I am avoiding the bigringcircus right now. I keep circling the keyboard then sitting on my hands or walking away. It is too dangerous. The only thing I am compelled to discuss is those evangelical kidnappers in Haiti. I realy shouldn’t go there. It will only become a boring rant, and around here we like to save our ranting for the first ten and last ten miles of a twenty mile bike ride.
Let’s just say though, for the sake of it, that a group of Haitians, driven by their Voodou beliefs, came to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina and scooped a bunch of American kids off the street to take them to a resort hotel in Mexico before giving them a better life in Haiti. How would that be received?
Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have logged on.
Well. Yeah. It’s arrogant and ridiculous that they “thought” they could do that.
They are white. I’m sure they figured that was more than enough to qualify them for the job.
I love those people, and feel they should be held up as Ambassadors of Righteousness. If my babies were wandering the streets, with their mother and I dead and buried in the rubble along with their grandparents, I could only hope a group of sweet, Voodoo fearing Haitians would scoop them up and see them into adulthood. Otherwise, they might stumble into the arms of Juancho and grow up hating their own country! Excuse those sweet Baptists for taking a little initiative!
Yeah. I heard one of those Christian chicks on the radio. She was all, “We just didn’t realize we needed more paperwork. We just wanted to give those children the chance they deserved.” And other blah-blah bullshit.
Rant whenever you want. Why the hell not?
There’s no point really.
Would it be a better deal than the one they got freeing themselves from the French?
My rant during the last few miles last Saturday would’ve gone like this:
This planted pine and powerline routine is fine but it ain’t singletrack and it aint the SMT. Sand and puddles, great! Oh shit, look at the monstrous office building they put here where the doubletrack used to be. Oh, I like this new road! Why are we leaving it? No, I don’t want to see the farmer’s field. Damn, another tree across the trail? Hey, that’s not the back way into the neighborhood!
Or maybe I went on that rant and have now occluded it.
Damn, you stole my lines!
Much depends on the broken tractor, rusting in the farmer’s field, beside the black vultures.