There’s a whole bunch of the boom-boom-boom going on around here today.
But lucky for us, it’s only thunder. And the only thing raining on us is, well, rain.
Who was first to the “thoughts and prayers?” I had Ted Cruz in the office pool.
No, I didn’t watch the “debate.”
I didn’t watch “The Apprentice,” either.
Nor have I watched “American Idol,” “The Bachelor,” “American Ninja Warrior,” or “The Circus.”
I did, however, read Hank Stuever’s appraisal of the “debate.” And he said pretty much everything about it that I wanted to say, save for “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Somewhere in the Beyond, Hunter S. Thompson is fitting another cigarette into its holder, ordering another round of mescaline and margaritas, and chuckling to himself over having gotten it so right so long ago.
“Jesus! Where will it end? How low do you have to stoop in this country to be President?”
“Is your president, uh, a goer, eh? Know what I mean, know what I mean, nudge nudge, nudge nudge, know what I mean, say no more, know what I mean?”
• OK, so Live Update Guy is no more, but it is Tour time, and goddamnit, I had to work a Monty Python clip into this mess sometime.
I made that slow-cooker taco recipe last night and it was a hit.
Alas, I think the House Judiciary and Intelligence committees will be less satisfied as they lift the lids on their Crock-Pots today. Neither side is going to find anything in there that Chef Mueller hasn’t served them before.
And it’s not going to taste any better after Ginger Hitler pisses in it.
Seventy-one at 5 a.m. No, not me, the temperature.
And that’s outside, mind you. In the office, it’s 78.
We have at least three days of the roast-a-rama ahead, so it’s ride early or not at all. Hunker down in the air conditioning like we did as kids at Randolph AFB outside San Antone. You were either marinating in poisons and pee at the O-club pool or camped out in front of the Fedders window unit, playing Monopoly. Venture outside and you’d sink into the tarry streets like a dinosaur at La Brea, later to mystify alien archaeologists.
“Chlorine must have been an essential nutrient for these semiaquatic creatures. And their god appears to have been this fellow with the archaic headgear and outlandish facial hair, who seems possessed of astonishing wealth.”
The Masi Speciale Randonneur review for Adventure Cyclist has been shipped, as has the August cartoon for Bicycle Retailer. I’m been thinking not very hard about an episode of Radio Free Dogpatch, but it seems podcasts are so 15 minutes ago, just like blogs. Or phrases like “so 15 minutes ago.”
In other news, Ginger Hitler has taken his song-and-dance routine to another Nuremberg rally, where he debuted a new three-syllable chant (he’s a man of few words, which is to say he only knows a few). A new low? Not for long, according to Kevin Drum at MoJo.
And finally, Le Shew Bigge is heading into the Pyrenees, just in time for Zoom-Zoom Froome — who is absent while recovering from a nasty pre-Tour get-off — to be named champion of the 2011 Vuelta a España after Juan José Cobo rang the Dope-O-Meter®.
Yes, that’s 2011. We’re not all the way back to 1934 yet, but we certainly seem headed in that direction.
Mad Blog Media 