Category: Bibleburg

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Jeebus. Four days of record-breaking heat in Bibleburg and more on the way. Lord, I know it was supposed to be the fire next time — I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.

Speakings of fires, have I mentioned that we’ve got ’em out the wazoo? Up near Lake George, around Fort Collins, at Pagosa Springs and around Mesa Verde, for starters.

The Springer fire near Lake George is thought to have been human-caused, if you can describe as “human” one or more of the lesser primates banging away at a propane tank with the old smokepole. Yes, that’s the rumor behind the news, as The Firesign Theatre would put it. And the crazier the rumor, the greater the likelihood that it’s true. We also have a serial arsonist lighting up the roadside grasses in Teller County. Good times.

The menagerie and I are left alone to endure this smoky pestilence, Herself having pissed off to Mouse Country for some class of library confab at which they all dress severely, put their hair up in buns and practice the hissing of “Shh!” at each other. Just as well, I suppose, as the metaphorical flames of multiple deadlines are licking around my feet and I can’t seem to stomp them out fast enough, which makes me unpleasant company.

And at least we still have a pot to piss in and a window to throw it out of, unlike a whole bunch of folks up in Larimer County, whose homes are now portable, fitting neatly into their cars’ ashtrays. Makes a shit monsoon feel like a gentle summer rain.

Hail, hail, the bang’s all here

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Hail
Ice, ice, baby. …

Interesting weather around the ol’ rancheroo lately. One minute it’s hotter than the proverbial hubs of Hell and drier than a popcorn fart, and the next the trees are all sideways and the hail is bucketing down like Someone tipped the bed on a celestial gravel truck.

I don’t even want to think what the trails look like this morning. And from the look of things out the office window, there’s more on the way.

Just as well, I suppose. An unholy convergence of deadlines means I’ll be logging some hard miles in the office chair over the next couple of days instead of sluicing through the goo. And me with three befendered bikes in the garage, too. Oh, the shame.

Meanwhile, I’d say something filthy about what took place in Wisconsin on Tuesday if Charles P. Pierce hadn’t already said it, funnier, better and faster, too. What say we all move to Italy and sponge off Larry and Heather until the Republic comes to its senses?

The Return of the Shit Monsoon

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments
The Shit Monsoon Redux
They say the job ain’t over ’til the paperwork is done, but I think this one’s gonna take more than one roll of toilet paper.

Well, shit. And I do mean shit. As in shit fountaining out of the downstairs toilet for the second time in three years.

Here’s the long and the short of it: Herself and I were enjoying a glass of the finest European sidewalk-softener and a bit of TV last night when she hears a bubbling sound from downstairs. She goes to investigate and I hear another kind of sound altogether, reminiscent of the racket I was making in 2009 when the exact same thing happened to me.

So now it’s wash, rinse and repeat time again. The carpet is coming up, along with the tile, and some drywall is coming out. We’ve already relocated Herself’s office to the kitchen, where the cats may use her keyboard as a springboard to the windowsills for perimeter inspection.

My office, meanwhile, houses the 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment and its equipment, to wit, one (1) sand-filled polyurethane waste receptacle, i.e., the litter box. Not exactly a box of roses, but hey — when the whole house smells like a toilet, what’s another turd or two?

The prez risks contracting Teh Crazy

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

The prez came to town today to address the U.S. Air Force Academy’s graduates. I hope he was inoculated against Teh Crazy before he left DeeCee to chat up the Blue Zoomies, ’cause Teh Crazy is an epidemic in these parts, along with viral stupidity. All we need is a stupid, crazy president. Oops, wait, too late — that was the last guy.

Meanwhile, and for the permanent record, Rep. Doug Lamborn (R-Asshat) is a chickenshit punk who was born in Leavenworth, Kansas, and should be returned there with all speed, to take up residence in the U.S. penitentiary for impersonating a U.S. congressman.

In a sane nation a would-be ward heeler like this numbnuts would be restricted to standing up to his fat ass in a ditch full of raw sewage with a shovel, where his shit-talking would have the audience of inattentive turds that it deserves. Alas, as I have noted before, while most states send their mental defectives to the state hospital, Colorado sends its fuckwits to the U.S. House.

• Late update: And Jesus H. Christ on an armored vehicle, who is handling press relations for Rep. Mike Coffman (R-HAL 2000)? This is what you get when cousins marry, or you elect a middle-school science project to Congress.

Words to live by

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments
Garden of the Gods
The Garden of the Gods makes a fine backdrop to any kind of bike ride.

I took five from chores yesterday to drag the Voodoo Nakisi around the west side of town.

The route I chose is one reason why a cyclo-cross bike — or better yet, a MonsterCrosser® like the Nakisi — is the ideal Bibleburg bicycle. I headed south on the creekside bike path and then west under I-25 to Bear Creek Regional Park, where I picked up a short bit of single-track before settling down to a nice, steady, pulverized-granite climb to Gold Camp Road.

At Gold Camp you can hang a left and ride all the way to Victor, if that’s your idea of a good time. But I haven’t got the legs for that, and anyway there was a stiff wind out of the south, so I took advantage of it and rolled down 26th Street to Colorado Avenue to pick up 31st Street and another steady wind-assisted climb through the Garden of the Gods.

Herself, Buddy and the iPad
Herself and Buddy, a.k.a. Mister Boo, video-chat via iPad with the kinfolks in Maryland.

After the Garden I hit the Sinton Trail and headed for the Goose Gossage Youth Sports Complex, where I briefly contemplated continuing on to Palmer Park for a little more single-track. But then my tummy alarm went off, and I recalled a bit of leftover steak and potatoes in the ’fridge at home, so off I went.

Herself was having a spot of fun with technology, video-chatting with her mom and a sister in Maryland via FaceTime on the iPad, occasionally taking a break to play Words With Friends with one or the other. I won’t play until someone comes up with a dirty version.

As it turns out I probably should have gone for the extra miles. Today is about 30 degrees cooler than yesterday, and windy, too, with a spot of rain from time to time. And the chores have returned, too, goddamnit (good for 476,209 points in Scrabble).

So that’ll teach me, right? Probably not.