Some more Punditry with Your Coffee

The manifesto of mass murderer in SC was thankfully short enough to read in one sitting. Adam Kokesh wrote a whole book basically saying “We need to take responsibility for our own freedom.” And then justifying it with proof that responsibility is "good" and the government hinders our self-governing abilities. And he did a horrible job at demonstrating anything other than his own narcissism as he used the plural “we” throughout the book, never used the pronoun “I” and then signed the book with only his name. So, who the fuck is the “we” you were referring to? Why aren’t “their” names on the manifesto? Bizarre.

Well, the latest manifesto isn’t signed but comes across as a “My 10th Grade Summer Vacation Race War”.

This is serious and here I am trying to be funny. What kind of asshole makes fun of this? The Oggy kind.

Well, it gets at the heart of many of my other essays/manifestos. The redacted syllogism is like this:

1)     Punditry is poisonous.

2)     Poisonous punditry is endemic

3)     Endemic poisonous punditry will lead to civil war.

4)     A free society is not possible with corrupt media filled with pundits.

5)     Punditry must end.

6)     Punditry will end if I REDACTED and wwww until they all dddddd.

It’s not a complicated manifesto. In the past, I’ve attempted to draw these conclusions out to meet the word count my internal editor asks for, but it doesn’t need defense.

Wolf Quest Part XIII: Sanctuary

The drive from Happy Valley to the coast of Labrador was uneventful. The fact I picked up the two hitchhikers made me feel responsible for at least getting them to some spot near civilization from which they could get rides south and that spot was the turn off for Mary’s Harbour. My history of hitchhiking leaves a soft spot for travelers on the side of the road and once they get in the vehicle I have to accept some sacrifices. The two young men were starved for rock n roll and for some reason Kiss was making a Canadian Tour with a stop in central New Foundland. “Good evening, New Foundland! Are you ready to Rock?” and like twenty people clap their hands and think, “I thought this had something to do with kissing.” I had spent about a week in Happy Valley trying to find a sponsor to take me north to Ellesmere Island and that week demonstrated the utter bleakness of that area. If Levelland, Texas is a Baptist amusement park where a tractor is considered a ride then Happy Valley, Labrador is…I don’t know…it’s an Army base. I think there is a high school. I didn’t see any source of amusement other than my van. In the summer the mosquitoes make any outdoor activity miserable. I saw a few ATVs running around but with gas at around $7 a gallon, who can afford to ride an ATV? So the winter is the only time people enjoy outside activities. And those probably involve ski-mobiles, skis, snowshoes. There is one park/playground, but who would be eaten by mosquitoes to play on a swing? My point is that if you spend more than a few days in Happy Valley in the summer then you have exhausted all the amusement opportunities so hitchhiking around 1000 miles, across the St. Lawrence Strait to the middle of New Foundland for a music concert of has-been lips-stick rock stars prancing around with battle axe guitars starts to sound reasonable.

Song Meaning Still Eludes Appreciative Audience

Fans of the song "Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald" have debated for 4 decades about the meaning behind the lyrics and author, singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot, has been notably secretive about his intentions when penning the esoteric 1976 tune.
"It could be about anything," said Lightfoot during a 1987 interview. "Once I've completed a song I don't try to interpret it. I'll let the listener decide." 
Simon Duluth, the creator of a website dedicated to the mysterious song says the song has been linked to extra terrestrials, the demise of the United States auto-manufacturing industry, a romantic relationship ending and other theories. 
"The endurance of this debate can be attributed to the cleverly disguised meaning of the lyrics, "said Duluth, who grew up in Michigan. "For example, the line 'The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er' has been linked to the Nixon administration and the NASA Apollo missions. I guess we'll never know exactly what Lightfoot was referring to, but it's fun to discuss."
Fans of the song defend their theories with long dissertations providing their evidence.
"Eddielover76" wrote, "If you count the syllables in the line 'and ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too, twas the witch of November come stealin' then you come up with the same number that was in a campaign speech by John F. Kennedy in 1960 which clearly points to a premonition of his own assassination.
The debate continues as the 40th anniversary of the song approaches and listeners are left only with the baffling lyrics such as "With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more, than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty." These words could refer to Medieval dragon myths or the weight of responsibility that presses down on a new father, but until Lightfoot reveals the source of his inspiration then we'll never know for sure.

For the record, once again, I beat The Onion to this spin.

Two Wheels to Hell: Part 2

See PART I HERE

PART II

I'm going to wrap this story up. This journey had almost nothing to do with scenery or people so look elsewhere for those details. It was a test of endurance and my will power to meet the wind head on. The landscape was irrelevant.

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by 'em;
  I remember seeing faces, hearing voices, through the smoke;
I remember they were fancy -- for I threw a stone to try 'em.
  "Something lost behind the Ranges" was the only word they spoke.

- Kipling. "The Explorer"

The madness was only beginning. I remained in St. Paul for a week or two, always thinking about the winter approaching Wyoming and the Sierras. I slowly recovered use of my arms and legs. The soreness and lack of agility would take 5 years to recover from but in the two weeks off the bike I managed to walk, to support my weight with my arms, to open and close my fists. A doctor would've told me that I had narrowly avoided permanent joint damage. "You're lucky to be alive," he'd probably say. But I didn't see a doctor and considered my partial recovery a sign that I would indeed arrive at my destination before winter.  No sooner had I regained the ability to walk I returned to the road. My friend had been unable to convince me to postpone the journey until I fully recovered. I wanted to prove to the wind that I could take the worst it could dish out. The rain never stopped but I had washed my clothes. Dried out my gear. I've seen other bike touring rigs and most weigh less than mine, but not by much. I had 75 pounds but most of that weight was water.

Two Wheels To Hell: Part 1

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