There’s a hint of color down to the bosque — not much, just a smidge, but it’s there.
Lots of folks out yesterday, on all manner of machinery, from tri-bikes to e-bikes to them stodgy old steel boys you can hang the luggage on.
I liked it so much I went back there today. Forty-five miles yesterday, but only 33 today (different routes).
Beats the hell out of keeping up with the news. Can you imagine the shitstorm if Obama … aw, who am I kidding? Of course you can.
It’s not quite autumn yet, but what the hell. Behold the green chile chicken enchiladas with arroz verde.
As I was getting set to hop in the shower last night I saw movement in my peripheral vision, and holy shit, there was a largish vinegaroon, lurking down by the baseboard near the sink.
I clapped a plastic chile container over him (or her), slid a record album underneath (Stray Cats, “Built for Speed”), and ferried her (or him) out the front door.
We don’t like having scary things scuttling around and about in our house, and we remove them with a minimum of violence as quickly as we are able, because nobody who lives in our house is a fucking idiot.
Speaking of which, “What do we want? When do we want it?” Seriously? Jesus, people, find a new hymn to sing. That’s got as much white hair in its ears as “Hey hey, ho ho.”
Monday is trash pickup day here in the cul-de-sac.
In Rio Gabacho, however, the trash is being delivered.
The good news is, the Mickey D’s on NM 528 is gonna make bank today. Unless he stiffs them, which wouldn’t surprise anyone who’s ever done business with the crooked sonofabitch. One of the SS boys flashes a piece in the drive-thru and that’s that. Another free Happy Meal for ’Is Lardship. So much winning.
The usual protests are planned, of course. Here’s hoping the anarchists stay home, waxing their weasels into their black bandanas and denying the media its both-sides narrative, and that the hippies at Tiguex Park have a couple new chants worked up for the TV cameras. I don’t care how much weed you smoke, that “hey hey, ho ho” shit hit its sell-by date in the Nixon administration.
Did Monday come early?
The coffeemaker croaked before I could get my morning fix, compelling me to brew java The Cowboy Way (via pour-over into a Thermos). And our Sunday bike ride looks to be rained out.
Ah, well. They still sell slave-made coffeemakers here in the Land of the Free. And rain is good for the vegetation.
Speaking of vegetables, with any luck at all the rain will continue through tomorrow’s Two Minutes Hate, so Ginger Hitler’s Red Caps can get their bodies washed along with their brains, if any. No amount of rain could wash the dumb off they ass, though.
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