Category: Feckin’ eejits

Roll another one

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 31 Comments

Tattoo shops? Sure. Massage parlors? No prob’. Adult bookstores? You betcha. Predatory lenders, pawn shops and payday-loan outfits? Why not? Grog shops, alehouses and “smoker friendly” death merchants? Damn’ straight.

But retail marijuana sales? Hell, no. Are you nuts? That’s a jobs-killer, man!

No, sir. What we need here is a downtown baseball stadium, an Olympic museum, a new Air Force Academy visitors center, a shitload more Kum & Gos and. …

Uh, Mr. Mayor? Can we have a hit off whatever it is that you’re smoking? We’re gonna need an appetite to choke down all this pie in the sky you and your developer pals are pushing on us.

Vulneratus non victus

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments
HTFU
The bracelet says “Harden the Fuck Up.” That’s Aussie for “Vulneratus non victus.”

It means “Wounded, not conquered,” and it’s the O’Grady family motto. ’Tis a suitable one for Stuart O’Grady, who has broken nearly every bone in his body at least once in his long tour of duty as a pro cyclist. (He has another, of course, part of which you can see in the wristband I’m wearing.)

Happily, today Stuey was in fine fettle and helped drive the Orica-GreenEdge squad to victory in the team time trial at the 2013 Tour de France. The Aussie squad nipped the world champions in that discipline, Omega Pharma-Quick Step, by less than a second.

Alas, Cannondale’s Ted King was less fit today. Battered and bruised from that stage-1 crash, he was quickly dropped by his team, rode in alone, and saw insult piled atop injury when the wankers who run the race decided that he had finished outside the time cut, a hard-hearted and dubious ruling that drew widespread condemnation from riders, journos and fans.

It’s a bitter ending to King’s first Tour. But Stuey’s proof that a wound need not spell defeat. He’ll be back.

Give me a break

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 2 Comments

Being a newsman of sorts (OK, you can stop laughing now) I like it when actual news occurs.

As Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey and I rambled through today’s coverage of stage 2 it seemed we were in for the classic Tour de France non-event: The Doomed Break Reeled In At the Very Last Minute.

Except it wasn’t. Not all of it. Jan Bakelants (RadioShack-Leopard) made a break from the break and hung on to win by a whisker, the last man standing from a late six-man escape. First Tour, first pro win. And it came with a nifty yellow jersey, too.

People who were supposed to win didn’t; people who were supposed to get the maillot jaune didn’t; and the only impediments to forward motion were gravity, eejits at roadside and a loose mutt who will probably never chase a guy on a bicycle again but came away with a fine tale to tell around the fire hydrant: “Jesus, Lassie, there were a couple hundred of the sonsabitches coming after me at 50 km/h! I ’bout shit my flea collar!”

Eventually all the Right People will take charge, of course. They almost always do. But in the meantime we seem to have an actual sporting-news story on our hands.

Extry, extry, read all about it. …

No Furthur

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
Magic Bus
A magic trip, indeed.

Today’s first stage of Le Shew Beeg on Corsica proved once again that comedy is incapable of matching reality pedal stroke for pedal stroke, and indeed may have fallen off in a roundabout somewhere and been run over by a publicity-caravan vehicle, strafed by a French jet or run through by Napoleon’s ghost.

If the poor sod who stuffed the Orica-GreenEdge bus under the finish-line scaffolding didn’t instantly get the ax, he will spend the remainder of the 2013 Tour enduring bus-stop jokes.

“Dude, you shouldn’t be driving the tall bus, you should be riding on the short bus!” That sort of thing.

This is horribly unkind to people who really do suffer from cognitive impairment, like the feckin’ eejits who decided to move the finish line out 3km only to move it back again in less time than it took The Gorilla to decide he’d had enough of that bullshit, rip off his own derailleur and eat it.

Jesus wept. The guys in charge of Ken Kesey’s bus had it more together than this lot, and they were all on acid.

Patriot games

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

The tinfoil-Stetson assclowns in my old stomping grounds of Weirdcliffe are taking a beating in the lib’rul media today over plans by the Southern Colorado Patriots Club to march with unloaded firearms in the annual Fourth of July parade.

The local paper, Jim Little’s Wet Mountain Tribune, has a piece from the firing line, as it were. Seems a ruckus ensued when the “patriots” promised that “as many as 500 marchers, bearing firearms, would be marching in the parade as a show of support for 2nd Amendment rights.”

Ho, ho. I hope they plan on busing a few of these nimrods in. The 2010 Census found only 568 persons total living in Weirdcliffe, with 4,205 in the entirety of Crusty County.

Don’t expect Obamacare to provide you with free oxygen tanks for the hike, peckerwoods. Look to the Invisible Hand of the Free Market to prop you up while you’re lugging that 8-pound AK-47 around in the summer sun at 7,888 feet.