Cowabunga!

Hey, kids, why should L.A. have all the fun?

If your idea of “fun” is having Cadet Bonespurs go all Rolling Thunder on you for having an overly noisy barbecue, that is.(Sorry, Waymo.)

“Let a hundred Stooges bloom!” as our Dear Wiseguy, Chairman Moe, has taught us. While that fat toddler plays with his (our!) Army men in DeeCee this Saturday, there will be a No Kings rally in The Duck! City. And judging by the map of scheduled events there is probably one in your neck of the peckerwoods, too.

No torches, no pitchforks — just a nationwide woo woo woo woo woo. A virtual finger-poke in that toddler’s piggy little eyes.

If he tries to get tough we’ll break out the big guns: The Groucho Marxists.

And remember, kids — when you’re smashing the State, keep a smile on your lips and a song in your heart:

Hello … you must be going. You cannot stay, I came to say, you must be going. It was a shame you ever came, you best be going. …

Long-term parking

Jeez, another dude merging without using his turn signal.
Jeez, another dude merging without using his turn signal.

Interesting read here, and a “big idea” indeed.

The author opines that removing vehicles from the nation’s streets “would make urban life cheaper, safer, quieter and more pleasant,” and that good public transportation “coupled with fast, safe, pleasant walking and bicycling can easily meet the need for movement within our cities.”

As a bicyclist who just drove a couple thousand miles to the Phoenix clusterplex and back, and as a resident of the Duke City, where driving like a deranged asshole is the official city sport, I can dig it. The recent trend toward cheap gas has not made motoring any happier, either, unless you’re one of the overpowered, underbrained sociopaths who thinks “Max Max: Fury Road” was a documentary.

But I’d sure like to see some numbers on the up-front cost of shifting urban hellholes like Phoenix, Los Angeles, Salt Lake City and Las Vegas to auto-free — or even auto-limited — human-friendly habitats. Somehow the word “cheaper” is not the first descriptive to leap to mind.

You can’t spell ‘news’ without ‘ew’

Mister Boo post-cleansing.
Mister Boo post-cleansing.

Trying to keep abreast of the news lately is like following the Budweiser Clydesdales around with a demitasse spoon and a lace napkin. Some days there’s just too much shit for one guy to shovel.

For example, this is not the first time I’m glad I don’t live in Boston.

Also, Los Angeles.

Some buttmunch (or more likely, buttmunches) stole a quarter-million euros worth of bikes and gear from a Garmin-Sharp truck parked outside the team’s hotel, putting them out of the Tour Méditerranéen.

Say it ain’t so, Cipo’.

Is that a drone in your pocket, or are you just unhappy to see me?

And so on, and so forth, etc.

Meanwhile, I have a bum knee that apparently requires physical therapy — always good news for a fella who makes his marginal living in the bike biz — and Mister Boo had to endure a bath, a nail-clipping and the expression of his anal glands this morning. So we’re all a little irritable around the DogHaus today.

How’s tricks with you? Speak up in comments.