The first edition of VeloNews in which a cartoon
by You Know Who appeared.
VeloNews was found dead on Jan. 1. It was just 50 years old.
Was it murder? Suicide? Natural causes? (i.e., a slow-moving form of frontotemporal dementia?)
Nah. Darwinism. Nature red in tooth and claw, baby. Or, if you prefer your poetry in the original Sicilian, “It’s strictly business.”
• Editor’s note: A tip of the VeloNews cycling cap to Steve O. for the sharp eye on the velo-news.
Charles "Live Update Guy" Pelkey has hit a rough stretch of road and could use a few good domestiques to keep him rolling forward. Click the Brintoni caricature to visit his GoFundMe site, where any donation, large or small, will be warmly received.
Patrick O'Grady has been making stuff up since, well, forever. He started doing it for money in high school and didn't quit until he retired in 2022. (To be honest, if you waved enough Dead President Trading Cards at him, he might do it for money again.) Until then, this blog is his pro-bonehead work. For more on Your Humble Narrator, click the comic.
The Radio Free Dogpatch podcast, which just sorta drifted right off the Infobahn and into the ditch, is up on blocks in the back yard until further notice. The archives remain available.
Know your rights, and defend them.
Fight hate.
Defending press freedom since 1970
Hal Walter ranches burros, a teenage son, and words from his rancheroo high in the mountains of south-central Colorado. Click the pic to sign up for his Substack newsletter, which goes out to subscribers whenever he's in the mood.
Drink the Kool-Aid
Words and pictures on the DogPage © 2022 by Patrick O’Grady/Mad Dog Media. All rights and most lefts reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, redistributed, laser-printed, photocopied, crocheted into a sampler, knitted into sweater, tattooed on a floozy, spray-painted on an overpass, tapped out in Morse code, sublimated onto a jersey, shared in whispers in the back row of an adult theater, shouted from the rooftops, scored for tuba and banjo, translated into Squinch, or communicated via telepathy without the permission of and hefty payment to a heavily armed, chemically preserved cyclo-cross addict who knows your IP address. Bonehead shysters and the simpletons who employ them, take note: The opinions expressed on the DogPage contain toxic quantities of hyperbole, satire, parody and humor. Pah-ro-dee. Hyyuuu-mor. Acquire a sense of same or read at your own risk.
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