Tag Archives | being a slacker

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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Tan, Maskless, and Fascist

Another stupid brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™

Dear Reader,

The following post contains a large dose of my opinion and some large quantities of venom. I am on a journey to free myself of that stuff, but this week I just don’t have it (Thanks Trump). Don’t read it if you don’t like that shit. There are no photos, ’cause I ain’t got none today.

— Management

Cliff’s Stupid Notes Version of This Post:

  1. I’m fighting off the return of “a mood.”
  2. People are the worst.
  3. Being tan in Michigan during January makes you look like a freak.
  4. I have a lot of diarrhea (that’s actually not in the post, but I figured I would share it, just because).
  5. I’m pretty much an asshole.
  6. Popeye liked his elbows sucked (I assume).
  7. Things will get better, probably. But maybe not.
  8. Let’s get loaded.

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The Aftermath

Wow, that sort of felt good! The holidays aren’t such a pain in the ass when they are done from the comfort of your own home and without having to drive 14 hour hours round trip to be depressed and anxiety-ridden. It sort of sucks that it took a Global Pandemic and recommended travel and gathering restrictions (that many Americans seem to have flat-out ignored because they are morons) to make that happen, but I’m not complaining.

As you may or may not have noticed (I’m assuming the latter), I took a well-undeserved break from writing this shit show for a bit. I think all the writing about my late mother, dealing with depression, and other non-published projects took its toll on my Available For Use brain cells, and I found myself like the rest of the world for a week or so; not giving a shit about this blog. Not to mention I was busy making holiday dreams happen (not at all).

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This Tape

Outside of the “squares” that somehow live among us, everybody has a favorite band, album, or song. I have too many to mention, but I’m certain they are all better than your favorite artist, band or album. I also have something that is beyond all that: I have a favorite cassette tape. 

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