January 15, 2013 § 20 Comments
G3 told me on the Donut Ride a few weeks back that one of his Hollywood producer friends followed this blog and might get in touch to retain me as a “consultant.”
This was intended to flatter me, which it did, so I told G3 that his friend was a thieving fucking douchebag, and the only reason any Hollywood anything reads so much as the wall in a public toilet is to steal it and plagiarize it to a fare thee well.
“Not my friend!” protested G3. “He’d never rip you off!” Then G3 paused. “But his partner sure would.”
So, like Douchestrong’s confession, it was PREDICTED HERE FIRST: Now, get ready for the pilot TV show based on Cycling in the South Bay, followed by the mother of all copyright infringement lawsuits.
G3, is your Hollydouche producer hosebag listening? If he steals so much as a fucking indefinite article from these hallowed columns of honeyed prose and sparkling dialogue, he’ll find himself on the reaming end of more ass-lashing litigation than there are dickstomps on a cold, wet, windy NPR.
Next blog post: Sensitive, warm, thoughtful cycling poem.
December 29, 2012 § 34 Comments
Have you ever noticed how there’s no such thing as a simple ride? Once you’re on your bike, shit happens. The reason we don’t think anything of it is because we forget most of it by the time we’re home.
Why do we forget?
Because when you’re on a bike, you’re out “in life,” where shit happens. You’re not cooped up in the car, or couch surfing, or nailed to a theater seat. You’re out in the world, going slightly more or slightly less than the speed of the world around you, unprotected from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
So much happens so quickly, and it’s all interspersed with intense activity, that when you get home all you want to do is eat, shower, and sleep. Once that’s done, the details of the ride are a distant memory, or no memory at all.
Nothing special happened today
I met up with Jeff, Harry, and Rod for a leisurely pedal from the Center of the Known Universe to Mandeville Canyon. It was California cold, which is to say in the mid 40’s which is to say that a whole lot of cyclists stayed in bed despite the clear skies and beautiful morning.
The extra effort of pulling on a pair of booties can be, like, such a drag.
After drag racing up Mandeville, with Rod playing pacemaker until he fried, and then Jeff putting King Harold and me to sword, we turned around and descended. While clipping along San Vicente’s long, fast, straight downhill at well over 30 mph, a large magnolia seed cone fell from a limb and hit me in the face.
It was such a blow that it jerked my head back. Had it not been for my glasses, which absorbed much of the blow, my eye could have been taken out. I’ve often thought that the extra wide frame of my SPY Quanta frames afforded me extra protection, but this day proved it (insert applause for shameless plug here). As it was, I was lucky to retain control and pull over. Aside from a small cut, minor bruising, and a fine string of oaths, I was unhurt.
As we pedaled on, Jeff reminded Rod of the time that a giant piece of steel had flown up and hit him in the shin. “Remember that?” asked Jeff.
As if anyone ever forgets excruciating pain! “Oh, hell yes,” said Rod. His entire shin swelled up, he’d had to dismount, doubled over in pain…it was quite epic. Pain filled. Memorable.
This of course recalled insect bites. “Remember when that dude got stung in the eye by a bee?”
“Yeah, and his whole body swelled up like a giant grapefruit, and EMS had to come and take him off to the ER.”
“Or what about the time we were riding along and almost got hit by that piano?”
Everyone nodded, recalling the near disaster when a piano fell out of the back of a truck, bouncing along the tarmac at 50 mph, keyboard, legs, and chunks of wood flying like spears, scattering the terrified peloton.
“What about when G$ went over the guardrail at 40?”
“Or when Hottie hit that giant rock going down the Switchbacks at speed?”
“Remember when the angry driver got out and pulled a pistol?”
“That was scary as hell. And the naked chick on the motor scooter?”
“Ten stars! What about the time Stern-O wrecked an entire frame by running over a stick and getting it caught in the rear triangle?”
“High tide on the bike path when that huge wave came over the breakwater, knocked Jack off his bike and took his water bottle out to sea.”
“Stern-O’s wipeout at speed going into Pedro. Rolled a new silk sew-up at 40 in the turn dropping down Western. What the hell was he doing with silk sew-ups on a road bike?”
“Strauchmann’s one-legged crash and bike toss that almost took out Yule’s recently repaired elbow!”
“That freddie who got bit by a rattlesnake while changing a flat up on Piuma.”
“That dude who stomped off in the weeds to take a leak and found a small pot farm.”
“All those condoms and underwear in a neat pile underneath the bridge.”
Pretty soon we were home. And except for the punch in the face by the falling seed cone that almost blinded me and caused a horrific crash, it was a perfectly normal day.
December 20, 2012 § 28 Comments
It happened on December 13, 2012, at 10:16 PM. I would have missed it entirely had Lee Slone not posted the briefest of requiems. It was the farewell of an Internet character known by his Twitter handle as Captaintbag1. Most people called him Captain Tbag. I called him Cap Taintbag.
He accepted either appellation, and many others besides. He was a genius.
And now he’s gone, vanished into the ether, or the Home for Deleted Tweeters, or the Stumblehole of Vanished Tumblrs.
He was a genius because he did something completely new with the English language. He invented a vernacular that was idiomatic, yet perfectly grammatical even as it upended all rules of speling and gramar to create something funny, and beautiful, and most of all, new.
“There is no new thing new under the sun,” it is written in Ecclesiastes 1:9, and with the exception of electronic shifting and Prez’s color combos, it’s true. Everything that is has, more or less, already been.
But not Cap Taintbag. He was beyond rare because he was truly an original writer. He left the orbit of rarity and reached the sublime by also being witty, and powerful, and able to convey the truth in his 144-character mind-and-sight-and-sound-bites.
Hope you got to enjoy him while he was around. He was the best.
Who killed Taintbag?
Sad to say, he killed himself. His last few tweets make the reason clear: His persona, his character, his wit and his art were unsustainable.
They were unsustainable, in my opinion, because of his anonymity.
The Internet’s chief promise to many is its assurance of anonymity. All of those things you’re afraid to say because of your job, your spouse, your kids, your teachers, the police, the New National Surveillance Society, whatever…you can say them on the Internet under cover of a clever handle.
Taintbag blazed a path through the lies and hypocrisy of doping in cycling. He became an interlocutor who easily cowed and trampled the false bravado and attendant falsehoods of Vaughters and his apologists. He became a knife-like analyst who could, with a few charts and a few ungramatical mispelings, slice to ribbons the claims that Racer A and Racer B and Racer C won the Tour de D clean.
He was funny as hell, and through it all he reeked of kindness and decency and self-deprecation and humanity.
He was a wanker who you just knew was smarter at the keyboard than he was good on the bike, but somehow you didn’t hold it against him, and you loved him for it all the more.
But he learned a hard lesson: When you become a masked avenger you have to forfeit the You under the mask. You become the Dark Knight, only, since it’s reality not tveality or movieality, there aren’t any super powers or smokin’ hot wenches or fantastic successes that come with it.
You’re just an anonymous slob afraid to rip off the mask and let the You fill up the space formerly occupied by the outsized mask and the superhero get-up.
Taintbag swirled down the drain of his own creation, the dissonance between his persona and his real self eventually becoming so great that he pulled the plug himself. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.
I imagine that he’s a school teacher or a bureaucrat somewhere, incredibly relieved at having set his burden down. Now he can go back to his beloved MTB and tech talk, only wistfully, every once in a while, thinking about Cap Taintbag and maybe even telling himself that he can pick it back up again whenever he wants, even though he knows, I know, we all know, he won’t, and more importantly, he can’t.
Once Bruce Wayne razes the cave and tosses the outfit, he’s done.
The power of your real name
I admired and envied Taintbag. I admired him because he always took the side of right. I envied him because he was an original and a brilliant writer. He was a guy worthy of the highest praise I can muster for anyone, ever: He was a writer worth plagiarizing.
But I pitied him in his anonymity. He was ultimately a coward, a man possessed of great talent and insight and wisdom and decency who was too afraid of the truth to throw himself headlong into it, to announce himself to us so that we could thank him, admire him, and put ourselves at his feet. He had all the qualities of greatness except the one quality that would have made him so: The guts to use his name.
I’ve seen the transformative power that comes with discarding anonymity. Patrick Brady used to be an anonymous blogger who wrote under a pseudonym. One day coming back from Cross Creek I told him to quit being a chickenshit, to ditch the pseudonym, and to start signing his real name to his opinions.
He took my advice and now steers the helm of one of the most influential publications in cycling. He put aside the crippling anonymity of pseudonymous writing and let the You fill the space, then grow beyond it. That’s the power that comes with owning your opinions, with signing your name, your real one, and letting the chips fall where they may.
That’s the difference between people of character, and just plain old people.
When I read the comments that people post to this blog, and I read them religiously, I feel so much respect and admiration for those who cast aside the protections of handles and monikers and fake names and come here to announce themselves as they are, with the names given them by those who brought them into this world.
They stomp around in this Internet cycling gutter and do it in the open. They know that the real currency of real dialogue is real names.
Taintbag, I miss you more than you know. You were master of the Twittersphere, chickenshit and all. The next time you step forward, if you ever do, it will be under your real name, and no one will ever know that you were he.
But shoot me a sly wink. Then I’ll know it’s you. And we can continue on our separate ways, if that’s how it’s meant to be.
July 31, 2012 § 4 Comments
Huge props to BJ Hale and the whole SoCal cycling family for bringing everyone together last Thursday night to Surf City Cyclery in Costa Mesa, where CyclingIllustrated.com lifted off, officially, into outer space.
Like any good family party it had the usual cast of characters: Crazy Uncle Hank who sits out on the porch all day drinking warm beer and shooting BB’s at stray cats; Cousin Slinky whose clothes are two sizes too small and whose [censored] keep almost bursting to freedom; Grandpa Dinkums who’ll pull you over and talk for an hour about how in his day they raced on square bicycle wheels; Brother Slick who makes a mysterious living selling a mysterious product that always keeps him in Porsches and Armanis; Brother Goat who can’t do anything right and who could [censored] up a [censored]; and most of all Daddy Warbucks, the hard-driving head of the family who makes it all happen.
We had all come together to celebrate the launch of CyclingIllustrated.com, but before we celebrated we got to eat free Mexican food, drink free tequila, and scoop up awesome gift bags loaded with quality swag.
So what the [censored] IS CyclingIllustrated.com?
In a word, it’s “the passion of cycling.” Okay, make that four words. Unlike the antiseptic voices of CyclingNews and Velonews and Bicycling, deadly dull publications written by fatass wannabe fanboys with typewriters, CyclingIllustrated is a new, vibrant, exciting voice written by fatass wannabe fanboys with typewriters who actually race, along with the voices of men and women who make up the very top of the cycling elite.
CyclingIllustrated.com’s goal is to let top racers in all age groups and cycling disciplines share their insights with us, in their own words. In fact, after a quick analysis of the last 4,982 first-person accounts of elite cyclists, a recent study concluded that every successful cyclist has the same ten insights, which I’ve reproduced for you below.
- “Hard race.”
- “Attacked and got away.”
- “Sketchy sprint.”
- “No legs.”
- “Not my course.”
- “Good legs.”
- “Great teammates.”
- “That’s bike racing.”
- “Bah.” (Plus shrug.)
In fact, the video interviews and columns that CyclingIllustrated.com features on its web site offer a new and interesting take on the sport, because we get to hear the strategies, plans, successes, and failures from the very people we see every weekend. Their words help break down the intricacies of a race that might have seemed like one fluid blur. Their approach to a race shows the constantly shifting nature of fortune within each race, and how the slightest vagaries of wind, distance, speed, elevation, and composition of a break can completely alter the outcome of a race. Unless Richard Meeker’s in it, in which case there’s no [censored] way you have a [censored] chance in [censored] [censored] of winning.
The power of synergy
BJ Hale’s dream of a new cycling publication that draws on the very best writing and photography is an awesome one, not least of all because one of the key movers is Danny Munson. The cycling world is filled with photographers. It has a smaller but distinguished number of fine photographers. Danny is neither. He’s an artist, and he gives color, expression, depth, and resolution to the incredible moments in each race he shoots, whether it’s a CBR crit or the pandemonium of Tulsa Tough.
What was most incredible about the launch party, though, was that it showcased how many people and entities have come together to make this project a success. Success has many parents, but failure is an orphan. The success of CyclingIllustrated, though, is more like a group [censored] where everyone keeps diving in for more.
So, without more fanfare, here are the people and entities that made it happen. Props to you all, in no particular order. If I’ve left out a name, let me know. This ain’t my day job.
Shimano: Galaxy’s most awesome creator of bike chain shifter thingies so that we don’t have to shift on the down tube anymore or pedal our [censored] bikes up Alpe d’Huez on a fixed gear.
Spy Optic: Galaxy’s most awesome supporter of grass roots cycling and maker of the best eyewear anywhere. From highest quality performance wear to Rx glasses that will get you [censored] in any club on earth, SPY is the best.
IRT: Googled “IRT” and came up with “Indiana Repertory Theatre,” “International Raquetball Tour,” and “IRT Deadliest Roads Video.” Nope, none of those. It’s Inertia Racing Technology, which is a fancy [censored] way of saying “badass cyclocross wheels that can take anything you got and more.”
Mercury Wheels: Look, I don’t know squat about wheels. I still ride 32-hole aluminum rim clinchers, for Dog’s sake. But these things look freaking awesome. Slap a couple of these onto your ride and you might finish in Jamie or Charon’s zip code. Slap them on Charon’s ride and his wheels will cross the line before he does.
SDG Saddles: Some people say the most important part of the bike is where the rubber meets the road. I say it’s where your [censored] meets the saddle. SDG saddles make sure you go your fastest without rubbing your parts into a gooey mess.
Now Energy Bars: You know how sometimes you’ll be out there hammering and suddenly you just crater? It’s usually because you’re weak and undertrained, and so you’re hosed. But occasionally you’re bonking, and the Now Energy bar, made from healthy stuff, will bring you right back to the razor’s edge.
PROLAB: This arsenal of products “delays muscle fatigue” for both weightlifters and endurance athletes. I sure could have used a case of that [censored] at the San Marcos circuit race yesterday.
H2O: Now someone’s gotta help me out with this one. Water is our sponsor? That’s rad, don’t get me wrong…
Cytomax: “Ctyo” comes from the Greek root for “wanker.” “Max” means “the most.” Cytomax will help you get the most out of your wankerish attempts on the bike, with a balanced blend of electrolytes and other stuff your body need when you feel like your [censored] lungs are about to explode out your ears.
Jenson USA: If you want to buy bike stuff and are too lazy to go to the bike shop, or you live in LA and you don’t have ten hours to spend in traffic, or you’re too pooped from your epic 5-hour training ride, you can pretty much buy it here. Online. From the comfort of your own Big Mac and large fries. It’s okay. We won’t tell.
GU Energy: This stuff isn’t, thankfully, anything like it sounds. Rather, it’s the choice of champions. Squirt a little goo down your craw and you’ll come pounding back like a jackhammer.
Axiss Sports: I Googled this baby to a fare thee well. Crickets.
CalBikeLaw.com: When you get mowed down by some [censored] idiot who’s too busy texting or drinking or snorting coke, who you gonna call? CalBikelaw.com, that’s who! Headed up by two of the best personal injury attorneys in California, Gerry Agnew and Bruce Brusavich have been representing seriously injured Californians for over 38 years.
Skull Candy: Sometimes you need the right sound to crank out that extra ten watts. Skull Candy can deliver the tunes right where you want ‘em, when you want ‘em.
Caliente Southwest Grill: These folks MADE the launch party a party, because without great food it’s just a bunch of people in a bad mood looking at each other and ready to brawl at the drop of a hat. Their food is delicious! Wankmeister certified guaranteed!
Kenda: Awesome bike tires. Slap a pair of these on and motor down the road! If you’re looking for something to go cheap on, don’t pinch pennies on your chamois or your tires. And please don’t whine to me about the high cost of race tires. If you were on a motorcycle you’d spend $600 per pair per race. Feel better, wanker?
Bahati Foundation: Supports inner city youth by providing educational, musical, and athletic equipment. Motivational outreach and giving back is the hallmark of the foundation. Oh, and it also happens to be run by one of the best road sprinters this country has ever seen!
Europa Sports Products: All kinds of rad supplements to help you bike faster, pedal longer, [censored] harder, and achieve the athletic results to which you’ve set your mind!
Surf City Cyclery: This is like the giant granddaddy of all Specialized bike stores anywhere. If you can’t find it here, you’re probably looking for goat cheese or for a rebuilt alternator. This shop is [censored] awesome, with helpful staff, bottomless inventory, and customers who include some of the best racers in SoCal.
It was a wonderful evening of fun, food, bike tire changing contests, and trying to figure out why everyone acts so different in mufti from when they’re cloaked in their superman get-up, helmet, and black reflective glasses. Like, that dude who you’re scared to even say hi to on the bike is just meekly standing over in the corner looking like he’s gonna cry because no one’s talking to him. That bruiser sprinter dude who can crack your scapula with one shoulder bump is as quiet as a toad in a hole. Of course I did leave before they drained the tequila keg…
In keeping with CyclingIllustrated.com’s tradition, they did an interview of one of the greats: Kenny Fuller, world champion. And in keeping with the Crazy Uncle thing, one dude came up and started badgering BJ, “So what is this, anyway? And why are you doing it? And what makes you think anyone is interested?”
We dragged him out into the alley and poured [censored] down his throat, but not before we explained that we think people are interested because of the 200 guests, the outpouring of support for the project, and the forty billion web visits that BJ gets every ten seconds.
Next time there’s a party…hope to see you there!
July 17, 2012 § 5 Comments
Notes from the Bay
Will he bring it home?
Last year’s 45+ state road champ and this year’s runner up, Jeff Konsmo, is gunning for national glory in Bend this year. Spotted atop Via del Monte this morning at 6:00 AM, he’s in climbing mode and looking for a stars-and-stripes jersey to join his Vlees Huis butcher knife on the mantel. We’ve got our fingers crossed!
Will HE bring it home?
Charon Smith celebrated his 12th win on Sunday, handily smacking the shit out of a stacked field of contenders. Is there anyone in the country who can beat him? We’ll find out at nationals, when Charon heads north to put together all the moving parts of what has so far been a fantastic 2012 campaign.
Emissary from the Clan of the Swamis
Stephen Lavery got up in San Marcos at 4:00 AM, left at 4:30, and joined us for this morning’s NPR at 6:40 sharp. He promised to take word back south confirming that our little morning beatdown is in fact a beatdown. He made an honorable showing on behalf of the smurfs–noted! He also extended an invitation for a cultural exchange program, whereby emissaries from the South Bay travel to North County to partake of their Tues/Thurs rites. The offer has been accepted. Details to follow.
The pros are different from you and me
Jelly Belly pro Sergio Hernandez has been in town this week, and in addition to stomping dicks at the P/1/2/3 race in Carson on Sunday, he showed up on the NPR and blistered everyone’s balls, even the girls’. Then, because he is a cool dude, he hung out on the bricks, drank coffee, and signed autographs. Wish you’d come back to the South Bay, Sergio!
Heal up, guys!
Local tough guy Mike Davis, Sr., down in a crit when a wanker who wasn’t even supposed to be in the race smashed into him from the rear (head down sprint style), leaving Mike with road rash and a busted frame. Heal up! Rahsaan Bahati, recovering from a procedure that sounded gnarly in the extreme. Heal up! Heal up! Dave W., recovering from tough neck surgery that’s going to have him back at 100% and Going to the Front!
Super tough gal of the week
Suze Sonye throws down with the P/1/2 race in Carson on Sunday, all 80 minutes of it. How impressive is that? She never missed a beat, except for the couple of times she drifted back to the rear to encourage me. Same props to the other couple of chicks in that race. Guys were frying and popping off the back right and left…not Suze! Oh, and to the douchebag who told her to “get out of the way”: you are a douchebag. Just sayin’.
Rich Meeker won another state title on Sunday, another crit, and put on another clinic of “how to ride against 100 wankers and win.” I need to FB him and find out how many races he’s won this year. He’s a lock for nationals, crit, or the road. You heard here first what everyone already knows. Oh, and Rich was very cool when I mixed up him and Malcolm Hill in a photo caption, but hey, it’s not my fault. I’ve never actually seen either of those guys, or anyone from Amgen, from the front.
Hero in our midst
Chilling at the back of the 45+ wankoton I got to work on my taxes and chat with Keith Ketterer. If you’re in SoCal you probably know that he recently set the hour record for his age category. The hour record…incredible. But he’s still modest and nice enough to chat with a wanker who mistakenly called him “Roger.” Story coming soon on this amazing athlete and all-round good guy.
July 5, 2012 § 19 Comments
De Telegraaf dropped an evening bombshell, just as we were all wrapping up a long day of July Fourthing and holiday ride badassing, in which USADA named the five heretofore unnamed witnesses to the Lance Drugstrong doping case. The five are Jonathan Vaughters “We Fired Rasmussen Today for Doping Violations,” Levi Leipheimer “Been Busted Before, Will be Busted Again,” George Hincapie “Could 17 Tours Be Wrong?” Dave Zabriskie “The Vegan Doper,” and Christian Vande Velde “Needles.”
Drugstrong fired back immediately. The combined press release from his attorney Bulldog Jones, his press agent Smarmy Goodfellow, and Timmy Dinkins, Cancer Survivor, is printed in full below.
Lance Drugstrong is the most tested athlete in the history of sport. With the exception of the drug tests that he has failed in the past, he has never failed a drug test. Drugstrong has built his career on creating awareness of, and hope for, cancer victims.
It is with profound regret that Vaughters, Leipheimer, Hincapie, Vande Velde, and Zabriskie have chosen to sell lies under threats from USADA in exchange for sweetheart deal doping bans. Drugstrong has raced with each of these athletes, put them on the map so to speak, and made them profoundly aware of cancer. Due to the despicable witch hunt propagated by USADA, these former friends have chosen to become cancer lovers and tell fibs about Drugstrong.
Drugstrong has been tested more than anyone ever, and as a cancer survivor himself and cancer awareness benefactor promoter, it is absurd to think that he would ever subject himself to the risks of illegal doping just to win seven straight Tours and become a millionaire and global celebrity who boinked one of the Bobbsey twins and Sheryl Crowe, whose ass, by the way, was so flat that when they had sex his one good ball kept hitting against the sheets.
Lance Drugstrong intends to clear his name and to vindicate his reputation among the fans who don’t care whether he doped, and to aggressively defend himself on Twitter.
- Power Tweet #1: I refuse to be distracted by
@usantidoping‘s antics. It’s 2012, I’m gonna continue to lead @LIVESTRONG, raise my 5 kids, and stay fit!
- Power Tweet #2: I’m gonna keep saving lives!
- Power Tweet #3: Thanks to all my cancer supporters! I’m there for you 24/7!
- Power Tweet #4: Have any of my followers out there ever been to prison, and do you know if they generally have a pool?
May 5, 2012 § 4 Comments
When you throw your line out into the Internets, hook baited with cycling commentary, you’re sure to land a few strange fish. You know, the one-eyed, glow-in-the-dark, cadmium-soaked bottom feeders who subsist on post-consumer waste, manganese nodules, and the decay of higher life forms that have died, decomposed, and drifted to the deepest, darkest, depths.
And then there are the really weird ones.
Mr. Stone, who seems to go by “William,” “Billy,” and “Reverend,” is something of an enigma. People who know him well have described him as “crazy,” “has to be the belle of the ball,” and “one of those people who has convinced himself, after reading a couple of books, that he is really, really smart.”
William Billy Reverend, then, without further ado, in his own unedited words…misspellings, malapropisms and all…
“If you middle name is discretion then is your first name two words, Fuck Bag or just one jumble BagFuck?”
Will.I.Am(not) engaging in some clever verbal jousting.
“Well just go screw yourself. Your only achievements were realized by stepping on the mental bodies of ner do wells proving yet again that the best way to get over a wall is to step on the dead, to tread with disdain on the carcasses of those valiant men, and women, who went before and dared to die gloriously so you could pretend to be whoever you wanted to be, less talent and courage. Take that you miserable 120 lbs of spit up.”
Rev. Stone complaining about Wankmeister’s lack of cycling prowess. Please check http://www.USAcycling.org race results for “William Stone” in order to appreciate the richness of this humor.
“At least I did not have to sell my soul-a generous concession based on the type of faith that drives Republicans to believe Jonah Goldberg does not walk around with his pants full of mommy-for a ten percent discount on a pair of decidedly non Tour De Francis Winning pieces of plastic recycled from Dick Cheney’s diet sprite bottles from various bunkers at the Four Seasons.”
Billy Jock, angry again that Wankmeister loves SPY products, uses them, and happily endorses them. Billy Jock despises such endorsements, unless they appear on his pet cycling web site, http://www.truesport.com.
“If you cannot drink their liquor and screw their women without selling out then you are what? Drinking moonshine and having sex with dolls. I prefer to call it compromise.”
Stonehead misquoting Jesse Unruh’s famous line about politicians and lobbyists to make the “point” that when other people support someone they have sold out, but when he does it, it’s compromise. I bet those morning conversations with the guy in the mirror are pretty fun to watch, Billy.
“But, in the words of your favorite Presidential Nobody: “I may be fat and ugly, but I did manage to finally to kiss a pretty girl, albeit, only by moving to the side some babbles from Tiffany’s. And before you become all David Barton historian par non, Tiffany’s is so way last middle of last century.”
The Right Reverend mixing his metaphors, struggling (and failing) to remember the word “nonpareil,” mis-capitalizing his nouns, and confusing “babbles” with “baubles.” We’re not sure what any of it means, except that perhaps he once heard Joyce and Proust were considered great writers because of their non-linear style, and figured that by stringing together some random words he’d be a deep writer, too.
“Kid goes to circus. Gets teased by clown. Spends next year going to comedy school. Gets high marks. Becomes feared commentator in High School Tweety Club. Goes back to circus. Clown sees him and calls his the mass of insecurity, same as last year. Kid Comedy rises up and musters all his well learned lessons and sputters out: ‘Well, fuck you clown. Just Fuck You.'”
Nilly Willy reminiscing about what are obviously painful childhood memories.
“And what I’m pissed about is that you Jack D thinks you are funny. And clever. And I resent that. Much.”
Hands of Stone explaining why he dislikes Wankmeister, even though the two have never met. However, Wankmeister graduated from junior high school many years ago, and is no longer interested in the petty intrigue required to hang out with the cool kids, most of whom are divorced, broke, or in jail now.
“yes I meant ‘calls him. And no I meant BABBLES”
Noah Stone, finding a new and innovative use for the word “babbles” and showing how passé it has become to capitalize the first word in a sentence. Once he finishes reading his third book, he will improvify and betterize the English language even morerer.
So there you have it! The latest and greatest addition to the world of online commentary. Wankmeister looks forward to bringing you more cleverness and fun from this unique and colorful