Omen? Maybe. When Sleepy Joe and Nasty Kamala took the stage in Delaware, KUNM was playing “The Sloop John B.”
Let me go home
Why don’t they let me go home
This is the worst trip I’ve ever been on
Worst. Trip. Ever.
There’s your ticket. It may not be progressives’ idea of Disneyland, but compared to “Pirates of Mar-a-Lago” it looks pretty Magic fuckin’ Kingdom to me.
So let’s take the ride. Biden-Harris 2020.
I almost missed this in the hubbub over “Nasty” Kamala joining “Sleepy” Joe atop the Communist … pardon, Democratic Party ticket.
The Albuquerque Journal and The New Mexican have announced an agreement to print their publications in Santa Fe.
Both papers are family-owned, which is an honest-to-God miracle in the modern era. And their newsrooms will remain separate and independent.
The idea, of course, is to enhance efficiency. Just ask ’em:
Robin Martin, president of The New Mexican, and William P. Lang, president of the Journal, collaborated and determined the two production facilities, just 50 miles apart, could operate more efficiently as a single operation.
They obviously didn’t collaborate with a copy editor on that paragraph. But still, the point limps across.
And you don’t have to be a president to know what the word “efficiency” means: layoffs! As in up to 70 positions in Albuquerque.
So, come mid-October, when and if the snow flies, Duke City subscribers may be draining their second cup of joe — or even on lunch break — before the blat hits the driveway. But hey, that’s efficiency for you.
Extry, extry, readallaboudit!
Add Adolf Twitler to Mount Rushmore? No, thanks.
Perhaps some smaller sculpture, in a more appropriate location. Think of it as an oversized and especially unattractive urinal cake.
The U.S. Constitution is a poor defense against a ruthless huckster hellbent on selling snake oil to the rubes.
“No Money shall be drawn from the Treasury, but in Consequence of Appropriation made by Law. …”
“Fuck you. Sue me. And guess who pays for the lawyers?”
Cycling has taken a back seat — actually, a garage hook — to hiking.
I don’t know why. Yet here I am, having hiked 20 miles in the past few days.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Until this afternoon, when the legs and feet feel a tad abused for some reason, as though they had been et by a coyote and shit off a cliff.
The last couple days I’ve been hiking trails that I used to ride before The Bug came to town. The change in perspective is interesting. I’ve spotted social trails that I never noticed from the saddle, plus a few old fencelines that make me glad I didn’t major in Stringing Fence Up Steep Slopes.
Exploring an unfamiliar trail is a little easier because I don’t have to put a foot down and mumble, “Oh, shit, can’t ride that.”
Also, bits I’ve historically been unable to ride? I look at them on foot and think, “Why can’t I ride that?”
Dodging the clueless is likewise simpler. Almost nobody seems grounded in trail etiquette these days, or even schooled in the concept of a shared public space, so I just step aside and wave the dummies on.
What the hell? The world is full of dummies, and worse than dummies, too. You can’t clout them all with your hiking stick. Or you shouldn’t, anyway. You might break your stick.
Mad Blog Media 