Anyone watch the Debate to Determine the First Loser last night?
Of course you didn’t. Because you already know that life, like the GOP pestilential campaign, is nasty, brutish, and short.
I haven’t read any of the coverage and don’t intend to because see previous graf.
In other news, Chris Christie finally conceded that he’s not enough of an asshole to out-trump You Know Who, but just enough of one to hot-mic’ his rivals for the roses in what has been a one-horse’s-ass race since the starter’s pistol fired. All the other entrants are basically carousel ponies, going up and down, and around in circles, and winding up right back where they started, a reminder that money can’t buy everything.
Buy the ticket, take the ride, as Hunter S. Thompson has taught us. Better yet, get someone else to buy your ticket. That way you don’t wind up a few hundred million in the red and sitting atop a suitcase on the curb in front of what used to be your home.
Elsewhere, one of You Know Who’s judges decided he didn’t want to hear “Mein Kampf” as filtered through a damp XXXL set of gold-lamé Depends in YKW’s civil-fraud trial and thus we are spared “a closing argument” that would have made the Delta House charter hearing in “Animal House” sound like “Inherit the Wind.”
Finally, here in The Duck! City the weather is fixing to take a turn for the worse, so yesterday I decided to slip out for a short ride on the Tramway bike path.
While motoring around on errands I had noticed that while the roads were still covered in red salt and sand, the bike path was clean as a whistle, so I opted for a quick spin to the County Line BBQ and back, just to keep the muscle memory from toppling over into dementia.
Today is looking more like a run type of situation, as the wizards are calling for plummeting temps, gusty winds, and plenty of the old suckee-suckee. Cycling was cold enough yesterday; no point in adding to whatever wind chill Itztlacoliuhqui has queued up. Coals to Newcastle, that is.
Happily, I’m not running for anything. Not even Christie’s people are dim enough to chuck good money down my little pasatiempo.
Mad Blog Media 
“Elsewhere, one of You Know Who’s judges decided he didn’t want to hear “Mein Kampf” as filtered through a damp XXXL set of gold-lamé Depends in YKW’s civil-fraud trial and thus we are spared “a closing argument” that would have made the Delta House charter hearing in “Animal House” sound like “Inherit the Wind.””
PO’G: Your description is Pulitzer quality! Well played, mi amigo!
Thank you, sir. That one woke me up this morning and I had to run out to the office to jot it down before I forgot it.
Yea, what JD said! First class word wrangler painted a nasty picture that my brain refused to develop.
Is that a Reynolds tubing decal I see on the Voodoo’s down tube? 853 perhaps?
Political debates, of any kind, usually tell you nothing meaningful even with good questions from the moderators or audience, especially between those two dumpster loving cowards.
We are getting flurries right now with winds 30 to 40 and gusts to 55mph. But, Sandy is making home made pizza, and I got the spinach and romaine salads ready earlier. Time to put some WAR on the stereo for baking followed by Keb Mo for eating.
Gracias, señor. Yep, Reynolds 853 in the main triangle. The old Wazoo was a damn’ nice cyclocross bike, very affordable. This is the one I switched to the flat bar and single thumbshifter after dislocating my left birdie finger in a crash on wet ice back in November 2009.
The weather here is nearly erratic as You Know Who. Happily, the trail run is already in the bag. I’m thinking beef enchiladas smothered in red chile with sides of beans and rice for dinner. But pizza sounds good too.
She makes the dough from scratch. I make the sauce in a large batch and freeze it in empty Talenti gelato jars. Topped it with grilled chicken breast, bell peppers, sweet onion, and mozzarella. Tasty, heh? Plus I can eat a cold slice the next morning with some warm and flat beer.