Author Topic: 10


« on: July 10, 2019 »
I was going to call this '10 Posts to Read Before You Die', taking my cue from the cottage industry of books making bold claims on whatever time you have left, but that seems impertinent. '10 Best Posts' might prove devastating, as having sampled the first, perhaps to find it wanting, you make the executive decision to skip the rest. So let's just stick with '10', shall we? A carefully curated selection of posts I hope you won't miss while you're here (or there, which if you look at the URL, is also here).

You're still here, right?

The Tour isn't the grueling weeks-long event that it is back home. it's a one solar day special, pedal-till-you-drop affair. Bicycles are much more popular in the universe than is commonly supposed by gravity-bound transportation experts; almost all intelligent extraterrestrials are besotted by them and ride often for pleasure. Even the Martians - oh yes, they exist - are velo addicts, commuting across the busy asteroid belt even while bitching about the traffic. The purpose of the race is to channel the aggression of the more competitive species, as well as cull the slowpokes.

The Bike 4 U
I am confident within an acceptable margin of error that certain personalities are attracted to certain bicycles.

Did cycling kill Kraftwerk?
On the contrary, it has been persuasively argued by music historian Günter Grasshopper that Kraftwerk very nearly killed cycling.

A limo, 6 lesbians and a liquor store
I work for a company based in deepest Mormon Utah... There are a whole raft of religious convictions that I am not sufficiently au fait with to fairly dissect. Sufficient to say that there are a great many church based meetings, societies, functions and other intercourses that consume many evenings and much of the weekends. This can be rather surprising to the unwitting visitor who can find the streets as empty as an alien abduction movie at certain times of the week.

London to Hastings
By far the most dinosaury thing I have ever seen was in the unlikely setting of a backyard in suburban Bielefeld, Northern Germany, where a friend’s father kept Modern English Game Chickens. These rangy, belligerent mofos could jump from a standing start onto stuff Danny MacAskill would flunk – the only thing stopping them eating you is that they’re about a foot tall.

Collateral Damage
I get this impression of quiet competence around me, civilians drafted into temporary duty until the proper authorities take over. A man has been directing traffic, allowing cars to slowly pass. Soon the police get here and everything stops. Time itself seems to stop.

What does your bike tell us about you?
Is your wife's underwear comfortable? No, not unless you're wearing it on your head. (You didn't specify. I know some things by book learning, others through experience.) We all have our little rituals and quirks, some more deserving of Facebook status updates than others. Textbook case of the id overruling the ego. Also for comfort reasons.

Why don't you see pros eating bananas?
Bananas are bad luck, and most pros are superstitious. Herewith a gallery of the wrong fruit at the wrong time.

"Aga Räyburn, Metropolitan Police Service," said his observer by way of introduction. From her cool mien, Martin doubted that she got waylaid by many tourists. She continued: "As the victim lies precisely on the border of the jurisdictions of north of the river and south of the river, we will be working together on this."

My Critical Mass
"No! You can go your own way!" he barked, entirely unaware he was covering Fleetwood Mac. At this he promptly toppled into a small stack of heuristic literature. The bookseller was beside himself; I compensated for his damages from my purse, considering it a savings on the bail I would've unfortunately felt compelled to supply otherwise.