Poop!

Yesterday, as I was driving, I happily slowed down for a procession of about six horses, walking single file in an orderly line, as far to the side of the road as possible. I have never seen a line of cyclists do this. I've written here and here about my war with cyclists. But up until now, a shot has never been fired. That might be changing.

The puppy is generating a tremendous amount of poop. We don't wrap it up in store bought bags here in Topanga. We return it to the earth, like our antiquated septic systems. My way of disposing of it involves flinging it over the fence, towards Old Topanga Canyon Road. It's not a gentle slope, about a fifty foot drop, there's little margin for error. So far I have succeeded in hitting the sweet spot between the fence and the road, poop clinging precariously to cliff, but it's just a matter of time before I fling one too far. Hundreds of cyclists ride by each week. If anything ever happens, I'm going on record right now that it was an accident.

The President opens up about whiskey

"Alcohol can compete with your affections. It sure did in my case," Bush said, "affections with your family, or affections for exercise."

This quote might be more effective if he hadn't dragged exercise into it, because, for an exercise addict like Bush, affection for exercise can get in the way of affection for family. And you're right back where you started.

my war with cyclists (continued)

My wife Bernie doesn't like it when I yell, honk, or otherwise engage cyclists, when our daughter Isa is in the car. The subsequent mass flipping off and indignant screams of "fuck you!" are completely predictable and, in Bernie's opinion, easily avoidable.

That's why I don't yell at cyclists when Isa is in the car...unless Bernie is out of the car. Once I followed a cyclist all the way down Topanga to the ocean, it must have been three miles. He wouldn't let me pass. He's a vehicle. When the road expanded to two lanes, I easily passed him. But then, at PCH, he illegally swerved back in front of me from the right, on a red light, to block me and make the left turn onto the highway ahead of me. "Are you a vehicle, or are you not a vehicle?!" I yelled, fed up with the hypocrisy. He casually flipped me off and rode away. "That one was a little complicated," Isa observed.

I hate cyclists

Cyclists in Topanga Canyon are very aggressive, demanding to be treated like vehicles...if vehicles rode four abreast on winding mountain roads and flipped you off for so much as toot-tooting that you'd please like to pass on a straightaway. Slower traffic is supposed to use turnouts--there are signs posted everywhere. I use them all the time to let faster cars pass me. I have never once seen a cyclist use a turnout. Please note that bicycles are not used here for transportation. This is recreational biking only. So what explains the massive chips on these idiots' shoulders?