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Yippie. Happy Monday. And then some. Big fun weekend of moving stuff around. I haven't seemed to actually finish up with the whole unpacking thing. I just move the boxes of shit I call my belongings around till I'm tired. George Hincapie won Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne yesterday. Hopefully we can assume he is on form for the Classics. I'd like to see him pull something off something special this year. Could happen. And Het Volk came to pass this weekend as well. A good win by Nick Nuyens. "I am not a Democrat. And I'm not here to inspire you. I'm here to annoy you." Crispin Sartwell. More good news out of Iraq this morning.
And I'll see you at the bar. With the rest of the drunk monkeys. Asswipe. Or is it Dirty Sanchez? Funniest thing I've seen on joker in a long time. Can you place all 50 States in the right place? Not to hard really, and it gets easier after you drop about ten in place. I was lazy with my clicks and ended up with a 44 mile average error.
Oh, it's going to be fun. This link might actually work: Hunter S. Thompson on Meet The Press. More to read over at talkleft.com. I asked Snake for a race report about the Vuelta Sonora - Arizona. This is what showed up in my inbox. I guess it's kinda like a race report. Kinda. Either that, or it's a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. What the fuck do I know?
That guy needs a hug.
More Paris Hilton fun: Pics off her hacked sidekick. Great. The question I keep asking myself is why I contribute to the evil which is her celebrity? Just when you thought you've heard it all, you find out Lynn Swan is considering a run for Governor of Pennsylvania. WTF, mate?
Yeah. Great news. Along the lines of just when you've thought you've seen it all: dumpster sluts. I want to fucking kill myself. How many friggin trades are the Sixers going to make? Now we got Chris Webber? Thank God the deadline finally passed. My head is spinning trying to keep up with all this stuff. They say ticket sales are up with the acquisition of Webber. No shit.
Word. Kinda makes me want to drop kick the faint. My longest kick at the moment is 2491. I'm sure that'll be crushed by this time tomorrow.
Sounds like my race…
Right on Colin. I was there when you started that lap, and I saw you finish. Very cool. A few guys took Kyle's ride out for a lap. It got the beating it deserved. When it was back in camp, we had a couple of Kyles jerseys hanging on it. I figured it was the right thing to do. And you weren't the only one tearing up out there. It was an emotional weekend for many of us.
Holy fucking crap am I tired. I spent every night last week packing shit up and starting the move thing. Then I knocked my dick in the dirt at the Old Pueblo. Sure, I only rode two damn laps. But the first one was at night, in the rain. And it totally matched my mileage for the entire previous month. Sad, I know. And drinking all night in the rain ain't exactly AAA ball. That's pro shit.
That sucked. The worst part is for some reason that flash file prompted my machine to run explorer instead of firefox, which is my default browser. As soon as explorer was up and running, my anti-virus software detected something on my system that shouldn't be there. Go figure. Fucking piece of shit microsoft hell. I'm all about Firefox. Hunter S. Thompson: Ashes to be shot out of a cannon. Read it at the BBC and ABC. I suppose it's better than being sealed in a banana bunker and heaved into the crowd at Sea World.
I'm bad. I'm nationwide. And Corey the Courier is the fucking man. And this shit is fucking hilarious. Check out old hickory. Damn sexy little thing, ain't it? Hey look, Jake the Snake took 7th at Valley of the Sun. Good looking out fella, and good luck in Mexico. Maybe I'll even see a decent race report this week sometime. Just about anything he sends in will be better than his last one. I don't think I even ran it, is sucked so bad. I'll post it now. This is from the McDowell Mountain Circuit Race.
You can see why that didn't make it up on the site immediately. The fucking thing sucks. Maybe I'll send Snake a box of canyons so he can practice writing the alphabet for a few weeks and improve his skills. You know like numchuck skills, bowhunting skill, computer hacking skills… Maybe I should just get him and escort and be done with it? Read Justin Webb. Why do bad things always happen to Paris Hilton? Because she's an idiot, that's why. Lets talk about stupid big trucks for a second here, shall we? Have a look at the International CXT, "For drivers who want to make a statement, this is how to broadcast it." Oh Good lord. Not to be outdone, or left out of the lucrative "trucks for men with small dicks" market, Homeland Defense Vehicles, LLC, out of Jasper, Texas, is offering up the Bad Boy Truck. This vehicle promised to be absolutely gayer than all hell. This thing just scream Bad Boy Club stickers, mullets and No Fear gear. I'd say they are all prerequisites to ownership. From the article: "There's a certain group of people who color outside the box… this is the truck for them." Yeah, and some people play the meat whistle. This is the truck for them. No offense to the members of the gay and lesbian community that read the site. Ho ho, I'm dancing on the fucking line, ain't I? Fuck all. Good night.
Hump day already? Go figure. Seems I need to update my site more. Ah, where to start? Such a busy life I'm leading these days: Moving into a new place and the race of a lifetime last weekend. I'll go with the race. Way more fun to talk about that than this moving crap. Fuck a bunch of moving. Another Old Pueblo in the books, and it was an epic. Rain of biblical proportions. It was coming down sideways at times. Absolutely the worst weather I have ever seen in a bike race. Anyone who kept their focus through the night and continued riding in that crap was guaranteed a high placing come high noon on Sunday. The biggest trick was just to keep moving. The second biggest trick was to have a lot of dry clothes and functioning bikes. Yes, I said bikes, as in plural. I brought down two, my bad ass Kona single speed and my Voodoo cross bike. My man Jackass Justin decided this was his year to ride in the solo category. Since he helped me nail myself to the cross last year, I offered to help. I had him flying the DC colors and all that. He thought he might need a back up single speed. Since I'm one of the only guys around who is big enough to own a bike he can actually ride, I said (stupidly) of course you can use my single speed. I had no idea... Jackass had a new Fisher 29ers, one of those Rigs. Nice bike. He put it together round about Wednesday night, so you know everything is going to loosen up and shit after 15 minutes. The race starts and Jackass gives her two laps before he's on my bike. I'm up fifth in the rotation on my squad, which means I'm not riding till almost 6:00 pm. I'm working on a buzz and trying not to get to bombed before I try to actually pull a decent lap out of my ass. God damn I'm out of shape. Not even till 3:00 and my bike is gone. Oh well. At least I brought the cross bike. I'll just beat the shit outta that in the rain instead. And beat the shit out of it I did. I ended up only rode two laps, and I used two different bikes. My cross bike, which I rode on the first lap, will require a whole lot of attention down at the bike shop before it will roll right again. It's totally fucked. I'll be installing a new chain, all new cables and housing. Overhauling the headset and hubs. As well as putting in some serious scrub time with a bucket and brush. And that's just a start. There may well be more. The poor bastard. At least it was fun to ruin it. One lap. Fifteen miles. I gave that bitch the fucking business. My lap started at ten after six. I had my headlight ready to go 'cause it was getting dark out there quick like. It was a mud fest. I start out good enough, and hey, this cross bike is working pretty good in the muck. It's a lot of sand and crushed granite out on the course, so a thin tire with high pressure seems to sink in good and grab something. I wished I had on even narrower tires as the 35 I crammed in the ass end is clogging with mud and dragging on the stays. Fuck. Just what I need, extra work. I'm on the first double track and some guy comes buy on his dually. I jump on. He thinks I'm some assclown roadie, and he's right. If you want to push your big ring into a headwind for twenty minutes, I'm going to sit right here and draft. Damn straight. Its was a wild ride. I'm in the 52 (yes, my cross bike has a 52 tooth chainring as well as a 38) just punching it. We're plowing through puddles, up and over berms, tearing ass through the shit. I'm thinking how glad I am I left my glasses back in the van. Sure, I can see better with 'em, but I'm getting the full on facial treatment off this guys back tire. I can't see where I'm going most of the time. All I know is if he rides it, I'm riding it. And so it goes. Eventually we get to some more technical stuff and I sit up. My body felt a little wacky after the hardest effort of the year. Sick, isn't it? It's February and I'm an out of shape pile of shit. Ugh. I get on with it, and the rest of my lap goes well enough. My cleat came loose at one point. I thought to myself, that's odd, my pedals felt like shit ten minutes ago, and now my left pedal has more float than the right one. And it moving around forward and backward now. Shit. This thing comes off the bottom of my shoe and I'm really fucked. I'm barely staying on top of it as it is. I see the EMT guys at the halfway point with a lantern blazing against the night. I wheel it on over and pray to God the cleat comes out of my pedal when I twist way past the point of it's usual release. I'm off the bike, standing in the mud on one foot, and my toe is pointing at the seat tube and I'm thinking, fuck all, how did this happen? At night, in the rain, my cleat comes loose. How long since I've even worn these shoes? Does Jesus hate me or what? I felt better about my situation when I realize the guy standing by the pickup truck with the tarp around him ain't a volunteer; he's a racer that crashed out heavily. We make a little small talk about the weather and all that. He's waiting for a ride back to the start finish area. It probably took me a few minutes to sort out my cleat, and my body temp plummeted. Man, was it cold. I got back on an rode a few hundred meters before feeling sorta normal again. I can't imagine what it would be like to walk in on a night like this. You'd fucking die. After that, I made sure I asked each of the three guys I found standing on the side of the trail is they were ok. Hey man, you got everything you need? You alright? Did you crash? And so on. So, keep moving through the night and you would place high. A couple of guys I know did just that, they kept moving. Now, I don't know all the guys on this particular team, but I can say they may not be the most, shall we say, athletic folks out at the event. Great guys, great attitude, but one glance would tell you they probably won't be turning out the days fastest lap times of the weekend. But, you know what? They kept a body out on the course when a lot of other teams packed it in and went to bed. And they placed top ten because of that. Good looking out, fellas. Way to give it some stick. My team, on the other hand, packed it in 'round about midnight and put our full and complete effort into drinking. And we succeeded at that. I was still knock' em back at 5:00 am, something I lived to regret come Sunday. Three hours of sleep for two nights in a row will put the fucking hurt on a brother. You can see some results here. The men's solo winner was Sloan Anderson. I haven't met Mr. Anderson, but he's got to be one tough customer. Third place was Brian Bennett, who was camped right next to us. The guy turned some pretty good laps considering how shitty it was out there. He's do a lap, bring back a bike that got totally shit canned in 15 miles, drop it off and take out another bike. It was more like a cross race in that regard. And single speeds were the way to go. Those with gears suffered busted derailleur, chains, and completed absent shifting. About a quarter of the way through my first lap on my cross bike, I couldn't even keep it in a gear, let a lone shift. Brakes, what brakes? We don't need no stinking brakes. I'll just white knuckle straight line this shit. And scream like a little girl for added style points. I should make mention of all the support the DC squad received this year. Kona came through in a big way and kicked down clothing for all the racers. Much appreciated. The girls especially loved it. The fine folks at Doma, out of Coure d'Alene, Idaho, provided plenty of the Black Goddess to help keep the campers firing on all cylinders. Not only did their coffee help me out during the event, I probably couldn't have made the drive home without it. Truth be told, I only drove up half the way, to Phoenix, before my wife took over and I passed out in the back of the van. I'm not the road warrior I used to be, it seems. I'm a kinder, gentler, compassionate conservative, drunken porn addicted piece of shit. And I turn 35 this year. I feel like life just keeps kicking me square in the nuts. What the fuck am I talking about? Talk up the sponsors, jonny. Idiot! My favorite bar in the whole damn world, Pay'n Take, kicked down some liquid refreshment for the masses. And it was an absolute necessity with the weather the way it was. Without the beer, I probably would have just thrown myself into one of the nights many rivers and be done with it. Along those lines, my man Chad took a lap 'round about midnight, just to see what is was all about. He's one of those "see and do" fellas. You know the type. Not much for talking about it, more for doing it. So he did. And boy did he have a time of it. I loaned him a shitty light I had brought along for a backup. The damn thing up and quit on him out in the rain, fog and mud. I knew it was a shitty light, I just didn't know it was that shitty. Who needs enemies when you've got friends like me, eh? So he's out there in the dark, trying to work out just where in the hell the trail goes with no headlight. He said he could tell most of the time because it was shiner where everyone had been riding for ten hours. Can you imagine that? Out in the rain and fog, trying to follow the glossy ribbon of a trail you've never seen before in you life. Sure, he could have brought a flashlight out there with him. He also could have checked out the course during daylight hours. But that would have taken foresight and planning. Two things not particularly abundant at the DC camp. Chad's out there, on a course he's never ridden, "discovering" the trail. Good thing he's a tough bastard, a lesser man would have crumbled. Chad rides down into one of the washes that are usually just an expanse of sand, to discover that it is not only full of water, but also the water is up to his knees. No light. Rain coming down sideways, and the water is as high as his front wheel. Yeah, fun. Glad to say I was back at camp swilling down beers at this point. Fuck all that riding crap, I've got riders to support. I fielded the four person female team as last year, as well as a solo rider and a five person coed memorial team for Kyle. We had our hands full with all that, believe me. My sense of timeline with this little ditty is all bitched up, but whatever. I'm far beyond caring at this point. After reading about the passing of one of America's greatest living writers this past Sunday, I've been kinda wiped out on the writing deal. Yes, I'm talking about Hunter S. Thompson O'Grady has a nice little piece on him over at Mad Dog Media. I suggest you read it, and after that, every damn thing HST ever put to paper. He was one of the greats, and it should be of no surprise to readers of my stupid little weblog pill party that he was one of my heroes. If I could live my life and write about it with one tenth of the power he had... It would really be something. Two Old Pueblos; two dead heroes. Last year it was Pantani, this year Thompson. Scary shit. Back to my fucked up story: I arrived late Friday to find some of the most annoying and negative people I have ever come across, pretty much anywhere. Without going into all the lame details, I had to get up Saturday morning at 6:30 and find another place to camp. I'm not about fighting, and it seems a few of my fellow Arizonans are. Whatever. We set up shop by the showers only to find out the CO2 canister I brought down to run two kegs was kaput. Total panic set in. Some of us were there to race, some to drink, and some to straddle that fence and do both. With ten feet of hose, a jockey box and a bunk CO2 canister, we were dead in the water. Fuck me. Thank God for Scooby & Missing Link Racing. The man brought an extra tap. We were up and running in no time, handing out free beers left and right. Good times. And nothing takes the edge of shit weather like ten beers. Let me tell you that from experience. A quick couple of links: Wreck the naked woman and some Napoleon Dynamite soundboards. After my one lap on my Voodoo cross bike, I had to think up something different for my second lap. I sure did put in some work, didn't I? Anyway, my single speed was pretty much a mud incrusted piece of shit come morning. I picked it up, looked at it and though, fuck... So, I rode Jackass's bike. He had to pack it in after some serious neck and back problems. The guy is hard as nails, so you know if had to hurt pretty bad for his to quit. My bikes, bad. His bikes, good. I've only ridden those two niner things around the block before. And always on a bike that was too small. This was the first time I had ridden one that fit me, off road, for that long. And I liked it. I look forward to riding one of those wacky things more in the future. For a guy my size, it makes a lot of sense. That's about it for now. I've got to shove some move of my shit into the van and move it across town. Wish me luck.
Tomorrow. I'll see you all there. Come by and raise a pint. I'll be easy to find. Just look for Kyle's bike with a bunch of candles blazing. And the Gnomes. Always look for the Gnome. I'll have two kegs. Big props to Pay'n Take. It looks like it's going to rain like hell this weekend in Oracle. Fuck it. I don't care. I'm going to have fun anyway. You can't hold me down. This one made me laugh. Same with this email.
More on the Right Wing Whore Jeff Ganon. What next, the guy is Monica Lewsinsky's cousin? Jesus Christ.
Good point.
Right on.
Definitly feeling the xtracycle.com. Good guys and a good product. Ok, that's about it. I can't think of much anything else. Time to go pack the car. Audi 5000.
Tomorrow I leave for the Old Pueblo. It's raining here at the moment. The Gnome is heading down to the race as I write this. And it's raining down in Tucson too. Apparently it's raining all over the God damn state this weekend. Good times. From the looks of the weather report, it might even snow Saturday night. Oh, I am so looking forward to that. When you thing about it, snow may actually be better than plain old rain. If it snows, you'll know you're doing something really epic. Rain is just rain. Stupid, boring, everyday rain. Snow on the other hand brings to mind things like Andy Hampsten on the Gavia back in '88… You get the idea. Think you might need a State of the Union parcing tool? I never thought I would, but you can find one at style.org.
Well, I'll say this much: It sure is ugly. What did they do, shrink wrap it in plastic to keep the dirt outta the downtube? But if it's light and expensive, it'll sell like hotcakes. Can't wait to hear what the UCI says about it. I'm sure they're gonna love it. And, another upside, at least you won't see manufactures logos all over it. Kinda hard to put stickers on a lattice. I'm looking forward to seeing how this one will work out, the Vuelta Sonora - Arizona. You do not want to get dropped on a point to point race south of the border. Once the cars come past, you're on your own buddy. Better keep up, or you'll be taken down and eaten by wolves. I think someone is trying to tell me I have a monobrow.
The icing on the cake: He left it in neutral."The flaming Expedition rolled driverless into a guard rail by the exit, where it crashed to a stop and burned to the frame." That one made my day.
Remember Bulgegate. If for no other reason than it is totally believable. Aliens may not have buzzed a few yokels out in the sticks, the Lockness monster may be total horse shit, and Bigfoot some assclown in a gorilla suit, but this one I can see happening. And I'm a total conspiracy nut. And how. Oh for fucks sake, it's five days till the Old Pueblo. I'm stoked. Really I am. Sure, I've never been in worse shape for the event. And this will be the fifth year I've done it. Worst shape ever. And I couldn't care less. Ok, I could care less. And I could care more. I'm right smack dab in the middle of caring. I need a hug… Or a set of bumper nuts. Hey look, Lucas has some new vids to serve up. Speaking of server, I feel bad for his. It's about to get clobbered.
Instant Woody. I like that. And I think a lot of the boys are going to like it as well. This next one scares me. I don't know if it's all that true, but maybe it doesn't matter either way. It's still scary if its only kinda true. That kind of thing makes you want to get a tattoo right about dead center of you chest that reads "push here".
Good times.
I think what our friend Lyle meant to say was "It just don't come no better than a beer." But, you know, each to his own and all that. You know me, I'm glad to do what I can. We should both be riding more these days it seems. Have you ever noticed how much more fun it is to ride your bike to work than it is to drive? I hate dealing with the traffic and all the assholes. It sucks. All of it sucks. I swear, it takes years off your life. And it usually pisses me off pretty good, all that nonsense. I get all bent out of shape about things, while riding just smoothes me out. Go figure.
A year ago today Marco Pantani died.
Quote of the Day Uh huh. Check out these pics from the Hubble. Then check out David Clinger. Damn homey. That is some shit. You won't see me doing that. But, then again, I am a pussy. Since everyone is chiming in on the subject, I figured I might as well: He can tattoo himself with anything he wants to. Free country. Do whatever you want to. But he isn't exactly guaranteed employment. It goes both ways. That said, if Webcore drops him, someone else will pick him up in a heartbeat. And then he can spend the rest of his season making sure Webcore never wins a race. This could get very interesting. A damn good one over at the Daily Kos concerning the split of the conservative right and fascism in America. I'll be giving that one the nod. Check out this new deal coming at from the fine folks at absinthe.bz. This is your ticket to ride, baby. Have fun with it.
The best thing to come out of last year was DJ Danger Mouse. Hands down. Check out his website and stream his new album. I'll be giving that one the nod too. Ladies and Gentlemen: Karen Kwiatkowski.
Keepin it wrong is keeping it real.
So much for Cleveland. I'm back and I'm proud to say I made it out alive. I was supposed to fly back on Saturday morning. Yeah right. One mechanical snafu later involving a smaller plane than the one they sold all the damn thickets for, and I'm enjoying another evening with relatives. At least I got a first class upgrade and a $350 dollar voucher to show for my troubles. The real fun was today, when the exact same bag, with the exact same shit stuffed in it got pulled out of the x-ray machine. If that wasn't enough, and believe me it should be, the same bag also failed a screening for bomb residue. No shit. Bomb residue. And the day before I walked right through the same security checkpoint on my way to discovering me and eleven of my new close friends were not going anywhere on the much smaller replacement plane they pulled out of their ass. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Sit down and shut the fuck up. They wiped the inside of each of my bags three big compartments with some type of white fabric swatch things, tested them in some machine. And then a lot of lights turned on. Just as suddenly, I became very popular with men and women of TSA. What is the nature of your business in the Cleveland area? How long have you been here? What is your final destination? Please step over here. Can you remove your jacket? Fuckers. When I finally got through with that crapola the fucking airport bar wasn't even open yet. The bars in an airport should be immune to state liquor laws as far as I'm concerned. If you have to sit around on your thumbs you should be able to buy booze. At least I remembered a flask. I had vodka, and they happened to sell orange juice. And the Times. Everything worked out just fine and dandy. How 'bout that Ahmed Chalabi. What a guy. Um. Giddy up. And here is a ton of music for ya. My fav? The Deep Throat Anthology. Trust me, its there.
A couple quick thoughts on driving vs. riding to work, a battle most of us know all to well. Especially in winter. Today, or this morning rather, the weather was good. More that good, it was great. And I was gearing up to drive. And by "gearing up" I pretty much mean not gearing up at all. For driving is like quitting. It's easy. You don't need much of anything. No gloves, hat, helmet, pant clips or jacket. You just walk out to the car and roll. It's pussy shit and we all know it. I was being lazy, and I went for car. It's an easy rut to get into, and I've driven more in the last three weeks than I care to share. Let's just leave it as a bit to much with the car and leave it at that. So, this morning I thought to myself, what the hell am I doing as I walked out of the house with the car keys in my hand. It's not snowing sideways, the streets aren't covered with ice. And the sun is shining. God damn it man, don't blow a chance like this, get on your bike. And so I did. Which leads, not really at all, into bike kill. Hormones are out there, and they know where you live. Be warned, and be prepared. Make sure you review this helpful manual from the Homelife Security Alert Advisory. This may well be the completer collection of bloodninja chat room antics. And esuvee something. Or, maybe some really shitty essays are more up your alley? Click here.
Now, this guy is a Eagles fan. I hope he doesn't lose his Goddamn fingers.
Ouch. Sorry to all the Detmer fans out there. Lets go with Blake.
God damn if I ain't glad I'm wearing green right now. This email is a few day, er, weeks, old, but you still ought to read it.
Now that is how you liven up the winter time doldrums.
No updates for a few days, I'm heading out of town tomorrow. I'll be spreading my drinking between airport bars and shitty restaurants in the Cleveland area. I'm terrified of Cleveland. The high there tomorrow is supposed to be 30 degrees. With snow. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. I'll be back in two days time.
Some move-the-mouse-around type shit for those who need some more excitement in their lives. Here are two three minute distractions: the spreadthoselegs.swf and the allthosepeoplethatyouknow.swf. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya. How sick was Donovan McNabb during the Super Bowl? Well, pretty damn sick it seems. So, how sick does a guy have to be before you put in Detmer or Blake for a few snaps? I guess I'm just second guessing everything and I should shut the hell up.
McNabb's shitty aim, or total lack thereof, killed the Birds. And the piss poor time management, the lackadaisical wandering back to the line of scrimmage and the questionable play calling falls squarely on Reid's broad shoulders. He's got to convince these guys that ever second matters when you're down by ten in the fourth quarter. How 'bout a little no-huddle action? I mean, you don't have a scripted six or eight plays you can run through without having to stand around talking about fucking candlesticks as a nice gift? Tick tick, mother fuckers. If you live in Phoenix and are in the market for an escort, look no further.
Hey, look, LeMond won his lawsuit against PTI Holdings. And what the hell is up with David Clinger? Anyone got a picture of that tattoo? Send 'em in, kids. My man Museeuw fucked up: July 2, 2003
A couple of weeks ago I wanted to give Pinkston a kick in the nuts. Last night, I wanted to give him the keys to the city. Man, that guy stepped up. Aside from that, Philly is Phucked. Ok, here is some information about the goings on at the Old Pueblo race from the Grand Race Promotor, one Mr. T. Sadow: "Over the past year there have been several deaths amongst the
mountain bike community and Epic Rides participants. As result it is
difficult to single out one particular person when each of them meant
the world to various people amongst the community. I'm happy with it.
I'm so pissed right now I can't see straight. And depressed. And maybe a little drunk. God damn it. 21-24. I want to hang myself. Ok, enough about the Eagles. Good night.
I put in for Leadville again, for reasons I do not fully understand. I got my entry card in the mail on Saturday. I'm in. Yippie. Super Bowl Sunday. Go Eagles. I've got a dozen cheesesteaks I bought down at Uncle Sams in Phoenix, and I'm lookin to party. Is eating just part of the Philly experience? PHILADELPHIA, Feb. 4 - This city's buildup to its first Super Bowl appearance in 24 years reached a fevered and boozy pitch Friday morning with an outlandish Eagles pep rally and eating contest known as the Wing Bowl. Read it all here. Wow, I didn't know Saddam Hussein Killed Laci Peterson. Well, that's it. I'm out of here. I've got a game to watch. It might just kill me. I'll leave you with the Propaganda President.
Happy Friday. The work week is over, and I ain't complaining a bit. Eagles. Super Bowl. This Sunday. Am I nervous? Hell yeah I'm nervous. The Birds haven't been to the big game since I 1980. And who knows how much longer it'll be before they go again. Aside from the agony and ecstasy this weekend will bring, it's also a chance to actually ride my bike. What a nice change that'll be. Riding. I did get in some snowshoe time list night. And that was pretty cool. Even though is was colder than fuck. I wasn't out more than thirty minutes when my camelbak started freezing up. And I'm not just talking about the hose portion either. I'm talking about the whole damn thing. Putting it inside my jacket fixed that little problem right up. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am a genius. My man Scholnick is a mad foosballer, and he kicks my ass. But he ain't shit compared to this action. The BBC is usually up on things, but they really missed the mark when discussing wristbands. No mention of livewrong? Where is the love?
Good times. I'm glad the guys running the big show are working with all their marbles. Fucking bunch of lunatics. Max Schmeling has died. His life story is a good one. We all could do so much, eh? So, you like a little music do you? Check out . My two picks: fit but you know it, by the streets, and dirt off your shoulder, the dj dangermouse remix.
Yes, it seems to be the type of work cut out for men like us. I'll have to look into it. Maybe at the 24 hour race?
Last nights cruiser ride turned out to be pretty damn fun. I think I'll be checking that one out again in the coming weeks. We drank a few beers, rode around, skidded on ice and snow, and wrecked a couple of times. I stuffed it up in a couple of snowbanks. As it should be. More fun than a sherry enema, I'll tell you that much. It starts at 7:00 pm, down at Pay'n Take. Blame it all on DK, it's his deal. I'm just along, er, for the ride. Check out the oops list.
Good times. Remember kids, nudity is evil. Just like drugs, sex, booze and anything else that's fun. But cognitive dissonance, well, that's just fine and dandy. Cognitive: Having a basis in or reducible to empirical factual knowledge. At least we can trust in the press.
It just makes you feel good, doesn't it? What would Jesus day about that? Whatever. Check out a shit ton of videos over at bigboys.com. Feel like kicking some elderly ass? Sure you do. Click here. So, my man J-Dub likes to troll ebay while he's at work. He also likes to buy and sell a ton of crap. I figure, fuck it, I can do that too. So, I find this badass 62cm Merckx with Campy Super Record and shot a load in my pants. Now I gotta sit here in wet boxers for the rest of the day, fuck you very much. It's a good thing I don't have an extra $950 dollars sitting around. Otherwise I'd have a new bike right now. Shit, as soon as my shorts dried out I found this. And then this. God damn it. Stop torturing me. On the bright side, I guess you really can't drink beer and piss your way out of an avalanche. Damn it. Maybe you want to see 23,245 pictures of naked chicks over at Stileproject? I don't know what is up with this. Just read it, I suppose. "I'm as big a star as Lance", argues LeMond.
Ever feel like you're just another fucking insect? Sure you do. I know I do. I've got about all of nothing today. Stuff more wristbands into envelopes, march on down to the post office and ship them around the world. Good times I suppose. Tonight is the "cruiser ride". I'm not entirely sure what I'm signing on for, but I'm game. Something about beers and bikes with one gear. Seems to work, eh? I haven't been on my bike much this week. A combination of it being really cold outside and me being a complete fucking pussy. Go figure. Of course, the weather outside can hardly be blamed for me not getting in any trainer time inside. At least as an argument that holds up under any amount of scrutiny. And we all now the folks that come to read this site are all about scrutiny. No quarter asked, none given. Yep, it must be because I'm a fucking pussy. I guess tomorrow I'll have to go snowshoeing. Get out and do something. All I've been doing is working. Yee haa. Somebody fucking shoot me. Oh yeah, today is groundhog day. Big fun. I guess we'll all know how much longer winter will last by this afternoon. Ladies and Gentlemen: Dick Cheney.
My not-so-silent protest will be the continuation of drunkcyclist for four more years. Say it with me now, just like a Bush supporter drunk on power, blinded by blood lust and the fury of the reelection juggernaut: "Four More Years! Four More Years! Four More Years! Four More Years!" One more and I'm out:
Time to go ride bikes…
Oh dear God, it's February 1st. And I'm a fat fuck. This is going to be a weird year. I'm trying this new thing, working with the seasons instead of against them. What that ends up meaning, pretty much, is that I'm not riding while there is snow on the ground. I've plenty of time to worry about riding when the trails are dry. And beating off. So, instead, I've been fucking off and accomplishing a grand total of nothing. Hey, it's a life. I could be spending my time going to a thousand different bars. Have you seen the Iraq photo project? Hell of a site, factivism.com. Have a look, if not for the content, the links are great. I liked this one comparing the 80's movie Red Dawn with the insurgency in Iraq. The conclusion drawn being they are fighting us because invading armies are never welcome. And, in my opinion, the comparisons to the liberation of France from the Nazis by the Allies is a weak one. The Nazis only had France under their thumbs for a few years, and the memory of self government and freedom from oppression was fresh in the hearts and minds of the population. When the Nazis were routed, the pieces were all in place for France to run herself. With Iraq it is a far different situation. We're trying to flip the whole script, the plan being this democracy thing is infectious. We want it to spread throughout the region like a wildfire. Or course, the example of Iraq, or more precisely stated, the example we made out of Iraq isn't exactly a beacon of hope throughout the Arab world. Kinda knocks this whole infectious democracy thing out of the box before it even gets started, doesn't it? Are you porn happy?
I say we better keep her away T, the 12 and under MBAA champ. Could send his father to an early grave. Clientcopia - To cope with difficulties of a client attaining professional services and act to overcome them, despite that client's blatant stupidity. Decanio's shitcan letter bidding still open. Own your little piece of cycling history. Better late than never, I suppose…
Another one with a lot of fluff and no booze. Ah, this one ought to do it: Beer Saints.
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