I probably shouldn't skydive...

• My valiant attempt to effect my own demise last weekend having failed, I spent much of this week hobbled (but still going to work, as that's how I was raised).
• On level ground, my mountain bike's front brake cannot exert sufficient stopping power to somersault the bicycle.
• Running down a 5' dry creekbed embankment with a 41" wheelbase, 26" tyres, and a 42" saddle height topped with a ~198# rider, even a slight friction on the front brake is sufficient to initiate a forward rotation about the front axle.  You do the physics.
• In an instant, I'd slammed into the dirt with my right shoulder, forearm, and head.  Stunned, I lay in the dirt for a few seconds.  Daughter rushed over and handed me my eyeglasses, which had been thrown clear.
• I stood up, but for some time could not breathe.  Finally, I picked the bike up and walked it up the other embankment, then walked Daughter's bike across also, and then I brushed the dirt off my shirt and denim shorts.
• At a nearby convenience store, we got a sports drink, and I cleaned up in the restroom.  I was sore, but we rode for another couple of miles or so.  We attended a community outdoor concert that evening, but drove the car, as the pain was beginning to make itself known.
• Daughter asked "Daddy, shouldn't you have that looked at?"
• Well, I probably should have, but the memory of the eye-soul sons of bastidges who held me hostage for four days two years ago in a large building with lots of windows south of downtown Fort Worth (not to mention the uninsured portion I'm still paying on), compelled me to report "I'll be OK in a couple of days."
• Five to be exact.  Finally I can do the moves to the chicken dance, and the ribs are just slightly sore/tender.  Although a sneeze today did feel like I'd just met Brutus' dagger in the Roman Senate.
• I hope to be able to start the lawn mower tomorrow.
• I should probably wear steel-toed shoes...

And Another

Which in this context has nothing to do with extracurricular dalliances, rather, referring to the moral decay which has infested even once hallowed halls.

Seems that classlessness is not limited to newcomers, as evidenced by news today that invited guests at a 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue gayfest thought it would be cute to pose, middle fingers raised, below the official portrait of the 40th President of the United States - a man whose sense of decency and rectitude compelled him to always wear a suit jacket in the Oval Office.

Of course, within a couple of elections (and...no, I shan't), it was known as the Oral Office.  While the Left assiduously assailed the intelligence of POTUS 43, W did not demean the Office.

Apparently, one of the LGBT activists was miffed because "Ronald Reagan has blood on his hands," he said. "The man was in the White House as AIDS exploded."

So, we're to understand that Ronald Reagan, not rampant casual circus-sex¹ relations, propagated the HIV/AIDS virus.  Somewhere, in some Twilight Zone parallel universe, the activist's statement may make sense.

But I doubt it.


¹ No offense intended to RBB&B

Paradigm Shift

I wrote a 'Happy Juneteenth' post earlier this week, but chose not to publish it, lest someone get an incorrect impression.

Nonetheless, I had noted that my 'people', as best I know, came to this country post-War Between the States, and pre-Ellis Island.  They weren't slave owners, and also weren't necessarily huddled masses - just folks coming to build a decent, respectable life.  By the 1920s, maybe earlier, my great-grandfather (whom I never met as he died when my Dad was three) was Chief of Police of a small midwest town.

Immigrants today don't seem to have the same desire to assimilate, or to maintain a semblance of decorum/respectability:

The navy blue shirt reads "-*-- all Cowboy Haters"

the * being the Dallas Cowboys Star

 

Somehow, I don't see #74 Bob Lilly wearing that shirt.  Ever.

Stay classy, Señor!

YGBKM!

For Sale: Air!  Only $9.97 a can.

I'm waiting until they add anti-oxidants.



Happy Father's Day

The mosque-like auditorium weirds me out a bit, but still a great song:

All hail Jon Bovi

No, not these guys.

These guys, Blaze of Glory:

 

If I hadn't attempted suicide on two wheels earlier in the day (thankfully, I broke the fall with my right shoulder, some ribs, and my head), daughter and I would've ridden our bikes to the concert - but with me acting like a cripple, we drove instead.

The singer was quite good, and I'm not sure Richie Sambora has any licks that Blaze's guitarist couldn't duplicate.

Then again, here's the real thing:

Aieee!

Here's the Red Jacket crew, hunting hogs in the Louisiana swamp, with flintlock rifles and muskets.

I don't think Daughter and I will go quite so primitive (I don't even have a flintlock), but it does kinda look like fun.




Boudreaux he say watch out for dem gators in dat swamp!  Dey gonna bit ya, boy!