The air hereabouts is of a very low quality indeed today.
Jaysis. As if the banjaxed ankle weren’t annoying enough, now the trees are conducting biological warfare against my tender sinuses.
I’ve actually been compelled to take drugs, and not the interesting kind, either. Blaugh, etc.
Last night I slept mostly not at all, and between that and the drugs I’m having trouble staying focused on all the Super Tuesday doings, beyond noting that the Anybody But Bernie Caucus is forming up right smart.
Crucifixion? Good. Out of the door, line on the left, one cross each. Next?
He’s not just a Good Old One. He’s a Great Old One.
We’re getting down to nut-cuttin’ time, folks. I say go big or go home.
Asked whether her candidate would be suspending his campaign and endorsing Daffy Uncle Joe, spokescreature Shub-Niggurath replied, “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn! No further questions.”
We got some Sandia pink going on in the backyard this first morning of March.
Buds on the maple, bits of grass peeking out, and some pretty pink clouds. Well done, Yahweh.
Elsewhere, I see the media are finally getting the story they’ve been craving — Daffy Uncle Joe Resurgent, a.k.a. “dude just won his first primary in three presidential campaigns,” and he had to go to what Chazbo Pierce calls “the home office of American sedition” to git ’er done, with a big assist from Rep. Jim Clyburn.
Now that they’ve got it, of course, they have to dry-hump it. What next? Does Daffy have Big Mo®? Will Comrade Eeyore hammer ’n’ sickle him on Super Tuesday? What about “the remaining candidates?” Etc.
Over at the WaPo, Dan Balz notices the same thing I did: The networks (and the WaPo, and the NYT) all called it for Daffy about 30 seconds after the polls closed, based on exit polling, with something like 1 percent of the vote actually tallied.
Notes Balz: “That guaranteed him hours of positive analysis on cable television and the setting of a narrative favorable to him between now and [Super] Tuesday.”
Talk about the walking wounded: Herself, who brought a vile head cold home from Florida, joined me this afternoon for a hot lap around El Oso Grande Park.
I decided to leave the Darth Gimp boot at home and went with a simple Ace bandage wrap buttressed by an old Teva sandal. Didn’t quite burst into tears every time I saw someone soaring past on a bicycle. Waaaaaaaah.
Still, it beat listening to Marcus Wobbly, O.D., mumble about “very strongly” considering new travel curbs at the U.S.-Mexico border to keep the coronavirus at bay. Dipshit probably thinks you have to drink a case of Corona to catch a case of coronavirus.
Eric “Nohand” Crapton takes his solo. | Photo by Herself
One of the interesting aspects of occasionally wandering away from straight writing into “multimedia,” by which I mean short videos, podcasts, and what have you, is seeing how one thing can become another if you use a big enough hammer.
It’s not always a better thing. But it’s inevitably something different. So what we have here is a podcast that grew like a weed, a wart, or a boil from a couple of short blog posts.
When I blew up my ankle last Friday my instinctive reaction was to write a long blog post about the first time I did that, in 1983. I was a depressed 29-year-old fat bastard who had just quit one job in Oregon for another in Colorado, and suddenly, boom, there I was in a walking cast, on crutches, 1,400 miles from my new home.
A fiberglass foot makes it tough to drive stick. Hell, I couldn’t even load the truck. Stairs were involved. Plus I had two dogs who were nearly as ill-mannered as I was.
And then there was the time I broke a collarbone midway through a long-loop mountain-bike race. Lemme tell you, that shit will affect your finishing time. My cyclocross training proved useless. Couldn’t even shoulder the bike and run. Couldn’t drive then, either, and it was a long haul back to Bibleburg from Gunnison.
Happily, in both instances, I got by with a little help from my friends. Until this last time, when I was on my own.
Golly gee, Mister Dog, what happened then? There’s only one way to find out, sonny, and it’s not by reading — you gotta listen to the latest episode of Radio Free Dogpatch!
P L A Y R A D I O F R E E D O G P A T C H
• Technical notes: This episode was recorded with a Shure Beta 87A microphone and a Zoom H5 Handy Recorder, then edited in Apple’s GarageBand on the 13-inch 2014 MacBook Pro. Post-production voodoo by Auphonic. The background music was assembled from various loops in GarageBand by Your Humble Narrator, while the various sound effects were gleaned from G-band and the iMovie effects bin.
Mad Blog Media 