This was my last tweet, almost five years ago.
Looks like I was ahead of the curve for a change when I flew the coop back in 2017. Someone should tell Elon to quit shitting in his birdcage and go to Mars already.
This was my last tweet, almost five years ago.
Looks like I was ahead of the curve for a change when I flew the coop back in 2017. Someone should tell Elon to quit shitting in his birdcage and go to Mars already.
On the way home from the grocery yesterday I managed to avoid three crashes with Burqueños who were either DWI, DUI, or HUA (Head Up Ass).
Stopping for a red light at Comanche and Tramway, a popular spot for the high-speed not stopping for red lights, I took note of the detritus from a recent collision scattered across the intersection.
And later, at home, hearing the wail of sirens and the whock-whock-whock of helicopters, I wondered idly who else had just made an unscheduled stop for a shit sammich.
Turns out a two-car crash at the next intersection up Tramway — the worst one, for my money — sent six people to the hospital, where four were listed in critical condition.
So color me unamused that Tesla is giving drivers the chance to play video games in their cars. While moving.
The New York Times notes that Elon Musk and his elves at Tesla “did not respond to several emails asking about the new video games and whether they could jeopardize safety.”
Imagine my surprise. No wonder Elon is in such a rush to get to Mars. He thinks it ain’t safe here on Earth, and he’s right.
We should pry Captain Video out of his Starship and drop him into a 1971 Ford Pinto, make him cruise around Albuquerque until he learns how to answer his emails. At a dead stop, of course.
• In other news, from our You’ve Got to be Fucking Shitting Me Department, we have the “Smart-Cockpit,” a bicycle handlebar with a touchscreen featuring Apple’s CarPlay and Android Auto. Is it April 1? Did I sleep through winter?
Yesterday being Earth Day, I decided to cover a few miles of it on foot.
Walking the Candelaria Bench Loop in counterclockwise fashion I saw a couple dozen deer working it in the opposite direction. Looks like maybe they’ve been visiting the folks whose backyards abut the open space along Camino de la Sierra. Before much longer they will be paying a call on us down here in the cheap seats.
From up on the bench I noticed a haze coating the Rio. This was either courtesy of a pair of small fires down along the bosque or the ozone we seem to be having too much of lately.
We are very poor tenants indeed. No wonder the landlord is taking measures to have us evicted. Gaia being indifferent as regards race, creed, color, or religion, she dispatches plagues instead of the sheriff.
Speaking of plagues, Herself and I are due for our booster shots this weekend. If you should happen to see any posts here that look something like “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” with illustrations of flailing tentacles rending squealing humans into party snacks, never fear … it’s just the nanoparticles kicking in.
Elsewhere, the Elon Musk Bus Lines have resumed delivering passengers to the International Space Station. I wonder what the carbon footprint is like for that action. Probably not as bad as rush hour at the Big Eye.
No word on when the routes to Luna and Mars will be open for business. Not until the Shackleton Crater Resort & Casino is up and running, is my guess. This may take a while. The moon is remarkably short of undocumented workers to help keep the hospitality costs down.
“Elon Musk shows Neuralink brain implant working in a pig.”
No, not that pig. More’s the pity.
The headline is from Robert Heinlein, whose immortal protagonist Lazarus Long frequently employed the phrase when he wanted some yapper to cut to the chase.
So, marching on. …
• I met my new primary-care doc this week and am delighted to report that she is a pleasant young African-American who recently bought a Co-op bicycle from REI. There may be hope for the bike biz, ladies and gentlemen.
• Our lawn guy collars me while prepping our sprawling estate for spring and he sez to me, he sez: “I’m finding all these little rocks in the yard …” I sez to him, I sez: “Oh, that would be from me shoveling snow off the roof.” Look for my forthcoming science-fiction novel, “Flat Roofs Are Stupid,” about a man who travels back in time to teach the Anasazi about peaked roofs.
• Always wear your glasses when scouring the refrigerator for a toothsome tidbit. The other day I was rooting around in there like a blind hog hunting truffles and somehow managed to shoulder a door shelf out of the sonofabitch. Two glass jars hit the brick floor — one containing soy sauce, the other maple syrup — and exploded like cluster bombs. It took both of us to mop up that mess and for about 24 hours the house smelled like someone simmering barbecue sauce in a nursing home.
• And finally, Elon Musk got some press for doing something other than being a douchebag. The SpaceX Crew Dragon rode a Falcon 9 rocket into space and toward the International Space Station. The only passenger was a dummy. No, not that one.
This may be the most fucked-up thing I’ve read this year. Envison a dark corner of Disneyland managed by Ray Bradbury’s Mr. Dark, an Airbnb owned by H.P. Lovecraft, or the Overlook Hotel.
Be sure to read all the way to the end for the kicker.
Hey, Elon ol’ buddy, when’s that first bus to Mars leave? This place is starting to freak me out.