You can trust your car to the man who wears the star. Or not.
• Skid Marx: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.”
• Al Sleet lives: “The weather will continue to change, on and off, for a long, long time.”
• Raiders of the Lost Arkea-Samsic: “We have top men working on it right now.”
OK, now they’re just fucking with us to see if we’re paying attention.
You can’t make this shit up. “Liz Bourgeois?” Yeah, right. Who’s her supervisor, Heywood Jablomie?
I had one of these back in 2001. I got all the strength training I needed pushing the sonofabitch when it broke down.
Top-shelf “van life?” Four-figure “smart” strength-training equipment?
Betimes one wonders whether The New York Times ping-pongs back and forth between Manhattan and San Fran without paying much attention to what’s in between.
Clearly, what Joe and Jane Sixpack are crying out for in Middle America is a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter with a factory-installed Tonal.
Either that or, y’know, like, a Bug vaccine, dinner with friends, and maybe a fucking job.
Let’s ask Studs Terkel, shall we?
A wet brick can be a terrorist weapon in the wrong hands.
See something, say something!
The “monsoons” appear to be upon us. A bit late, but better that than never.
Look for the Homeless People’s Diversion Channel Surfing Championships live from Albuquerque on ESPN, as there are no other “sports” available to televise.*
Simultaneously, on CNN, watch the 101st Vanborne Division (“The Squealing Beagles”) take target practice on the hapless channel-surfers using “less-lethal munitions,” formerly dubbed “non-lethal munitions,” a.k.a. rubber bullets, beanbag rounds, IRA recruitment tools, etc.
Survivors will be fished out, charged with domestic terrorism for occupying and/or polluting a waterway, and sentenced to take the “troops” water-skiing.
BUM, bum, BUM, bum. …
“Row, y’bastards!”
* Major League Baseball™ is not a sport. It is a business, like AT&T, Facebook, and the White House.
Uncomfortably dumb.
“Miley Cyrus plays Pink Floyd?”
All in all, you’re just another shtick in the mall.
First, the rain. Then, the snow.
Well, it was pretty easy to do the ol’ social distancing today.
The fog crept down the foothills like something out of a Sherlock Holmes movie, followed by the rain, and finally, the snow.
A fan. I’m not a fan of this fan, either.
Well, it was “snow” only in the sense that it involved fat white flakes falling, but nothing stuck around long enough to be shoveled. It certainly wouldn’t have kept a Belgian off the bike. I don’t think anything can.
But it did the trick for me. I rode the trainer for 45 minutes, which I hate, and then did a little light resistance training, which also, too, and likewise.
Still, anything beats watching our national “leadership” act more like Al Capone than Al Schweitzer. These pendejos couldn’t organize a beer run for a frat house if the liquor store were downstairs.
Whoof, dude, you need some Visine. You’re gonna scare the mystery meat out of your bunkie at the Graybar Hotel with peepers like that.
So, assuming Judge Amy Berman Jackson gives Roger Stone some jail time today, how long do you figure it will take Impeachy the Clown to give him a full, complete and unconditional pardon (and probably the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the helm of the Justice Department to boot)?
KC hipsters shake their groove thangs to the swingin’ sounds
of KCXL and Radio Sputnik.
I don’t remember what was playing on the radio when I was hitchhiking through Kansas City back in 1972. Number one on my personal hit parade was getting the hell out of Missouri.
Forty-eight years later, guess who wants in?
Radio Sputnik, that’s who. Actually, the Russian propaganda outlet has already landed, at three KC-area radio stations.
According to Neil MacFarquhar at The New York Times, Radio Sputnik — formerly Radio Moscow — is one cog in a state-run Russian “news” machine that focuses on “sowing doubt about Western governments and institutions rather than the old Soviet model of selling Russia as paradise lost.”
“(T)he constant backbeat,” says MacFarquhar, “is that America is damaged goods.”
Well. I guess it must be. It’s a hell of a note when we have to offshore our bitching and moaning to the Russians.
Can’t Alpine Broadcasting Corporation find some red-blooded, home-grown, U-nited States of America Americans to talk shit? I mean, I do it for free, which is about as cheap as it comes. Alpine honcho Peter Schartel has the Russkies and their stooges do it for him and he gets $27.50 an hour. What’s that work out to in rubles, or pieces of silver?
I don’t expect that KCXL plays many cuts from the early Merle Haggard catalog between swigs of milk and honey and preachin’ ’bout some other way of living. But if you slip Schartel a few dead presidents, why, I expect he might just accommodate you.
It’s a free country, but everything in it costs money.
“Recovery is possible?”
Not based on my experience with bicycle racing, it isn’t.
OK, I’m bent, twisted, more than a bubble off plumb.
I know this about myself, and I came to terms with it long ago.
But I can’t be the only person who finds this “dose of reality” amusing.
The House managers walk the articles of impeachment over to the Senate.
Seems they’ve found a king who has got shit all over ’im.
Patrick O'Grady sells words and pictures to Adventure Cyclist, Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, and pretty much anyone else who can spell his name correctly next to the phrase which sounds so musical to his aged ears: "Pay to the order of. ..." For more on Your Humble Narrator, click the comic.
Patrick O'Grady was bad enough with pen and ink. He got worse
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Now he has a microphone.
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