Finally, an Exercise Bike that Makes Sense

Where the Hell was this thing 29 years ago? I use the point in time 29 years ago to reference the moment when I began, quite unintentionally, to transform myself from a strapping young man into the gelatinous mound of hair-covered, stooped-over, prematurely gray, nicotine-stained .....lover of all things Beer! Benjamin Franklin once said, "Beer is proof that there is a God and He wants us to be happy." I believe Ben was misquoted, because he seems to only ever refer to a belief in God in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way. I have it from a reliable source that he actually said "Beer is *burp*, proof that *fart*, blah, blah, blah, happy. Buahahaha!" That's how I would have said it.
Anyway, if this exercise bike had existed when I first began to turn away from the Light and toward the nectar that is Beer, I might actually have become an in-shape beer drunk (and modest home-brewer of said nectar), instead of the sad, wrung-out piece of human flotsam (and modest home-brewer of said nectar) that everyone, sooner or later, grows to love.
I must insert a disclaimer here. If you have not already figured it out, I was doing a bit of drinking just prior to composing this post. In my defense, and I am sad to say, I have not had a single drop of beer. Apparently, the elves who deliver the Light of Coors have been taken ill with the Swine Flu. Thus, there is no Light of Coors to be found within the walls of my Kingdom. Therefore, I have been sampling a little bit of a liquid product from a strange and exotic land called Canada. Something called Canadian Regal Diluted Whiskey. I'm told that Canada is a magical place just to the north of me, and that the inhabitants of Canada are responsible for Molsen. That's it! Ben Franklin actually said "Molsen is proof that there is a beer from Canada, and it wants us to be happy." I like it........

1968

This photo was taken at the very instant I made up my mind to stop shaving and cease cutting my hair in preparation for Woodstock, which was just one short year away. It was the last time that I was photographed when both of my lips could be clearly seen at the same time.

When I found out that Woodstock was essentially 200,000 people wandering around looking for a place to piss, and faced the reality that I was only seven years-old and unable to get a driver's license even in Mississippi, I decided to skip the event in favor of breaking open oysters with a rock. The oyster shell shards proved helpful in scraping off a year's worth of facial hair accumulation. My brother later hit me in the head with that rock, causing a psychedelic effect similar to the one experienced by thousands of participants (and Timothy O'Leary followers) at Woodstock. Essentially, I experienced Woodstock AND knew exactly where to piss (in the Emergency Room).

I'm a Rare Civil Servant

I don't mean that I am a stunningly handsome man, which is obvious (despite the porcupine that attached itself to my chin last Winter). I mean that I am a civil servant who is surrounded by competence.
The overwhelming majority of those with whom I have the privilege of working are extremely competent people.
Government employees often are the butt of jokes - more often than Rednecks, Nuns, Lawyers, and Catholic Priests. Well, maybe not Catholic Priests. They're pretty funny, unless you happen to be a 9 year-old altar boy.
Have you ever heard the expression "close enough for government work"? I don't know what that means. I mean, I know what it means - that half-assed work is acceptable if done by government employees working to government standards. I mean, I don't know anyone or any job in Government that the aforementioned expression accurately depicts. Unacceptable work is unacceptable work, whether or not the Government is behind it. Between military service and Federal Civil Service, I have been on the job for nearly twenty-five years, and I can can say without a moment's pause that I can count on one hand the number of truly stupid, lazy, incompetent people who cannot be pried away from the Government tit (for those of you who object to the word "tit," please insert the word "teet," but avoid using the words "suck" or "suckle" in conjunction with "tit" or "teet" at any cost). My problem is that I can count, and each one of those bozos who I do know is drawing a Government paycheck, which is like flushing cash down a toilet. I don't mean like flushing Recovery Act dollars down a toilet that is being designed and constructed next to a highway paving project that doesn't really need to be done (trumpeted by really nice signs that cost millions to produce and place along the route of the road to be paved). I mean like flushing actual cash down an actual toilet.