I almost forgot — it’s Zappadan Eve!
Thanks to Sandy Underpants at The Aristocrats for the reminder. I first saw this poster at a head shop in downtown Bibleburg waaaaay back in the day. We thought the shit was deep back then, but it seems the torture never stops.
My friend and colleague Charles Pelkey will be appearing on “The Outspoken Cyclist” with Diane Lees on Saturday. You should give it a listen.
But first, listen to Frank and the band performing the Allman Brothers classic “Whipping Post” live in Barcelona, circa 1988 — with a few interesting alterations to the original lyrics — and praise Jeebus that Frank never got hooked up with Cher the way Gregg Allman did.
Great googly-moogly! The thermometer has been pegged at the low teens all day long. I ventured out exactly twice, the first time to broom away the light snow that fell overnight, and the second time to collect a few bottles of antifreeze from the local grog shop in order to toast my fellow Zappatistas on this, the frigid second day of Zappadan 2011.
The temps are supposed to drop to minus-7 tonight. This would feel like a relaxing soak in a hot tub to my man Charles Pelkey, who reports that last night’s low in Laramie approached minus-30. The thud of engine blocks exploding and water mains bursting must keep folks up at night.
The downside about being stuck indoors on a slow cycling-news day is that one is tempted to look at the real news, and lately that is enough to set the stoutest young Eskimo boy to beating himself upside the head with a lead-filled snowshoe. Or perhaps depriving himself of his sight through the application to the eyes (via a vigorous circular motion) of the Deadly Yellow Snow, from right there where the huskies go.
I mean, can you imagine a world in which Newt Gingrich is the front-runner for the GOP nomination for president of the United States?
Hey … I think I just cheered myself up.
… and of it we should be wary.
And on that cautionary note, we bring an end to this year’s celebration of Zappadan. Back to Joe’s Garage, all you Catholic girls. And take that fembot in the wet T-shirt with you. Keep it greasey, y’all.
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