The Lord High Mayor spoke from the Orchid Office atop Slob’s Knob.
The Lord High Mayor of Slobbiton, Douche Baggins, addressed the people this fair morn.
He announced that Iran “appears to be standing down,” and declared that Slobbiton stood ready “to embrace peace with all who seek it,” especially if they happen to be porn stars (there’s nothing like embracing a piece of a porn star).
He also denied rumors that Slobbiton would resume conscripting young Slobbitonians for its various misadventures abroad, adding that even if such an order were to be issued, it would be easily dodged.
“Trust me,” he said with a knowing wink. “I ran, and you can too.”
Some days it wakes up late, isn’t where it should have been. On others, it strolls about, looking at the shops. It rarely buys anything, but occasionally posts a letter on its way home.
On still others, it examines the news, roots through a pile of old journals and training logs, hears an old tune in its head, thinks it’s made some tenuous, possibly spurious connection, shambles into the studio, and cranks out a podcast.
Yes, yes, yes, it’s time for a literary edition of Radio Free Dogpatch, the first of 2020.
P L A Y R A D I O F R E E D O G P A T C H
• Technical notes: This episode was recorded with an Shure SM58 microphone and a Zoom H5 Handy Recorder. I edited the audio using Apple’s GarageBand on the 13-inch 2014 MacBook Pro. The background music is “As Time Passes,” from Zapsplat.com, which also supplied the sound of a pen scribbling furiously on paper. Yeah, I know, I could’ve handled that myself, but I was on the threshold of a dream. Speaking of which, The Moody Blues supplied bits from “Dear Diary,” from “On the Threshold of a Dream.” Finally, “Remember, thou art mortal” was lifted from “History of the World, Part I,” by Mel Brooks.
Jaysis. I have no idea why the tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free keep coming here.
Maybe they’re thinking: “Well, they hardly ever bomb anyone inside their own borders. Even the brown people.”
And they may have something there. I refer you to the late Professor Carlin: “You don’t have to be a history major or a political scientist to see the Bigger Dick Foreign Policy Theory. … It’s a subconscious need to project the penis into other people’s affairs. It’s called ‘fucking with people.'”
But then again, we have the Bill Burr Theory of Homeland Defense and Immigration Control: “You’re gonna build a wall from fuckin’ California to Texas? You actually think you’re gonna get this done? Look at the Freedom Tower. We actually wanted that shit, and it took almost 15 years to get it done. Half the people don’t even want this fuckin’ thing. … I’m telling you, by the time they finished it, this country would be so fucked up we’re gonna be the ones going over it.”
If Professor Burr is correct, it would seem that the Bigger Dick Theory applies to domestic affairs as well. They fuck with us here, too. Maybe all you brown people should save yourselves the climb.
Your Humble Narrator logging some trail miles during 2019.
I awarded myself a day off yesterday, which is no way to jump-start a new year.
Did Albuquerque’s evildoers take some well-deserved downtime after a blue-ribbon year that saw them crush the old record for homicide by 10 stiffs (72 in 2017)? They did not. They got right back after it in the wee hours of New Year’s Day, dropping a body on the northwest side, after a New Year’s Eve in which APD took 146 “shots fired” calls.
Me, I didn’t even clear leather. I puttered around the shack, wandered over to the grocery to acquire a bit of this, that, and the other, whipped up a largish pot of simple posole, and updated a few stats in the old training log from 2019.
It seems I covered 3,704.6 miles last year aboard various bikes, continuing a steady upward progression from 2016, when I managed just 2,354.1 miles.
This is far from impressive. Back in 1989, when I was a man, instead of whatever it is that I am now, I rode 6,725 miles. Booyah! Big number, yeah?
No. Not really. Not when you consider that Gary Fisher tallied 6,500 miles in 2019. And he’s 69.
So I’d better get back after it. But not today. Today looks like light snow, with a high in the 30s and a brisk northwest wind.
Maybe a short trail run? I wonder how many miles The Fish’ ran in 2019. …
Mad Blog Media 