Oh, to live on Butthurt Mountain, with the barkers and the coiored balloons. …
Ho, ho. Texas Ted Cruz, the Gucci Shitkicker, who never saw a line he wouldn’t cross, wants to get Western with Ronald McDonald Trump over a perceived insult to his special lady.
What’s it gonna be, fellas? Secret Service details at 50 paces? Or maybe it’s Cruz getting all “West Side Story” with his monogrammed Harvard Law letter opener while Il Douche defends with a gang of undocumented Eastern European laborers erecting a yuuuuuuuuge wall of Chinese bricks purchased with someone else’s money.
“Spouses are generally seen as off limits,” says The New York Times. Uh huh. Tell that to the Hilldebeast and Michelle Obama, guys.
But how about mamas? It can’t be long before we’re into the yo’-mama stuff, right?
Jesus H. Christ. Remember when Republicans were the tough guys? Once they boldly hunted commies under America’s bed; now they cower beneath it like Chihuahua puppies afeared of the UPS man.
Who does look suspiciously coffee-colored, come to think of it. Ask him to quote from Two Corinthians to prove he’s a good Christian like the rest of us.
And no, I’m not talking about the old gag, “Two Corinthians walk into a bar. …”
My 1995 DBR Axis TT still sports a little bit of Bibleburg here and there.
Daylight-saving time is still messing with my mojo.
I’m not a morning person by nature, but I do like getting my daily exercise in early-ish. But since the early-ish temps have been a little brisk lately, I’ve been waiting until afternoon to crack a sweat — my least favorite time for that sort of thing.
Still, there’s no denying that it’s warmer at 3 p.m. than it is at 10 a.m. And apparently I’m not the only person who likes it that way, because by the time I hit the trail on the old DBR mountain bike yesterday everybody and his grandma was out there, too.
The only decal on the Axis TT.
I hadn’t ridden this bike in, like, forever — it still sports some reddish mud that may come from the Monument Valley Park trail back in Bibleburg — and it took some getting used to. If you consume a steady diet of rigid, drop-bar, disc-brake 29ers, well, a front-suspension, flat-bar, V-brake 26er is gonna feel a little weird.
And I was never much of a mountain biker anyway. Ask anyone who ever saw me ride one.
So, anyway, after dodging a metric shit-ton of oblivious pedestrians, off-the-leash dogs and other mobile speed bumps, and nearly stuffing it in a tight, downhill, left-hand corner, I said to hell with it and headed for home.
Rolling toward Piedra Lisa I pulled to the side of the trail to accommodate yet another parade of folks, this time a string of mountain bikers, and one said, “Hey, nice Diamondback!”
Dude either knows his vintage machinery or has the telescopic vision of a young Superman, because the only identifying decal on my 1995 DBR Axis TT is at the base of the seat tube, and its only remaining stock bits are the AC crankset and XT derailleurs.
Speaking of bike bits, Nick Legan, the tech editor for Adventure Cyclist, has a new blog going when he has a moment to catch his breath. You should check it out.
The vernal equinox is named for Vern, the ancient Roman god of aeration. The illegitimate offspring of the lesser deities Benadryl, god of drying up, and Kleenex, god of mopping up, Vern (like Your Humble Narrator) had a small but entirely deranged following; his was dedicated to perforating nouns, which is to say people, places and things. Especially people.
The conspirators who did for Julius Caesar were all dedicated Vernalites, though they claimed afterward that their knifework was intended to permit vital fluids to gain entrance rather than draining them.
Indeed, among the Vernalites a certain belligerent thickheadedness was considered a blessing rather than a curse, and today we can find their descendants manning customer-service “help” desks, hosting the morning drive-time “zoo” at local radio stations, and running for president on the GOP ticket.
Mad Blog Media 