Uppity dogs are the worst tryin’ to smell stuff and everything like they pay the rent.Doggity Dog.
And we are, aren’t we, us fiftysomethings? We’re the pierced and tattooed, shorts-wearing, skunk-smoking, OxyContin-popping, neurotic dickheads who’ve presided over the commoditisation of the counterculture; we’re the ones who took the avant-garde and turned it into a successful rearguard action by the flying columns of capitalism’s blitzkrieg; we’re the twats who sat there saying that there was no distinction between high and popular culture, and that adverts should be considered as an art form; we’re the idiots who scrumped the golden apples from the Tree of Jobs until our bellies swelled and we jetted slurry from our dickhead arseholes – slurry we claimed was “cultural criticism”.Century Of The Self.
No One Expects The Cycling Inquisition.
From Jeremy Powers of Team Jelly Belly:
"…through the feedzone I watched this Quickstep dude hang onto his feed bag for 5K before tossing it to a cute girl. He said ‘DID YOU SEE?’ I said ‘Yeah…nice job buddy’. He then explained: his soigneur puts a Polaroid picture of himself with his number on the bags. In his deep Belgie voice finishes it off with ‘Yah, old Belgian trick, it works every time.’ "
Imitating what might happen if he was more explicit, Diehl made a neck-wringing gesture with his hands.Don’t Cross Clinton.