How many different ways are there to write, “This fuckin’ mook is 300 pounds of bellowing bullshit in a 10-pound Brioni bag?”
Beats me. I’ve read a ton of variations on that theme, even had a few goes at it myself, to no particular effect. Manhattan Fats and his Brooks Brothers bandidos just keep rolling merrily along, stealing everything that isn’t screwed to the floor, stenciling his name in gold Krylon on whatever’s left, and bombing the rubble just to watch it bounce.
It’s like watching a CBS remake of “The Maltese Falcon” in which Kaspar Gutman grabs the bird, the real one, and gets away scot free, while Joel Cairo and Wilmer Cook announce their campaign for the White House, Brigid O’Shaughnessy gets a talk show and a book deal, and Sam Spade goes to jail. And we’re just supposed to sit down and watch.
Did I mention it’s a series, not a movie? On every channel and streaming service 24/7? And not so much as a tiny box of stale popcorn with a watered-down soda for the rubes. No fertilizer, no corn. Thanks, Obama!
Subscribe! Follow! Like! Share! CGI junk food in an A.I.-slop sauce. Eighty-six the side of fries. No fertilizer, no spuds. Thanks, Sleepy Joe!
It’s starting to feel like even the bots have run out of scrapes for this tepid potboiler. Take “It Can’t Happen Here,” “Idiocracy,” “Dr. Strangelove,” “It,” “Grapes of Wrath,” “Lost,” the final installment in “The Godfather” trilogy, and the entire Marvel Universe catalog (except for maybe “Iron Man,” which was really pretty cool), throw it all in a big-ass blender, purée the shit out of it until all the ingredients are completely unrecognizable, and serve with a side of Motel 6 toilet paper.
Are we all just hanging on in hopes the final season will include a riff on the “Godfather III” scene in which the Devil — like the rest of us, mumbling, “Awright, OK, enough awready” — finally cuts Michael Corleone’s strings, leaving him to topple out of his chair like the dirty old man Tyrone F. Horneigh falling off a park bench in “Laugh-In?”
Well … maybe that’s just me. And in any event, we should all remember that the rest of the mob did not perish alongside Michael.
*Apologies to Felix Mendelssohn and his “Songs Without Words.”
Mad Blog Media 
Cat got out today. I think he figured out how the sliding door works, given I really oiled it up so it takes one finger to open it. Once out, he decided we were all the enemy.
Finally got him back in. He’s hiding under the bed, and I look like I lost a fight with a barbed wire fence. Plus, two canine holes in my right hand. Don’t fuck with a 14 lb. tomcat.
Fuck Washington, D.C. Enough excitement here at home today.
Jeezo. Did you get that hand looked at? Cat bites are nasty. Almost as nasty as Washington, D.C.
It bled nicely and I put a povodone-iodine scrub on it. Got a call in to the vet to see what to watch for.
I’m cat wise enough to know that if they want to be outside in the big bad lot’s of things-eat-cats world, and if the cat is an independent stubborn sort, then let them be for a time, with the well oiled sliding door cracked open of course. If needed, shooting a jet spray of water over the house (you can’t let them see what you are up to – cats are smart critters) whereupon cool droplets will fall on the solar sunning tabby, might help to speed up the rentry process.
I hope the hand heals up ok Khal and you’ve given up the audible threats to the cat about getting a big dog.
Political thought for the day: Does anybody else feel like they have their pants down around their ankles and they are on a tour of a newly constructed Chinese scissor factory?
Now that last question is not one I want to think about very much. Enough dealing with my morning adventure of running through barbed wire fences (might as well have, given what my arms look like). And this only a couple days after getting into a mild argument with Mr. Pavement while riding the Salsa LaCruz.
Not my best week.
Youch ! I hope the pavement is ok. As one who rides much as well, I worry about those unplanned scrapes with the macadam. The years that have gone by do not allow for quick healing.
Damn. We need to get you Tony Stark’s Iron Man suit now that he doesn’t need it anymore (he’s Dr. Doom these days.)
I always worry about Miss Mia getting out. She’s stealthy. Also, stone deaf, so she couldn’t hear us hollering for her if she made a break for it.
Re: The Chinese. Don’t have to speak Mandarin to know what “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha” means.
BOHICA, baby.
Tap into your inner Johnny Hoogerland and just keep on petting him.
mI ESPOUSA is newly retired veterinarian, Oct 2025 (CSU 1980) watch for infection and cat scratch fever yes it is a real thing not Nugent’s addled garbage, With the dementia riddled occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Facts talk and BS leaves the room in a huff. Jesus Christ what the hell is happening at the Washington Post. I can”t recognize the content for the right wing drivel.
I had to cancel my Washington Post subscription. That fucknuts Bezos has wiped his ass with a once-great newspaper. The sooner he and Musk piss off to Mars, the better.
The amazing CSU veterinary program is why Fort Collins has the highest vet density in the US. The canine acupuncture program saved us big bucks on pain meds when we had 300 pounds of Great Dane in the house, both of whom had pretty bad arthritis by the end of their run.
Our vet here is a CSU grad. I’m not sure we’ve ever seen a vet that wasn’t a CSU grad.
This what total incompetence looks like. Nothing he says can be trusted.
And, my hair is still uncut. Another couple of months, and I might have to borrow one of Sandy’s pony tail bands. It’s getting too hot for long hair, so they need to impeach the asshole now. Or, he needs to stroke out in a cabinet meeting. But, I would like to see Bessent and Pulte in the cage fight!
If I tried growing my hair — anywhere other than my nose and ears — it would be years before I could muster anything even marginally better than one of those three-hair ponytails you see drooping off some hipster geezer squinting through his trifocals, trying to make his new iPad rock the OnlyFans, over a venti caramel frappucino with one pump of caramel sauce, one pump of caramel syrup, one pump of mocha, one pump of white mocha, one pump of hazelnut, and a soupçon of spit from an outraged barista.
Being bald is a blessing. Unless you’re Irish and live at altitude, and therefore spending your kids’ college money on SPF (Avogadro’s Number).
How much did Gene Shalit spend in his hundred years on shampoo and conditioner?
That dude had more hair than the Hell’s Angels, the SDS, and Woodstock.
I haven’t tried growing my hair long since graduate school, where I could have been mistaken for the Unibomber. That worried my advisor now and then.
So it has been about 36 hours since Hatch the 14 lb tomcat tried to take a piece of my right index finger off along with portions of both arms. No sign of infection. Left arm looks interesting, between hitting the pavement and wrestling the cat into the house. Otherwise, all is well. So far.
Interesting thing about the front brake caliper on the Salsa LaCruz. I heard this clicking noise as I took off on Monday and figured I would check when I got home. So I was riding into an intersection on the Rail Trail in Santa Fe. Lotsa cross traffic at one intersection, so I was going to hop down to the parallel road at the crosswalk. Well, I noticed that the crossing was not an ADA ramp but a steep curb, so I braked to stop. The click, apparently, was the front Avid BB7 caliper lever hitting the caliper housing for some reason and this time, it jammed and locked the front brake, sending me ass over handlebars.
I had adjusted the brakes to have a little more clearance as I have been switching wheelsets and the disks don’t exactly line up. Apparently, the extra clearance meant the cable had to draw the lever farther and when I checked, it was drawing the lever into the caliper cable housing attachment, where it jammed. Funny how these things work.
I hope you’re recovering ok Khal and that you may not have given Hatch away. It sounds as though he was only doing what any spoiled extra large indoor house cat would do. Your Avid mishap is fascinating. I’ll have to round up some Avid detail photos to see exactly what you are describing. My brake problems typically amount to not be toed in correctly and creating that pedestrian friendly “holy crap what is that noise” howl.
As his biographer recounts, the late Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) was likewise an XL model with a lot of Voices in his shovel-shaped noggin, and not all of them were friendlies. Some came from way outside the wire.
Whenever you saw the eyes narrow and the ears flatten in combat configuration it was time to step away from the cat with your hands in the air. Unauthorized personnel were at the controls.
“Wow, cool, check out these fangs and claws! Let’s see what this baby can do. …”
Wowsah. Your personal malevolent demon is clocked in and hard at work.
Mine took a shot at me the other day when I put the front tire into that giant-ass rock in the Elena Gallegos, the one just before the cactus cluster. Thank Dog my reflexes are glacial at the best of times, which that was not. If I’d tried to save myself I’d still be tweezing thorns out of places I didn’t even know I had.
Here’s to better days.
We have discussed many times before all the trouble I had with Avid BB7 disc brakes. Their fundamental design flaw is a single piston caliper bends the disc into the opposing, fixed brake pad. So squealing noise and constant adjustment are the problems created. If the pads get too worn or are adjusted too far apart, this design can put the lever too far into the caliper housing. I switched to TRP mechanical disc brakes and never had another problem. Adjustable using the cable barrel adjuster until it’s time to replace the pads. Those brakes, Spyre version, were on my Soma Double Cross that I rode with you hosers in Santa Fe.
I have the TRP Spyres on my disco Soma Saga touring bike, and BB7s on the Jones, Co-Motion, and Bianchi. Mos def the TRPs are better. Affordable upgrade for sure.
Old Herb is still mightily opposed to disc brakes. Canti’s and V-brakes with some side-pulls thrown in and everything works. Of course I’m not counting grams or going balls out on single track either. Jeezus Khal, I’m thinking about sending you a flac outfit but it would be pretty sweaty in your climate. Meanwhile I did some really dumb lifting and toting and my back is totally torqued. Ah well…another glass of red wine is in order. Works better than Flexeril
Ooo, Herb, sorry to hear about the back. Mine failed me recently, and it seems like that sort of thing takes longer to resolve than it used to, when the world (and I) was young.
The bikes I ride most have Paul’s rim brakes in various flavors (Neo-Retro and Touring cantis, Racer, and Minimoto). The Double Cross uses IRD Cafams (very much like the Neo-Retro), while one Steelman Eurocross uses some truly old Spooky cantis. They all bring me to a stop without the need to go all Fred Flintstone on it.
I have a set of TRP RevoX cantis that I need to put on something one of these days too.
How’s the weather out your way? Got hot again here. 97° yesterday. And I finally caved to the inevitable and deployed the refrigerated air.
Hotter than the hubs of Hell yesterday (90’s) but today was Aces High. 78 with a breeze and low humidity. Despite the back spasms, I took brief rides both days of 16 miles. The thing I learned about back spasms or sciatica is ya can’t stay stationary. Sometimes either walks or cycling can help. Or at least keep you from feeling sorry for yourself and jumping off a building.
Good to hear that you got out for a ride(s) Herb. I’ve always found that a few light miles really helps me when the back is ailing. I just have to remember not to push too hard. I was up early Friday pulling a plot of Skeleton weeds and it’s funny how easy it is to produce an aching back when bending over. I was out on a similar distance ride to yours’ and the back is better now.
I hope your weekends are a little cooler. I believe some of that balmy weather is headed my way early next week.
I like to take walks when my back goes wonky on me. Something about the low-stress repetitive motion of walking — not running, just walking — seems to help realign the ol’ bag o’ bones.
Yep we (well those other voters) elected a clown.
I heard that WWE was coming to the Arlington National Cemetery.
If this pendejo wants to have a real battle on his birthday he should stick his head up his fat ass and fight for air.
Now that is something I want to see on the White Haus Lawn.
I wouldn’t mind seeing TFG face down on the White Haus lawn, preferably in a pile of dog shit. Bonus points if he takes the tumble while rocking his mad dancing skillz.
Here’s some hope for the free world:
https://apple.news/Az3ufWInZR4yMBWvchNXwug
Dutch team scoops 17 bikes from KC shop. Is city ready for World Cup cyclists?
As tourists from around the world arrive in Kansas City, some may be more used to exploring a city on two wheels.
// Beyond the team, Baanders-Decker suspects some of the rental orders she has received in recent weeks are related to the World Cup, too. She’s also had AirBnb homeowners buy bikes in preparation for the international event. //
Spring break, we did a VRBO less than 10 miles from our house. A house in Fort Fun’s Old Town that provided four cruiser bikes. Had a blast acting like visitors in our own city. Talking to the owners afterwards, bookings increased when they highlighted the bikes as amenities.
Wish that was as obvious to the rest of this country as it is to the enlightened cyclo-intelligentsia.
Cycling and walking are vastly underrated, as we all know. Both are more than simple carbo-fueled transpo or healthful exercise. They’re a great way to see what’s what wherever you happen to be.
Since I didn’t have a driver’s license until the end of my first year in college (and promptly lost it for three years) I got around via shank’s mare, bicycle, and bumming rides in other people’s autos. You learn a lot about your locality that way.
When Herself got the gig at Sandia, I already knew a little sumpin’-sumpin’ about Albuquerque from spending a couple early spring weeks camped in a Hampton and cycling around town as a welcome change of pace from negotiating the unplowed avenues of Bibleburg.
The more you slow down, the more you see. If you can dodge the phone-thumbing eejits in their land yachts, that is. …
Starting my Saturday thinking about Arte Johnson falling off of park benches while Ruth Buzzi beats him with her purse, and now I’m just sad that there is nothing close in the ethersphere that our kids will ever experience.
Buzzi, Johnson, and Henry Gibson could crack you up with a wordless raised eyebrow.
Those were great shows.