O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY?....

It's as if you can hear the metronome of cyberspace. Mechanistic, meaningless, implacable, yet somehow still wild. It is the heart beat of a sleeping god, a hillbilly god with a belly full of month old house blend who lies curled and trapped in that dream we all have where we are pursued by evil tigers who want to force us to get a seriously uncool tattoo just so they can win some contest put on by a local radio morning show.

Y'know the show. The one where they play those Larry the cable guy clips over and over but you keep listening because the lady who reads the weather sounds kinda' hot. And as you climb onto the bicycle you find, right where you left it,  leaning against the convenience store wall, you realize that it's a trap because the bike suddenly has two seats behind yours and sure enough there the tigers are sitting on your inexplicable bike extension, telling you that they want that mug and t-shirt and chance to win 108.5 dollars CASH!

One of them has your iPod and threatens to delete all your Clash tunes from that import album that your roommate stepped on back in '88. The one you can't even get anymore even used on Amazon. It's all gone if you don't get the tat. And you remember what anger is. You turn and you open your mouth and hundreds of shrieking BATS come out! Friggen' Bats! Big ones like hang from the trees of Borneo, eating those werid lumpy fruit that you've never seen before in real life. And the bats eat the tigers and you scream "YEAH!" like it was the worst Stephen Spielberg movie of all time.

And there is glorious music that lifts you and surrounds you and somehow it makes your skin shine. It's music you know you won't remember later, but later doesn't matter because it's here, rocking your world and it tastes just like a deep fried rainbow dipped in cool ranch sauce. For a moment you almost feel like the way they describe a cocaine high in Rolling Stone interviews. You have stolen the thunderbolt from the hand of Zeus, and now it's time to party!  

But.... you feel bad because now the bats are eating everything. They don't stop with tigers. Your ex-girlfriend's picture, the moon, the memory of the nice old dentist who cleaned your teeth when you were eight... the bats eat everything. All they leave you is a dark damp room where no light reaches the walls.

And it's more like a cave than a room. It's cool and empty. It echoes and there is a pool of water in the cave and you feel so alone in this place. You remember that there used to be some one in that cave with you but you can't remember them anymore. But you do know they left and you know they'll never be back. Never. You hang your head, and you whisper...." Why'd I have to use the damned bats? Why? They always take me back here." You promise yourself that you will never use the bats again. And you almost believe you won't. Your tears make little ripples in the pool.

And then you have to get up and go to work.You have to drive god's old Wagoneer, with the restored naugahide seats, up the litter strewn access road to the office building behind that aging strip mall. And you have to forget that cave, that damned, awful, empty, lonely cave. You can't even hear the heart beat anymore.

O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY? YA RLY! O RLY?....

The worst thing is, deep down, you know that even if you could somehow go back to 1957, in a period appropriate hat and trenchcoat, and find James Thurber sitting in some comfortable neighborhood bar nursing a dry gin martini, he wouldn't care a bit. In fact he'd run off to hide in the men's room until he thought your back was turned... and then he'd make a break for it. And if you dared to follow him and leapt onto the back of his bicycle you'd get nothing but a face full of bats for your troubles.

For fucks sakes, and for the last time, Scott - I said there was no
apparent political bias.

Al, I never said you said there was any political bias.

The bias was completely on your part.  Rather than just post a link, you editorialized with a bias that had no basis in fact.  You said:

A Wasilla resident's unbiased* take on Sarah Pailin

There was nothing in that link to even suggest that it was either correct or unbiased at any level.  The editorializing served no purpose other than an attempt to make people think it was unbiased with zero facts to back up that editorialization.

You then added a bizarre little footnote to try to cover up your bias

*At least, it appears to have no political motivation from one party
or the other

That was a disingenous statement since any rational person knows there could be personal conflicts, especially in a small town setting, that can result in bias.

You knew full well what you were doing when you made the initial post and you don't like that you got called on it.  Too bad.

I'm not the one who editorialized with personal bias.

Back up your bias with some facts and we'll talk.

Ah, you stoop to personal attacks.  That puts everything you have to say into perspective.  Thanks.

Bye again, Al.