Thursday, May 29, 2014

it satirizes itself

More than 100 cops in Seattle filed a lawsuit yesterday against the Department of Justice (DOJ), Attorney General Eric Holder, the local U.S. attorney, and Seattle's recently elected mayor, Ed Murray. They allege that new use-of-force rules, instituted after the DOJ found a pattern or practice of the excessive use of force, are unrealistic and paralyze officers in the street, causing a "bold, new disregard for police authority in the streets of Seattle."

That's from your pals at (the "T" is silent).

Yes, I agree wholeheartedly with the problem just described (in paraphrase) by the plaintiffs.

I'm sure the Feds want to restrict City of Seattle police.

That's why all those fusion centers were created and so many federal dollars were given to police forces for the SWAT-ification of the donut-eating corps.

That's why the US Supreme Court rules in favor of cops using deadly force.

Sadly, I think we'll see this lawsuit successfully divert attention away from the real problem, and onto the Now With New Goalpost Positions! reframed discussion:  not whether police already have too much power and authority, but rather, whether in some academically interesting and wholly theoretical way, Uncle might just want to disempower the corporally spineless, completely unarmed, no-power-of-the-state-behind them, whipping-boy milquetoasts of the Seattle PD.

Wouldn't you agree?

Monday, May 26, 2014

jack handey

Have you ever gone to a place like Song Meanings to read what others think might be the meaning behind a song?

I just spent 10 minutes reading these entries for this song.

Let me tell you what they all missed.  Well, all except one.


There's an old parable about two Buddhist monks, one senior and one junior, walking along a road.

They come upon a young princess in a sedan chair set down on the ground just this side of a stream crossing.

Next to the sedan chair are the princess's two porters, one of them standing and the other sitting on the ground, holding his ankle. The elder monk walks up to the porters and asks them if they need assistance.  The standing porter describes what just happened:  as they began walking toward the stream, the front porter slipped and injured his ankle, and is no longer able to walk on it.  The porters do not know how they will get the princess across the stream or their journey continued any further.

The elder monk promptly volunteers himself and his junior as able and willing to carry the princess and her sedan chair across the stream.

"That way," says the senior monk to the uninjured porter, "you will be able to carry your injured brother across the stream.  Perhaps once across the stream, the three of you will find your solution."

The elder monk walks back to the junior monk and tells him what he must do.  The junior monk complains, but knows there must be some good reason for the task.  He walks up and introduces himself to the princess.  Then, when she is ready, he and the senior monk pick up the sedan chair and carefully carry it across the stream, being careful to not lose footing and dunk the princess.

The uninjured porter manages to get his hobbled brother across.  The monks say farewell to the princess and her porters, and continue their journey.

Several hours pass without much said between the two monks, and then the junior monk begins complaining about how the princess was too precious to wade the stream herself, and griping about the porters' inability to solve the problem.  "One of them could have carried the princess across first on his back, then crossed back again to the first side, and then carried the injured one.  I don't understand why they were so stymied.  I don't understand why it became our problem.  Why were we helping with the privileges and expectations of royalty?"

The senior monk stops in his stride and turns to the junior.

"It seems to me that we crossed that stream hours ago.  I set the princess down when we reached this side of the stream.  Why are you still carrying her?"


Sure, "carry the zero" is a math pun and/or geek joke.

Someone in the comment thread mentioned the song is about Buddhism.

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but it reminds me of the Buddhist monk parable/fable stated above.

Listen to the senior monk.

Carry the zero.

Lug no baggage.


I think some of the other comments hold possibility.

"Zero = loser" said one comment, "it's about carrying around a loser in a relationship."

Well that much is pretty obvious as the brown skin of the onion, eh?  What other layers are there?

One comment says it's Martsch talking to himself.  The loser he carries around, as a burden, is himself.

Seems plausible.

People hear what they want to hear.  There's all sorts of botched, mis-heard lyrics everywhere, sung faithfully in time with the real lyrics, by people who imagine they have the song dialed and tight.


One thing I wonder about is that I have always heard one section as:

Count your blemishes.
You can't.
They're all gone.

I can see your
putting them back on.

The linked version says can't

If the lyric is "can" then he's being snide.  Predicting the pattern will hold true again.

If the lyric is "can't" then he's saying, "you already got over this, but now you're bringing it up again."

So it depends on whether this song is sarcastic or empathetic, I guess.

sputter on, flitter

Uh, wrong.  Not teaching how to redact.

Making redacting safe.

If Evil Repthuglicans were in power, redaction would be proof of EEEEEEEVILLLLLLL THUGGGGGGGERYYYYYYYY!


Fucking butterflies seeking nectar.

-- Hal Caidagh, memorializing yet another bit of gaffery.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

it's never my responsibility

Intrepid urbanite wonders whether he can find a device that allows him to make others responsible for his rescue when intrepidly challenging himself on long (to him) rides in terrain found at 1 mile or more in distance from Civilization.

If you don't think it's your responsibility to take care of yourself when you're out having fun in the woods, desert, hills, canyons, gorges, valleys, riverbottoms, creeks, streams, rivers, then maybe you should stop re-creating in those places.

If you need the security of a cell phone, sat phone, locator beacon or guaranteed rescue device, you're not prepared to be in the situation.  So go home and don't come back until you are prepared.

No, your e-certificate from Cyphen Backcountry Experience won't suffice.

end run around hipster tag

Can you like this song and not be interrogated on the sincerity of your affinity and whether you read Nick Hornby or watched John Cusack playing Hornby's fictional muppet?

Does it even matter?

It will be inevitable in certain groups, the Torquemada's fun-time. I mean, did you even read the novel, or did you just watch the movie? Or just read a thumbnail review of the movie? Or of the soundtrack? Or an interview with John Cusack or Jack Black or Nick Hornby?

And was it just the vibe of one of the scenes in the middle of the movie, inside the record shop, where they're all amped on musical discussion? What, did that pull you along?

Or maybe it was just that you like the vibe of the song outside the context of the book or movie, because it reminds you of:

Which sorta reminds you, for some unknown reason, of:

Who remind you of:

But if you only come by your "likes" through zuckbuck or flitter, I suppose I can see where you went wrong.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

who put the torch to reno?

mailbag 1

Though it's been a while, this blog occasionally gets reader mail with questions we find answerable. This just in:

Mister Redweld, how come you never post essays like this one any more?

I was able to contact that essay's author, Paul Behrer, for his response.

Interested party,

I would direct your attention to my position in the right-hand Retired Jerseys section:
Apolitical satirist who enjoys writing satirical observations that confuse readers who cannot understand comedy unless it is not only partisan, but done in favor of their chosen tribe. Quit writing when too many readers were stopping by to read his satire. He did not seek fame nor fortune, and was not trying to "build a community." In other words, he felt claustrophobic among the many visitors, and had to leave for less crowded spaces.
There you have it.

As Behrer says, there you have it.

Friday, May 23, 2014

not ciccone youth

but it is into the groove-y

whackjob fundamentalists gripe about atheists, story at 11

You can't say our God doesn't exist, because It does. Our God is superior because it's not some stupid homuncular deity.

We all know there is no Superman who will save us.**

What will save us is The God's way of thinking.

Others say that religion is nutty, barmy, loopy, pig-headed, 'fraidycat reactionary nonsense. "Magical thinking," they say. "You're engaged in fantasy!," screech the jealous wails echoing through our bank-vault-secure, loyal-to-God outlook.

Religion is for those feeling a blank hole in their spirit or existential outlook.

Our True Belief satisfies a far different thing.

It palliates the guilt that follows a holistic inquiry. For if Profit is King, we have no right to question what the King has ordained, and the unfortunate casualties in lost/damaged lives, destroyed natural resources, and diminished existential enjoyment are just part of His Divine Plan, which we have neither the right nor the intelligence to question.

We want more Stuff, and we want it forever. Your sad atheism, in which you deny royalty to Profit and ignore God's Will, will earn you eternal damnation. You will labor under the self-recriminations that trouble lesser beings such as yourself, unBeliever. You will tarry over people's unearned demotions or firings at work, fretting the poverty creeping throughout that portion of The Economy.

You must learn to un-hitch your conscience from your bank account, unBeliever. What gains at the bank actually is a gain for all alive today on Earth.

This is the will of our lord.


** Though we do, when opportunity presents, direct the unBeliever's attention to The God's one true Acolyte, Ludwig von Mises.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

losing what tony hiss wrote about

Cam Cole at around 1:22 here --

but how we gonna Grow The Sport dude?

-- Hal Caidagh, wondering if these same nimrods urge Grow The Tumor when they get the Big C Dx.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

uh...oh...hey, sorry I didn't see ya

The original TdF nemesis of Mister Cheatin' America recently decided, while hauling ass on a country road, that he would ignore other vehicles much in the same way one would if playing a video game that simulates racing. 

You don't feel collisions there (well, a controller rumble maybe), just keep 'er pinned and that 90deg right turn is good to go!

Thurgau police ... said simply that a 41-year-old driver failed to brake in time at a junction and crashed into the back of another vehicle which had pulled up at a stop sign.

* * *

The car that was hit was thrown into a field, overturned and then came to rest on its wheels, while the 41-year-old’s car went on to collide with another vehicle and also went off the road.

VeloNews -- Jan Ullrich drunk driving accident

How fast was he going into that right turn? If there's a stop sign there, how fast can you really take that turn? So you come cooking into it and maybe break a little wimpily and now you're going to probably tap bumpers, huh?

No. You're gonna send that sumbitch flying, far and forcefully enough that it strikes the ground and rolls once, landing upright in an adjacent field.

That's still not enough displaced energy. You've got a bit left. You've got to now smack into yet another car.

Bumper cars.

-- Chet Redweld, wondering why Ullrich can't find a better outlet for his competitive nature


Genetic XYs suffer a genderbound flaw:  when stuck with a problem, the solution must be buy new gear.  Nothing else will work in your favor.

This is classic ego defense.  The problem can't be me.  It must be the device I'm using, the tool I'm manipulating, the toy I'm swinging/riding/otherwise monkey-moving.

As previously stated here, XXs default to the it must be me.

We pause for a moment to consider whether this difference is at the crux of why men and women often don't understand each other.


Pre-enlightenment, your average random Enlightened XY would have done likewise.

I'm not sure whether I can build a bicycle wheel.  I suppose I will need a truing stand, and not just any truing stand but probably something built by the Swiss or the Germans and priced like a Mercedes Benz.  I'll probably need some spoke wrenches and there's probably all kinds of artisanal ones coming out of Portland.  I've gotta bear in mind that people judge my core-ness in subtle ways, such as whether my gadgets are true Portland Artisanal Period, and not just some Chinese knockoff.

Soon enough your idea of "build my own wheels, save some money, learn a skill" has turned into "buy the keenest tools I can find, thus reversing the money-saving goal and sending the skill-learning goal down the wrong path."

The road to Enlightenment is paved with once-used expensive tools.


There is no Valhalla for the Enlightened.  Their enlightened state puts them beyond the need for such halls of honor.  See here:

Yep, that's a Xmas tree trunk.

-- Hal Caidagh, in the attic of someone else's mind

Monday, May 19, 2014

two kegs?

At $495 this can persuade someone considering a RS Monarch Plus.

It's a lot cheaper than the Double Barrel Air CS at $667, and hovers a shim's width above the Monarch Plus's $491.

And if you're the Drive-In Surgery sort, slowly replacing your body's surgical stainless steel hardware with titanium bits, I'm pretty sure the weight (at 295g it's lighter than the Monarch Plus (325g) or the DB Air CS (509g)) has you cancelling that one scheduled surgery to swap out the collarbone plating.

Qs for knowledge-stuffing at the Luddite-peopled non-Technophile end of the social stratum:

How long would development of this shock have taken without 3D printing in prototype stage?

How much material was saved by 3D printing during development?

How much $$ was saved?


If 3D printers hadn't come along, and hadn't evolved to the point they were during the DBInline's process,

when would this have been released?

how much would it have cost MSRP?

how much would it have cost in materials used-discarded-recycled during development?  consider here "cost" includes environmental cost of extracting, creating, using and post-use discarding/processing of materials (metals, etc) used pre-3D-printing.

Sy Syms thinks we should know.

Friday, May 16, 2014

thinks he's dorothy parker

but he's more like a parker house roll doughboy

the great gargantuan mind, responsible for Pointless Snark Served by the Metric Ton(ne), long history of defending Great Leftists but within the last 3 months eager to Joe Bidenize this blog's Neil Kinnock messages

truly an original

worshiped by twitter hipsters who spend their day tweet-bumping their blogpost link in order to earn the day's $ 1.75 in click revenue because the blogpost contains such mighty wit and deep political insight along with updates on how many wipes it took after the day's second shit as well as how much piss dribbled out of the urethra while sitting at the desk composing another tweet-bump

even when the brilliant doughboy giggles pretend to be analyzing things, they're still apologizing

good job Glenn... uh... I mean... Walking Thimbledick Hardon and his fiftysomething hipster PR agent

--Hal Caidagh, amused by the Ellis-Ellers-Ellensburg level of sock puppetry

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

order, ordure, ordeal... or not

Once again I have returned home after a tough day grinding out the research needed thanks to the barrage of posts my client keeps posting in violation of Judge Flappe's February 18, 2014 Order, and what was waiting for me in the mailbox but yet another order from Judge Flappe.

This one is similar to the last one, and requires re-activation of yet another affiliate blog.

You can thank Judge Flappe for this. Be sure to read the whole series, otherwise you won't be fully informed.

Walt Greenglen's blog, feygaleh scheisster


Dave Schramm's clinic on how to add guitar texture to a song:

too bad it's hard to find Schramms songs on the toobz.

you? you don't know the law!

Last night I watched, for the first time, Anatomy of a Murder. I got only 2/3 through before falling asleep.

You might think, dumbstruck pretender at holistic knowledge, that I fell asleep because the movie sucked. But as we always must remind you here at un-sf, if you're bored that's because you're boring.

I fell asleep because I did a buster of a bike ride after work, and it put me in a state of zombification. And I started watching the 2hr40min movie at 10:30pm, not exactly a smart choice.


I just went to look at what The Consortium of Morons thinks about the movie, by reading reviews at and, as I usually do, starting with the "Hated It" comments.

We can take as example this capsule of brilliance:

This picture was nominated for seven Oscars. I would have nominated it for one more--the most boring picture of 1959. 2.5 hours of black and white boredom despite the always remarkable Jimmy Stewart but I will say this: the real Joseph Welch, the lawyer who got crazy Sen.Joe McCarthy in front of millions of TV watchers and disemboweled him, was an absolute pleasure to watch.A terrific actor and a terrific American. This film was all about missing panties which self-admittedly Lee Remick wore but not always. By the way, the film does not deal with the garment industry but rather with sexual violation. Ben Gazzara shoots and kills a bar owner who raped his wife; clear cut premeditated murder but Ben can't remember "nuthin.'Jimmy Stewart is a laid back lawyer having a miserable practice who's called on to save the day. George C. Scott is great as a hotshot prosecuting attorney but alas...the movie was the lousiest courtroom drama I ever saw.

So, what you're telling us is that "courtroom dramas" have to be surreal, whiz-bang things that make litigation look like warfare in the trenches.

I realize that a lot of litigators use battle metaphors when conducting or reliving a lawsuit. It's a way for milquetoasts to feel heroic. But that has no bearing on whether a "courtroom drama" is supposed to be as action-packed as Die Hard, or as invective-filled as Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

If you're disappointed that a "courtroom drama" isn't fast-moving, exciting, or otherwise phony enough to keep you jittery with anxiety and wanting to bash someone's skull with the judge's gavel, I have to say that's because you know only teevee law. You probably think Glenn Greenwald heroic and the standard for all lawyers to reach and embody.


Litigation is not exciting. It's marginally more exciting than accounting, a few rungs up from actuarial science, and probably far superior to debating with Marxists regarding who has the most faithful interpretation of what Big Beard actually thought.

Someone who reviews Anatomy of a Murder and says it's not exciting enough, well that person should pick a subject that he/she knows well from lifelong experience, and then try to make an exciting movie about it.

When you watched The Machinist, did you complain that it was a "boring" depiction of work in a machine shop?

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

wanna know why?

You want to know why the Blogosphere did not become Blogtopia and completely replace Leading Newspapers of Record?

I have a few reasons to offer.

1) Too many bloggers were Democrat / liberal / progressive / leftist morons who really truly thought the GOP was/is the reason America is in the downward vortex, and as an adjunct, they thought Obama was The True Saviour. Their realization of Obama's bogusness --which was delayed well past the end of Obama's first term-- has embarrassed them. They can't admit it to themselves, let alone acknowledge it to their readers.

2) The metrosexualizing / feminizing of American culture, which forces PC onto everyone and makes everything about Identity Politics, rewards only those people who get paid to provoke a frenzy of clicks.

3) The same thing just recounted in (2) has pushed most people toward twitter, and since gay men and women of all bents really enjoy snarky catty remarks at 140 characters or less, the effect of (2) has really magnified. Twitter is all about a "win" in snark, and is completely inable to offer any kind of substance.

4) The vectors of hope which existed outside the hallmark event of First Black POTUS were all discovered to be shams. Occupy:_______? Sham. Obamacare? Sham. Global anti-terrorism? Sham. Homeland Security? Sham. Glenn Greenwald? Sham. Edward Snowden? Sham. Wikileaks? Sham. Bradley Manning? Sham. Sham, sham, sham, sham, sham. Sham-a-lama-ding-dong. It's all a fucking fraud. Do you know why?

You comfort yourself by reading "radicals" like "Tarzie," and congratulate yourself on agreeing with Tarzie's snark. You don't examine whether Tarzie is just another idiot embodying (1) through (4) above, because his snark makes you feel superior. For global accuracy, replace "Tarzie" with whomever is your chosen hero. It could be Chris Hedges, it could be Chris Floyd, it could be David Graeber, it could be anyone really. Just remember, you were gulled, and you were too proud to admit it.

Monday, May 12, 2014

dumphole of the gaily

"Bailey" is a gay man. Good job taking the troll seriously, gaylib commenters!

I like how the "reason" commentariat walks on eggshells around "Bailey" in that thread. Looks about identical to the kinds of "criticism" we see from Greenwald or "Tarzie," where snark on a tangential bit of noise is deemed incisive deconstruction of the problem truly at issue.

--Hal Caidagh, ipecac'd by the whole subject.

like airplane seats

Did you know that airplane seats have grown wider in order to accommodate how Americans have grown fatter?

Apparently, "singletrack" now is defined likewise, and 6 to 8 foot wide trailbeds are "singletrack."

Thank you, BikePark-ification Influence. Now an 8 foot wide trailbed is "skinny trail" riding, because 8 feet is "narrow" in BikeParkWorld.

whatsamatta sidney? you look like you've seen a ghost!


Well, it's probably just me communicating from the spirit realm.

For example, I am amused to read about Hrauben Phyckre. Back --way way back-- in the day when I worked at MWCOG, big public meetings were always enlivened by the presence of The Phyckre and we lowly oar-pullers in the slave galley would enjoy the rabble being roused, or at least imagined as roused, by Phyckre.

I think I'd map my entire sense of existence enjoyment on the legend of reference to one person. One person can make my image of myself and where I live deflate and fall pancake-flat.

--Chucky Oxtrot, spiritually present but corporally absent.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Friday, May 9, 2014

tarot and ouija



I don't know how you create and grow a gaming software company in the same vicinity as the home base for the band that made Mushroom Boy and not use that song in some way for the marketing of your post-nuclear-apocalypse game series, but maybe that's why I'm not a millionaire software baron.

Maybe they'll have the next installment make references to the 80s rather than the 40s when it comes to music.

it's the situation

Anne Caroline Chausson had a blast on this first round, she mainly won all the stages and beat half of the Elite men. She Rocks our Sport!!

photo/caption pinkbike & Montenbaik Enduro

Anne-Caroline Chausson has crushed her competition throughout her career, and regularly that has included pulverizing many of the male competitors who, luckily for them, are not competing against her but rather against other men.  They don't have to slink around the pits post-race feeling dejected because they "got beat by a girl." 

Well, at least formally they don't.  In their minds, they'd still know she stomped them.

Regardless of what Ms Priscilla Houle-Eaton imagines, I have endless respect for strong women who demonstrate confident competence, and though I would not rather be a woman than a man, I would prefer to ride a bike as well as Anne-Caroline Chausson, rather than as well as I do.

--Hal Caidagh, reporting live from the situation.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

More Reactionary Violence Invades Missoula from Ravalli County

story by Keelah Shpawler
Staff Writer for The Gentrifier

Gaia Snefler and Ras Dreadmon sharing a little Michael Franti outside Plonk.  iPhone photo by Chad Sharkissen.

While Missoula has always enjoyed a reputation as the most progressive town in the Rocky Mountains, lately it's become so progressive that reactionaries are getting violent with micro-aggressions everywhere you turn.

Gaia Snefler and Ras Dreadmon are first-year students at the University of Montana School of Law and, nearing the end of that first year, recently decided to blow off some steam with a friendly bar crawl on their fixies. They began the night at James Bar, moved on to Tamarack Brewery, then hopped over to Red Bird Wine Bar, followed by a saunter to Montgomery Distillery. At Montgomery they ran into classmates Chad Sharkissen and Panda Reed-Blaumann, and decided to hit Plonk next, followed by a groovy sushi dinner at Sushi Hana. It sounded like the perfect night for refined inebriation. And it was, right up until the moment they exited Plonk and tried to slide on over to Sushi Hana.

Once they hit the sidewalk outside Plonk, they encountered two dirty-looking scumbags who likely drove up from Darby after a day of killing trees. One of the scumbags began laughing at Gaia and Ras as they were talking about Michael Franti and whether his Spearhead albums were better than his solo work. According to Dreadmon, the rude logger type mocked Snefler's iPod for being purple and asked if he could see the playlist. Dreadmon assures us that there was menace in the logger type's voice, and easily detected streaks of misogyny and homophobia in the wording.

Sharkissen and Reed-Blaumann were checking their facebook and twitter profiles, respectively, as the altercation was brewing. Reed-Blaumann confirms that Dreadmon's appraisal of menace, misogyny and homophobia was accurate, and she notes that at some point she stopped paying attention to her twitter profile and pulled up her Contacts to find the 911 entry. Sincerely believing that her life and the lives of classmates were at risk, she quickly dialed 911 and advised that some violent reactionaries with 13 plates were assaulting upstanding citizens outside Plonk.

Star-calibre Missoula PD trooper Shawn Pavlov responded to the scene.  According to Pavlov, "the stupid redneck assholes with 13 plates need a clear message to stay out of Missoula, and I was first on the scene to deliver that message with all the force allowed me under my badge.  I strap on the badge and gun every day, putting my life on the line to protect Missoula's fine progressive residents from the reactionary rednecks who jealously invade our town causing mayhem and violence everywhere they go."

Three cheers for Trooper Pavlov, who quickly restrained the two logger types and stuffed them into a squad car for transport to the City Jail, where they were held at a bail amount of $100,000 apiece.  Judge Whipcracker, who assumed the municipal bench after the retirement of spineless friend-of-the-criminal-element Judge Hloudum, confided to this author that she knew neither Darbarian could raise that amount.

The defendants currently await their unannounced arraignment date in the county facility on Mullan Road.

Trooper Pavlov received a commendation and promotion.

As for their parts, Reed-Blaumann, Sharkissen, Dreadmon and Snefler reconstituted their evening with a rejuvenating round of sake at Sushi Hana.  The Missoula Downtown Association awarded each of them a $1,000 credit voucher good at no fewer than 75% of downtown vendors.  Let's hope they all earn 4.0s this semester!

everything we do, it's for your lustreless cheeks

--Hal Caidagh, sagaciously leering down his nose at you while you attempt to gain the lower elevations of Mt Elitism


If you're out on a bike ride, you have only one option if you are going to take a photo of your riding friends.

Just another ride for these 5 guys.

The best job here is photographer.  He's like the director in a movie.  The poor sherpa on the leftmost, he has to lug the tripod, swingarm attachment + counterweight, and all cameras.  Plus he has to carry the casual clothing he and the photog will wear.  Who carries the steadicam?  The sherpa.  Who carries lip gloss and mascara?  The photog.

But who's taking the picture of the picture?  Some dude wearing crocs and skinny jeans, prolly.  Prolly rode his fatbike all 200 yds from the parking lot.  While wearing Specialized SWAT gear.

We're lucky Sinyard's boys picked SWAT for the name.  Now Sinyard can sue every police department in America.

Photo credit reluctantly given to Pinkbike/Shimano.  Caption credit Chester B. Redweld 2014.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

yaaaaaaaaah bro! so rad! stoked!

I love these reviews written by people who use the review to establish an Online Identity as some variation of the Rad Bro UberGnar Shredmaster Dominator Supreme.

Will it satisfy on the descents?  Yes, I'm sure that's a question that can be answered only by pretending there are incredible subtleties at play here, discernible only by one Eric Melson of Boise ID.  It would be quite impossible to extrapolate likely descending traits from a look at the geometry, a peek at the fork chosen, and a glance at the tires used.

Are you likely to be "surprised by" the climbing performance of a carbon 29er HT designed for XC racing?  Then please, read on as RBUGSDS opines freely with choice wordsmithing on the completely startling experience of climbing on a XC race bike.  Who knew they could go uphill faster than my Nuclear Fission B9G6 v2.0 - now with 650B! wonderbike that is primed to slay every single North American enduro race I have fantasized about entering while I keypunch more numbers and decimal points here at Cubefarm Industries.

Eric Melson on the Trek Superfly 8, Boise, Idaho.

If I had only 6 feet of trailbed width to use in that terrifying garden of man-eating rocks, I'd be shit-scared.  Thankfully RBUGSDS has the cojones to remain relatively calm when faced with the numerous chickenshit lines which allow a completely rock-free experience despite the appearance of frightening human-flesh-rending ROCKS EVERYWHERE.  He doesn't look the least bit tired and seems ready to hop the entire section, doesn't he?  Naturally I'm envious.  I'd be in that brush left of his left elbow, changing into my 2d pair of shorts because I'd just soiled my starting pair at the first sight of the emasculating horror that is this pictured rock garden.

We are duly impressed by him reminding us that he likes MUCH WIDER handlebars.  This proves his serious descending chops and qualifies him as being much more off-roady and enduro-y than the typical XC racer who, it is generally accepted as true, generally is little more than a road rider spending the brief time of a race on dirt.

We are then trebly impressed by RBUGSDS telling us on several occasions that he's familiar with the Yelli Screamy.  Obviously RBUGSDS is a core rider.  He was low and slack well before those East LA dudes were making their lowrider cars.

These guys called War wrote and played this song to foreshadow the birth of Eric Melson, who would one day move onto great things like reviewing bikes for a publication aimed at money-rich-but-time-poor-and-athleticism-absent office drones and other cultural poseurs who may or may not be trustafarians.

But I digress.


My impression vaulted into the quaternary mode when I saw RBUGSDS tell us he would rather run 2.4 tires F/R on an XC race bike. This proves he's gnar and tackles only the toughest trails with quick-take pictures of posed almost-trackstand status:

Eric Melson on the Trek Superfly 8, Boise, Idaho.

Wisely he has chosen to carry zero speed into the frightening feature his front wheel is about to encounter.  Good job, dude.  Slower is better here.

I bet he is doing a head-fake here, and actually plans to bang a left at the bottom of that scary two-ledged horror-house.

This guy is so rad.  I'm going to buy whatever he says is good.

Also, I'm gonna make sure I promote him and the linked review wherever I can.  Grow the sport, dudes.

my musical emperor's new robes are the finest in the land

Since I don't listen to radio anywhere and haven't the slightest clue what radio stations in realworld or in fake-projected-self-world are playing way too fucking much, I am having a hard time explaining why I keep running across this unbelievably shitty, fake-theatric, pseudo-soulful-reveal piece of musical shit.

Apparently it's like bubble economics, and other faddish things.  People say they "like" something they actually hate, because if they don't "like" that thing, they'll be "unpopular."

We'll book it here as yet another reminder that most people never outgrow the identity crisis that first arose sometime near 8th or 9th grade.

The song in question has nothing to redeem it but its "popularity," which stands in glaring contrast to its (lack of) musical qualities.  Of course, if you're among the 0.0231% of humans who don't organize their lives around gaining more "popularity" and emulating those whom you think more "popular" than yourself, you are well aware that "popularity" is about as essential and useful as a digital fart noise machine.

--Hal Caidagh, musical connoisseur comfortably standing higher on Mt Elitism than you'll ever reach

Sunday, May 4, 2014

order in

This is almost as good as the "Mexican food" you can get in a 7-Eleven cold-case burrito.

In Saturday's mail I received an Order from Judge Flappe requiring me to ensure that the affiliated-but-dormant blog, progressive reports now, be resurrected in order that people ("people" meaning, I assume, potential jurors) who may have seen what GRH, LLC members saw in the early days of this blog are now able to refer back to PRN.

I don't really understand the Order nor whether it arose sua sponte or was prompted by some ex parte activity by Lyspe.  I never saw any moving papers seeking such an order. 

I'll be getting into those questions first thing Monday AM, but meanwhile here's the link to the now-reactivated blog.

progressive reports now

Saturday, May 3, 2014

point of order

Elsewhere in blogtopia, a certified hater of this blog accused a random commenter of being "Oxy" and the accuser went to lengths to ...well, I'm assuming here... try to insult the random commenter by saying "Oxy" used to be a lawyer.

In the interest of keeping the record clear and clean, I'd like to offer a point of clarification. Or, rather, several points.

1) "Oxy" is the pet name given by Simulated Beaver, Michael J. Smith, to this blog's first author: Charles F. Oxtrot.

2) As the lawyer representing this blog in the lawsuit filed against it by GRH, LLC I am in occasional contact with Mr. Oxtrot. I confirmed with him the fact that the random commenter accused as being "Oxy" (as noted above: thus, Charles F. Oxtrot) was, in fact, not Mr. Oxtrot. Mr. Oxtrot also does not know anything about who may have written the comment that prompted the accusation.

3) Mr. Oxtrot was not and is not a lawyer, nor is he this blog's lawyer.  Mr. Oxtrot's background is stated quite clearly on the right margin of this blog:

Charles F. Oxtrot - The Magister of Mendacious Mirth himself, hated by leftists, rightists, misogynists, misanders, feminists, lesbians, gays, bis, trannys, liberals, progressives, Marxists, Republicans, conservatives, neocons, neolibs, socialists, agorists, futurists, optimists, scientism-ists, pseudo-skeptics, statists, libertarians, Chomskyites, Zionists, kibbutzers, armchair athletes, people who think knowing sports statistics is an impressive feat, road bicyclists, nordic skiers, mountain lifestylers, country clubbers, trust funders, hipsters, Green Economy boosters, NPR fans, PBS fans, public school fans, Will Ferrell fans, Fred Armisen fans, Democrats, people in each coast's Portland, golfers, card players, gamblers, SUV owners, spineless wussies and other pathetic characters on the human stage. He left the writer's position to assume the editor's job, but only lasted 3 days as editor before getting on his bicycle and pedaling away for an un-announced length of time. Still drops by occasionally via deus ex machina.

4) Perhaps the accuser has a difficult time keeping organized in her mind the separate authors who have contributed to this blog's posts. Perhaps she is just confused. The only person who has served as counsel to this blog is Chester B. Redweld, who by no mere coincidence happens to be myself, so I am not presenting specious rumor or second-hand hearsay.

Further your affiant sayeth naught.

plymouth rock

hah, that was funny, Sam.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

so maybe mistakes, maybe they were made?

I suppose I could consider Will Ferrell funny if I found out that his Cowbell Guy sketch was always nothing more than ranking on Bob Nastanovich and I learned that he and Nastanovich are and have been friends for a long time, and prank on each other frequently.

Righty-o, that would make me rethink the notion of Will Ferrell being unfunny.