I got to go on a very amazing mountain bike trip to Park City, UT, whereupon I ran into some quite snowy and cold weather. Then I flew home with my wet MTB shoes in a bag, and they arrived home a bit stinky. So I washed them and destroyed them.
Here’s how you can be just like me, which you shouldn’t be under any circumstance.
I wanted this article to dispel the notion that buying a bicycle every couple of years from a local bie shop is enough to support them. If we want shops to stay around, we need to go by a lot more often than that.
I was surprised at the amount of discussion this one provoked. Despite being published on the 30th, it quickly rose to be one of the most popular posts of the month at Singletracks.com.
Just watched Will Ferrell in this telenova style westernesque spoof movie thing called Casa de mi Padre. It has been fiercely defecated on by movie reviewers, and has a measly score on Rotten Tomatoes.
I think such a low score is a great injustice. This movie is hilarious. I love that it took some chances. I loved the writing. Just check out this line of dialog from Will Ferrell’s character, Armando:
Armando: Let him die. He’s missing a hand anyway.
I laughed, and I have a cold right now.
This movie might not be for you if you need a cast of a half dozen top grossing comedians or big ticket actors to crush your skull with the most obvious jokes possible. Mind you, I’m not taking anything away from those guys. I’d kill to be hired to be funny with any of them. This is just a different kind of film.
The sex scene alone is worth a watch, and not just because the female lead is good looking. I won’t spoil it for you.
Watch it, especially if you like Will Ferrell’s innocent/sincere style of comedy. I absolutely do.
Waitstaff are going away. Not just headed out to the alley for a smoke break this time, but totally going away. They will be replaced by tablets, as reported here by Forbes and here by Business Insider. As a fat man, I can’t help but wonder how much more ranch I would chug without having to order it from a twentysomething waitress.
Granted, I did lose over 100lbs. My fattest days were years ago. Some might question whether I can truly call myself a fat man anymore, but trust me, I still have fat thoughts. And love handles.
What Chili’s and Applebee’s fail to understand is that their waitstaff are an important safety measure against the unhinged consumption of their typical client. The fear of embarrassment is the only thing holding fatbags like myself back from ordering Ranch as a beverage.
I remember a number of times in my fat Applebees-going life when I would order and then glug down so many full-sugar Cokes that the exasperated waitress would eventually just bring a pitcher to the table.
Once I ordered the salad bar because I was having lunch with a girl I liked. She even commented on the pleasant way the croutons and bacon bits floated in the dressing. It was good, but I still snagged a Big Mac on the way home. For safety, you understand.
Much is made of how hard it is to quit injecting heroin. Hah! Junkies should try quitting the fat life. They aren’t forced to inject a tiny little bit of heroin three times a day, every day, for the rest of their lives.
If we’re going to install tablets to let people order a super double 2lb cheeseburger double fried in syrup butter with cheese-injected fries on the side, why not also put digital scales in the seats?
There’s nothing more American than freedom of choice, so I’ve heard. But maybe it wouldn’t be bad if I could also select to have a message pop up when the digital scale in my booth indicates that a cement truck has parked itself there.
Wrong again, computer. No trucks here. It’s just my ample buttocks. Now stop lecturing me and bring me my mug of ranch. Papa’s hungry.