Introducing: The Soiled Image Tip

In the year of our deity 2021, I believe the last thing the world needs is another blog post written by me. I get that, and I am diligently working with state and local authorities to bring an end to the thrice-weekly murderous assaults to the English language you so often see here. However, a 16-year-old blog habit is hard to break, so you might be stuck with me for a while.

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Mindbender and Me

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)1

“Here, take this. It’s a mixture of horse placenta, baby spit, and the toenail of a sodomized goat, manufactured in the basement of a New Jersey pharmaceutical company/suburban home.”

ME

“Will it slow my metabolism down even further and cause me to gain even more weight like all the other shit has?”

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)

“No, no, it was weight neutral in trials; it will just help with your want to leave the house. And who knows, it might even get you back on your bike or in the woods with your camera. Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzelex. Street: The embalmer”

ME

“Balls. I’ll swallow it and run a mile.”

Me grabs handful of colorful pills and shoves them down his throat.

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)

“Not those pills, THESE pills, those are my M&Ms, you stupid nipple. By the way, you still owe your $30 copay from our last session.”

Me proceeds to write a check with milk chocolate—now freed from its hard, colorful candy shell— smeared across his chubby face.

ME

“What’s today’s date again?”2

— SCENE —

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Feeling Nifty

Somehow it’s Wednesday, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’ve done since my last unneeded post. Oh yeah, nothing. Well, at least nothing all that physical, that’s for sure.

To be honest, I have been struggling to find the want to leave the house for anything other than food and beer over the last couple of months, but in recent days the combination of warmer temps (hello 45˚, yo!!), sun, and an appointment with Mindbender II (The Wrath of Kahn) to change some shit up has helped to point me in the direction of unfucking myself and mild—but acceptable—increased motivation and energy levels.

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Blinded by The Light

“Blinded by the light,
Woke up like a douche1 in the middle of the night.”

— Blinded by The Light, by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band

After days, nay weeks, of being a morbidly obese, mentally drained housebound hermit, I ventured out into the world on Friday morning for a snowshoe at the Forest Hill Nature Area. Hooray for being a functioning adult.

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Winter Continues

There’s really nothing like waking up to a fresh February snowstorm. Coffee tastes a bit better, breakfast is just a little more relaxing, and the urge to angrily shit on the floor like a caged ape and throw it at the first person that walks in front of the house is just a tad more indomitable.

If you think that throwing feecus is adjectivally extreme, just be glad I didn’t venture into the messy masturbatory world of caged primates and/or their evolutionary cousin, the overweight housebound adult male human in winter hibernation mode, AKA Auto-erotic-hibernation.1

That was probably more weather-inspired poo and goo talk than you or anyone other than me wanted. I digress.

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Lumbered Questions

Greetings, fellow Soilers, today I bring you Reader Mail!

Why? Because I got nothing else to talk about. Yeah, I could talk more about bikes and parts like I did in the last post, but in reality, the (higher-end) retail bike biz might not even be a thing in a few months, given 2020’s perfect shit storm of COVID, factories moving due to Trump tariffs, and unforeseen consumer demand. Not to sound like a fucking QAnon Qonspiracy Qook, but if you want a bike and it’s in stock, BUY IT NOW!! Same with parts.

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A Fatter Plan of Sorts

The past week was filled with miles on the Dreadmill, some prison-style weight training, and a tall drink or twelve of “Well, at least January is fucking over.”

I took some pics around the Cul-De-Sac-Shack (two of which you see here), but outdoor activities were limited due to a winter storm and my distaste for being cold.

Yeah, I know, nothing makes one sound old like talking about the weather, but I’m going to talk about it anyway. I’m also going to talk a little about bikes, which is something I rarely do these days on this cycling blog turned outlet for idiocy.

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Killing January

January, every January, is a slog of a month, and this January is proving to be even sloggier than usual. And by slog, I mean that it’s cold, wet, dark, gray, dreary, snowy, icy, slushy, and mother fucking relentless. 

Seriously, If I thought I could kill January and get away with it, I would do it in a heartbeat! Wait, what? 

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Defecated Bricks

Thursdays, am-I-right?

As I’ve previously mentioned—like, 315 times since March 2020—there are no “real” days for me right now. But Thursday stood out for me for a few reasons; 

  1. The sun came out for about two, maybe two and a half minutes in the late afternoon. That’s two-ish minutes more than at any time in the previous five.
  2. I snagged a couple photos of my favorite bird (a Cedar Waxwing) in the backyard of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack while Lola was outside taking a dump.
  3. I rode the magic Zwift® machine for over an hour, virtually “climbed” over 1,300 feet and turned into an actual sweaty, out-of-shape, red-faced freak (see non-bird photo below). S000 not a KOM!!

Fuck yeah, THURSDAY!!!

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