If anyone thinks the NRA is a voice for responsible gun owners and not a shameless shill for the bang-bang biz, well, ol’ Wayne LaPierre sure wised ’em up today.
This guy is a walking, talking 90-round drum of full-auto, armor-piercing batshit. And the only solution to him and those like him is to go full-bore after the merchants of death who prop his dumb ass up in front of the cameras when he so clearly belongs in a rubber condo, getting daily doses of Edison medicine.
The USA Pro Challenge peloton zips down Tejon Street in Bibleburg in the 2012 edition. Photo: Herself | Mad Dog Media
The USA Pro Challenge (which is still a stupid name) has unveiled its route for 2013, and maybe it’s time to start calling the race the Tour of Colorado Ski Country USA (which is equally stupid, but at least tells you something about the event).
No Durango. No Colorado Springs. No Boulder. Yes to Aspen/Snowmass, Breckenridge, Steamboat Springs, Beaver Creek and Vail.
Loveland/Fort Collins made the cut, which is good, as Fort Collins has a rockin’ cycling scene. And Denver appears to be a mortal lock as the event’s Champs-Élysées; last year’s snoozer of a time trial is history in favor of a circuit race.
But it’s too bad that Southern Colorado gets shut out. There’s already bugger-all for lesser events south of the Palmer Divide — those tree-hugging sissies in Boulder are afeared that Jeebus and/or the NRA will git ’em if they dare to venture down this way to race they bicycles — and now anyone who wants to see The Big Show will have to crank up the idiot box or the family tank.
Ski areas have all the infrastructure (especially the green folding kind) that an event like this requires, of course. And it certainly doesn’t help that organizers have been known to pull enticing attendance figures right out of their asses, irking locals who found themselves coughing up big bucks for very little bang. Still, it would be neat to see the Stupidly Named Race visit less-heralded locations like Pueblo, Trinidad, Cuchara, Weirdcliffe or Function Junction.
I’d like to see a real weirdo stage that concluded up Phantom Canyon Road to Cripple Creek-Victor, or worked in Pass Creek Road and Old La Veta Pass. But I’m funny that way. Maybe not. Ain’t enough gold in them thar hills, I’m a-guessin’.
A federal District Court judge in Denver has sided with the American Civil Liberties Union of Colorado, issuing a preliminary injunction that prevents Bibleburg from enforcing its “no-solicitation zone” (read: downtown anti-begging ordinance) pending further legal tomfoolery.
Meanwhile, El Paso County has given initial approval to an ordinance that would ban recreational marijuana businesses in unincorporated areas of the county.
So, does this mean we have a First Amendment right to beg for weed downtown? I’m so confused.
That’s a weapon for every human, cat and dog in the house, though our four-legged citizens lack opposable thumbs and therefore decline to bear arms.
Some days there are no words.
I’ve tried several times to write something sensible about the massacre in Connecticut, but there is no sense to be made of it. Alas, there is plenty of nonsense to be made of it, which may be the primary reason I’ve been keeping my big yap shut on the matter.
The Second Amendment absolutists — among them the renowned Constitutional scholar Rep. Louie Gohmert (R-Asshat) — are clamoring for more guns. Um, no, shit-for-brains, issuing M4 carbines to school principals is not the solution. I wouldn’t have made it out of seventh grade alive had my principal been packing.
Our goal here is, or should be, to deny military-grade armaments to the insane (like Rep. Gohmert, who should not be allowed to carry a dime-store squirt gun, even if his mommy promises it’s unloaded).
But how do we get there past the Second Amendment, which has kept lawyers, judges and grammarians scratching their heads for the life of the Republic?
“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”
Christ, do I ever wish the framers had hired a copy editor to work that sucker over before committing it to posterity. But they didn’t, and as a consequence a certain subset of the citizenry dasn’t answer a knock on the door without an AR-15 and a 90-round drum magazine in the old umbrella stand.
Mind you, I’m a gun owner. Actually, make that “guns owner” because I have five of them — a .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 19 Combat Magnum revolver; a 7.62x39mm Ruger Mini-Thirty semi-automatic carbine with a couple 10-round magazines; a Ruger 10-22 semi-auto .22 carbine with a 30-round magazine; a .357 Magnum Marlin lever-action saddle gun; and a boxy-looking S&W Model 22A .22 target pistol that will carry 10 in the mag’ and one in the chamber.
Buying them was about as troublesome as scoring a six-pack from the neighborhood grog shop, and if making the purchase process more onerous would save one human life, well, call me a limp-wristed, tyrant-hugging traitor, but I’m all for it.
In fact, I’ve already made inquiries about selling the entire arsenal, ammo dump and all, to some responsible party in the country, for use in protein collection and/or varmint dispersal. I don’t anticipate a visit from the blue helmets and black helicopters anytime soon, nor do I feel up to toppling the government right this minute.
Besides, the goddamn things look like dead children to me.
At times one wonders how many of the online readers of VeloNews.com were the only children of overprotective hippie parents, Montessori grads, or home-schooled by feebs who think the Bible was written in American by dinosaur-riding Christian cowboys.
Velo’s annual awards issue names the Schleck brothers the International Disappointment of the Year and the comments section fairly overflows with tears on the Luxembourgers’ behalf. I’ll bet the Suits who pay their salaries are muttering, “You fuckin’ A,” along with more than a few of their teammates and maybe even their old man.
Some of these sensitive types who think the cycling press should focus only on sweetness and light should re-examine the last 15 years of uncritical paeans to various dope fiends for a refresher on just how well that worked out. They might also skim some of our mainstream sports coverage, in which underachieving, overpaid stars are routinely power-washed with ice-cold horseshit by fat fucks whose primary athletic achievement is getting out of bed in the morning without stroking out.
Hell, Andy Schleck would hang himself over the bidet by his pantyhose if his every utterance was “enhanced” by a comments section. You give me 20 percent of his 2012 salary for riding the pine and I’ll have 15 years’ worth of my hate mail tattooed on my body. There should be just enough room if we keep the text to 5.5 point, the size sports pages once used for results.
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