulpit by Fat Paddy, that braying, gray-flannel bag of porter farts.
Always one to insist that the UCI’s glossy image remain untarnished, via defamation lawsuit if necessary, the blustering bog-trotter took a respite from casting out the big yellow devil to call Tyler Hamilton and Floyd Landis “scumbags.” Before the word had finished leaving his flapping piehole a thousand lawyers had offered their services to the two whistleblowers, and I will be surprised if the suits weren’t filed before the echoes died.
TCWSNBN will need his own army of shysters going forward, as everybody and his granny wants a refund with interest — Amaury Sports Organization, SCA Promotions, the Sunday Times and pretty much anyone who bought his books, bracelets or bullshit. And there’s that dormant federal inquiry, which could wake up if the U.S. attorney suddenly grows a pair.
In point of fact, there was no shortage of shoe leather being applied to the fallen idol over the course of what must have been a very long day indeed. It was only fair, since he was rarely shy about getting his own Nikes into prostrate rivals when he was on top. There’s no point in putting someone on the deck if you’re not going to give them the boot. It’s American as fraud, coercion, intimidation, bribery and perjury.
Speaking of boots, LL Cool Prez kicked the RomneyBot’s ass so hard that it will be tasting shoe leather until Election Day. I was all for skipping this final debate, but Herself insisted on watching, and I’m glad we did, if only to enjoy the ‘Bot’s stammering and sweating. For a while it looked like its hair was pissing on its head to keep its positronic brain from catching fire.
Whether the drubbing will have any effect remains to be seen. Elsewhere on TV highly paid professionals were playing with their balls and Herself and I may have constituted the entire PBS audience. Still, we enjoyed ourselves. I thought at one point that the prez might just lean back, park his dogs on the desk, lace his fingers behind his head, and let the ‘Bot keep digging its own political grave. “Keep it up, never mind me, you’re doing just fine.”
Today it’s back to business as usual. Apple is unleashing a few more must-have toys for anyone who still has a job, the Tour is preparing to announce the route of its centenary event, and I plan to get in one more long ride before the weather goes south.
Mad Blog Media 