Dear Diary

It is day 212 of this befouled journey. I have not scribed anew this book for a week as my hands were broken as a result of failing to smile at our feminine figurehead during the weekly obsequiousity ritual.
Our company is down to twenty-five souls from the original eighty. Our heaviest losses were last Thursday and Friday when we lost two score and three of our crew because of a grave error from our fearless leader.

Morale is very low now, there is an undercurrent of dissent amongst the remainders. "I'll give that cockswaggle Captain a fist-bath!" and other ejaculations have been heard. Hastings has been unique in his loud outbursts and virulent mutterings. I suspect that he will not last long.

Our glorious Captain has been trying to conceal the state of our larders, but his hungry leering follow the more robust of the men. Soon we all will follow suit.

A polite scratch at the door beckons me away for now. Too polite a scratching by a measure, I hope I will return.

Weakly ride report

For some reason Darthweasel has been rather cagey about letting his image be published to the intertubes. I snapped this picture of him as we were preparing our bikes for a small easy ride this morning, I hope I do not have a jihad declared on me for posting it.

Here is the ride report:
"Let's go this way!"   "OK"
This discourse may have been unwise.

DarthWeasel proved to be an able coach. After many grueling uphill miles (with DW shouting "Come on! You ride like old people fu....ride!" we hit the velodrome. Education was provided on the finer points of a team pass. My brain got bigger.

As a reward we had donuts and more steep hills. Each hill was steeper than the last until finally we were actually breaking the laws of physics. This continued until my spirit was completely broken. DW laughed and laughed when I complained, then shouted "Silence! I KEEL you"

When at last we were out of hills to throw ourselves against, it was time to go downhill. And downhill we went, 30 to 40mph powered only by gravity. Many miles we went downhill. And then we were back at maison de Darthweasel

Sadly, I heard a news report that a group of annoyed terrain features altered DW in an unpleasant way.

Weakly ride report

Not so many miles this week, about 60 ish. I recorded my last ride, by being what Riot Kitty calls "Geeky". Click here to view the map.

Only a few cycling things of interest this week; I picked up some new pedals and shoes that want to kill me. Imagine a human-sized beetle upside down under a bicycle, feet still attached, and you will know what happens when the (defective and homicidal) pedal does not release the shoe. I also (much to Riot Kitty's dismay) purchased a spandex clownsuit. They look funny but it feels like you are riding naked. In a good way.

Darthweasel's bike also has taken a dislike for humanity so we did not ride together this week. This will not abide.


-This post has been inspected and approved.

Why it takes me a long time to blog.

You will have noticed that there is usually a long gap between my blog postings. I will explain to you why this in necessary and important.

I break down my blog writing process in to separate steps. Each step consumes between a few minutes and a week of my time. I could cut corners and skip some of these steps but I want my readers to have the best experience possible so I do not skimp any part of the process. Here are a few examples:

1: Writing the post. This is the easy part. I only have to ensure that the computer is clean, run a line quality test, measure the voltages and Ph levels of the backup batteries, and adjust the room lighting to the required lumen and color temperature levels. I then type in the content.

2: Verifying content. A copy editor with a contractual obligation is retained at all times to find and document all spelling and grammar errors. This is part of the ISO 9001 program requirement.

3: Verifying media. This is the time consuming part. I must take a 20% random sample of the displayed lettering, remove the sample lot from the screen and subject them to these tests: Opacity (over 80%) Edge smoothness (less than .5 micron) Modulus of elasticity (greater than 3k psi), Specific gravity (over 6.2), Transconductance (over 9 millisiemens), Optical index (within 5% of display surface), Speed of reflected photon propagation (= 6.626 × 10−34h), and reference color wheel for suitability.

Assuming that all components of the blog have passed the physical testing I then send them out for electrical testing to ensure that the FCC, CEN, BSI, and VDE.


These are only a few of the seven steps that I use to engineer the end user's experience to nearly 100% optimum state. I can only control the content at the source. If this blog has any flaws apparent at the terminus, a form 2074.3 /A rev. 2.6 is required to be completed. An associate will be dispatched to correct the consumers equipment, or in semi-rare cases, the consumer.

Osvaldo

The only remnant of the building's significant history is 4 parallel scratches deep in the door frame, now wet with rain or the synthetic equivalent. Many years ago the mention of "Petrov's Pets and Fish" brought awe and respect to the do-badders of the the city but now it is just another husked squat.

The squinchy little man walks up to the now defunct pet store doorway with reverence draped on him like a large cat. Reaching out and touching the 4 gouges in the wood he shivers a little remembering the sounds of the epic battle fought here, the slap of suckers against fur, claws scraping beak, and ink splashing on the floor tiles.

This is where the Fibonacci three plus five ruled.

This is where the Grey Menace rose to power.

This is where Osvaldo conceded defeat.

This is where the the squinchy man made his pledge.

as much sex appeal as a road accident

Oh freddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!

No pigs, squirrels, or lunar vampires. Only a list.

I was talking with Riot Kitty when I realized that not everyone knew what the best recorded guitar solos are. I listed off the top 5 (mainstream-ish) guitar solo songs to her, for educational purposes. I will do the same for you. If you disagree, you are wrong.

In no order: Links go to youtube videos.
Comfortably Numb
All along the Watchtower
Bohemian Rhapsody
Cemetery Gates
Sultans of Swing

Now you know. And knowing is half the battle.

Willoughby is...

Willoughby is too busy for you right now.

Go away.

Go.

About Willoughby

Willoughby is a pig. He is no ordinary pig -you know, the kind that you see in the grocery store, or in an animated movie. Willoughby is an exceptional pig.

All throughout school Willoughby's teachers would say, "Why don't you apply yourself, you have so much potential!" Willoughby would say to himself, "Why don't you get out of my way, it will reduce your chance of being trampled."

"Potential," Willoughby thought. "Is the difference in pressure in a system. Hmmm...that gives me an idea."

Many years later, the name Willoughby was said in fear. He had never hurt anyone but he had invented a doomsday machine. "Achieve your potential! Convert your matter directly to energy! Smile!" read the large logos on the boxes that Willoughby would leave laying about. "Just push the button!" read the label that was just below a shiny friendly button. No one had ever pushed one as the Willoughby task force collected and stored the machines as fast as they could be manufactured.

Willoughby was getting frustrated. Not one of his quantum devices had been activated. The universe had not been reduced to a flash of light, not even once. Back to the drawing board. Visions of self-pushing buttons danced through his head.

Things do not always work out as planned. Willoughby (who always read before bed) picked up "Death on the Nile" by Agatha Christie. He was hooked. After finishing one Agatha Christie book, he would pick up another, then another. Instead of building a self-pushing button, Willoughby was chain-reading mystery books. Suddenly the idea struck him. He had to deactivate all of the hundreds of doomsday machines that he had built. To do this he needed the help from the wind, the light, and stealth personified: Earl Gray - Ninja at large.

End part 1. Stay tuned for part two.

Propinquus ut tribuo versus.

Is est duco tenus meus natalis. Is est meus tantum duco down quod EGO diligo is carus.

Discuss.

It will all become clear soon.

And a few random movie quotes:

A man is defined by his actions, not his memories

Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!

The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina.

The central message of Buddhism is not: "Every man for himself."

No, it's pronounced: Fronkensteen.

The suspense is terrible . . . I hope it'll last.

Look at me, jerking off in the shower. This will be the high point of my day. It's all downhill from here.

Fill your hands.

Well, he should have armed himself if he's going to decorate his saloon with my friend.

This is not the blog that you are looking for.

I was going to post about the cruelty in the Peppermint Bark industry (poor peppermint dogs) but then I saw this chart and decided to post it instead.

You have termites in your smile

You’re a mean one Mr. Grinch
You really are a heel.
You’re as cuddly as a cactus,
And as charming as an eel,
Mr. Grinch!
You’re a bad banana,
With a greasy black peel!
You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch!
Your heart’s an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders.
You’ve got garlic in your soul,
Mr. Grinch!
I wouldn’t touch you
With a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!
You’re a vile one, Mr. Grinch!
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile,
Mr. Grinch!
Given the choice between the two of you,
I’d take the seasick crocodile!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch!
You’re a nasty, wasty skunk!
Your heart is full of unwashed socks.
Your soul is full of gunk,
Mr. Grinch!
The three words that best describe you
Are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk!”
You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch!
You’re the king of sinful sots!
Your heart’s a dead tomato,
Splotched with moldy, purple spots,
Mr. Grinch!
Your soul is an appalling dump-heap,
Overflowing with the most disgraceful
assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable,
Mangled-up in tangled-up knots!
You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch!
With a nauseous super naus!
You’re a crooked jerky jockey,
And you drive a crooked hoss,
Mr. Grinch!
You’re a three-decker sauerkraut
and toadstool sandwich,
With arsenic sauce!

Christmas aggression and that bastard Santa

Parking has just become much more difficult with the soccer moms flinging their SUVs  around looking for the perfect parking spot that they feel entitled to. The blood is in the water now, the sharks are all out. People who are polite before thanksgiving will now cheerfully cripple you if you are between them and the pepsi display.

I blame Santa.

Just who does he think he is, self-righteously ignoring international law, spying on you, and catagorizing you based on a set of rules that he made up. I think that John Ashcroft and Santa are related or something.

About these rules: Naughty.....Nice.....whatever. There are only two categories. Are your deeds judged by severity? Quantity? Morality? If you pet your dog once for every time you kill a hitchhiker do you break even? What if you are a do-gooding saint but selfish in bed? Let's say you bugger a sheep. Texas; nice, NYC; naughty? WTF!

I think that Santa uses his vast surveillance network for his own sinister purposes. For him all the world's peoples are just a jerry springer show.

I say Revolution! Don't give the fat man his kicks. Sit and stare! Don't do anything worth watching. Not even in the shower. Embrace stillness, silence, and calm. We will ruin Christmas but regain our privacy. I'm starting now.

Yuk

I'm a slacker at updating this blog. Perhaps it is your fault.

Anyhow:

Weakly ride report 10-2-10

It has been a pretty good week for riding. Once I got rid of that nasty infection that I picked up from a friendly squirrel I was able to get back on the bike. Here it is:

Tuesday: 25 medium-savage miles with DarthWeasel. He was in training for his personal assault on all the shrimps in the sea, I think in vengeance. (A shrimp once ate DW, then turned him into a newt.)  He managed to double the speed limit on a public road and escape with his life. I kept myself busy yelling obscenities at the trees and shrubs that kept eyeballing me.

Wednesday: About 8 fast miles around town. I was barely keeping ahead of pissed off foliage.

Thursday: 10ish miles, nothing exciting. I bet you are regretting reading this.

Saturday: 50.3 miles with DW. Perfect cool sunny weather, flat and long multi-use path. I thought we were going to get lost a couple of times, we didn't. We kept an relaxed pace for 4 hours, saw wild blacksmiths, a brave bunny, an IQ vampire, and a wasp flew into my helmet and got stuck. If my saddle were more comfortable I would have been good for a couple more hours. Our route took us in a loop around Portland twice then out on the Springwater Corridor. Google it, it is pretty cool.

A day in the sun.

Follow the link and watch it. Seriously. I'll know if you don't.

http://www.c-spanarchives.org/program/ID/233635&start=7039&end=7268

The Unpleasant Harold.

3100BC-
The councilors of Urik voted that Unpleasant Harold was more trouble than he was really worth. A vessel was prepared that would contain the rain god in mild discomfort. Made of heavily cuneiformed baked clay and lac resin, this large vase should stand the ravings and bangings of the bastard rain god until the end of time.
A candied grasshopper (Unpleasant Harold's favorite) was placed in the vessel as a lure. When the damp deity tried to grab his snack, the lid came down, trapping the little shit forever. The vase was thrown into the ocean. There was much rejoicing.

Very recent history-
A filthy vase that had been tossed about in all the worlds seas was bumping against the wreck of the Isabella. A small crack that had been formed five hundred years before (a squid had tried to reproduce with it) suddenly opened and the lid fell right off. Unpleasant Harold was free!
The first thing that Unpleasant Harold did was to pull out his iPhone and check email. No new emails.
The second thing that Unpleasant Harold did was to get on check his twitter. 198,223,125 new tweets! The most recent one read "Bob_Tres Looking forward to a week of riding. This sunny Oregon weather is wonderful. Tryin' 4 200mi."

This really angered Unpleasant Harold as he was a bit of a spelling and grammer nazi. And the parts with "sunny" and "weather" and "wonderful". "We'll see about that!" said the decanted dickhead.

Unpleasant Harold brought his hands together, and there was evaporation. Unpleasant Harold used a rude finger gesture and there was condensation. Unpleasant Harold said a naughty word and there was precipitation. Unpleasant Harold touched himself...just a little bit...and there was a prevailing wind to carry the squishy air to Oregon.
"That will do for that bobtres and his bike ride and his grammar!" The soaked god of Sumer wades out of the waves while checking his iPhone to see what is new in porn.

Today-
"Weakly ride report." Bob Tres writes. "Rained out."

 

Roger the squirrel vs. herds of radiation-altered scientologists

Roger the squirrel usually had good luck hunting the plains for scientologists. As he was munching on his latest catch, he noticed that there was a light green glow around his food. Roger, being a squirrel and not being very particular about these things, kept munching.

After waking from a long, long sleep, Roger found himself a wee bit taller. And a wee bit faster. And a wee bit smarter. With his newfound ability, he was twice as efficient at hunting the wild, wiley scientologists. His eating had never been better; his waistline had never been larger.

Waking up from a nap at about midnight, he saw a faint glow on the horizon. Upon investigating it, it appeared to be yet another radioactive scientologist.

"Nom, nom, NOM!" said Roger.

Long, long sleep. Faster, taller, smarter! Roger looked for more glowing lunatics.

Three years went by. Roger became the size of a city bus, and songs were sung about him all around the world. When a scientologist started to glow, he wet himself in terror and knew his days were numbered.

Roger prospered.

THE END.

Another weakly ride report.

It's getting easier.
I started riding in late June when it was finally dry enough to go outside without a lifejacket and rowboat. I was doing short rides, coming back with sore "seat regions" and aching legs.  My goal for the summer was to work up to 50 mile rides with no major drama. I think that I made it.

This week:
Monday- 25 miles solo, around town with some hills. I pretty much followed the route that Darthweasel and I had taken a few days before.

Thursday- 31 pretty quick miles. DW and I went mucking about some parks and trails. In a hundred yard stretch I narrowly avoided a toddler, a squirrel, a squirrel, and a squirrel. All four had walked right in front of me and stopped. I took that as a sign to slow down a bit.
DW was making the hills bow to him. We went back to the fast narrow twisty trail and endangered our lives a couple of times.

Saturday- 48 miles. I had been wanting to ride the Banks to Vernonia state trail for quite a while. I had ridden it once in 1998 and there had been huge improvements since. I took some pics for your viewing pleasure. Not that kind of pleasure. You sicko.

I'm beginning at the Manning trailhead, which is about 5 miles from the actual start of the trail where there is no parking. It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. (oops, wrong movie)

Most of the trail looks like a green tunnel through the forest. There is 18 miles of paved trail and 3 miles of packed gravel. The first 9.5 miles are gently uphill then a bit of up and down after. With the exception of a few horses and a person every other mile I had the trail to myself.

I suspect someone had smoked some of Oregon's largest export crop before naming the trails. Click the picture to embiggen.

Stopping for a rest. A much older gentleman than myself rode with me for a while then took off up the hill like a weasel-bit badger. I tried to keep up for a while but my lungs caught on fire and my legs melted and came off. Then I turned in to a newt.

After reaching the end of the state park I continued into Vernonia and went around the creatively named "Vernonia Lake". It was like being dropped in to Texas. Everybody was wearing either camo or clothes/hats with flags on them (American and Dixie flags that is). Large, rude, and well beer'd. The lake was nice though, and there is a shooting range nearby, if you get bored fish'n.

The ride back to the car was mostly downhill, fast and fun. Watch out for the horse's (slightly used) breakfasts though. They are hard to spot.

On another subject. Fucking Drummers, How do they work?