11.24.2014 | 11:32 am
A Note from Fatty: I’m happy to announce that my second Best of FatCyclist.com book, The Great Fatsby, is nearly finalized and going to the printer next week.
I’m even happier to announce that I’m genuinely happy with how it’s turned out. It’s about 350 pages (fifty or so pages more than the first volume), the intros, edits and annotations actually make the reading experience better, and Velo’s Dan Wuori has an awesome Foreword…and Middleword…and Backword. Yes, really.
To check out the book—and the beautiful tecno-merino long-sleeve jersey also on pre-order—by Christmas, click here. Thanks!
As a Serious Cyclist, I Demand You Take Me Seriously
I’ll thank you very much to not mock my lifestyle, for I am a very serious cyclist. I have made incredible sacrifices to get to where I am today. I want you to respect them for what they are, and to see me as the dynamic, steel-eyed figure I see myself as.
You want examples? Oh, I’ve got examples. You may want to sit down, though, because these are going to rock your world.
Suffering
The overarching theme to my cycling is that I suffer. When I am riding my bike up a mountain pass (I do not trifle with things so mundane as hills), I evoke the image of a figure both heroic and tragic. “Who is this man?” passersby would wonder, if only there were someone to see me. “Who is this man who attacks the mountain with such cold fury? Such power? Such wrath melded with stoicism?”
People in the metal coffins they call cars—mere sheep, I despise them!—pass and look at me with what must be envy. I do not deign to return their gaze; they are mere sheep.
Instead, I ignore them and focus my energies—every nanogram of effort I can muster—into the pedals. “What emotional furnace drives him to push his body to its limits so? Is he paying penance? How is it possible that one man can exert such an extraordinary force of will?”
And lastly and above all, “Why does he suffer so?”
That is what they would say about me if they could look into my soul, if they had the capacity to understand how serious I am about cycling.
But they do not say any of these things. How could they? They do not (could not!) understand.
This is one of the reasons I hold them in contempt.
My Appearance
Look at me. No, don’t be afraid. Take a good long look. Is there anything about my appearance that does not indicate I am very serious about my cycling?
My bib shorts are of the highest quality; the chamois alone is the product of more R&D than the automobile (a hybrid, I assure you) I drive when I am not on a bike. (Which, I assure you, is rarely.)
My glasses match my helmet, both of which match my jersey, which is as form-fitting as it is light. By the way, I resent my helmet, because my idols did not wear them and I consider them an insinuation that my bike handling skills are not sufficient to successfully resolve any situation that might arise.
Have no doubt that everything I own goes well with my shoes, and my socks are the proper length dictated by the most recent issue of Peloton magazine (which is the only magazine I find adequately serious for my cycling needs).
My legs are freshly shaven, as are my arms.
My face is studiously neutral. I have cultivated this expression so it appears this way at all times. You will never know whether I am about to attack or to be dropped.
My game face is my only face. I take my cycling that seriously.
Riding With Others
You say that you also ride a bike, and that we should ride together sometime? Well, I admire your audacity; I’ll give you that. But we could never ride together until I know a few key facts about whether you take cycling seriously enough to ride with my group.
First, I need to know whether you intend to wear that helmet with the visor clip on the ride. You know that’s a mountain bike helmet, don’t you? And that this will be a road bike ride? Don’t embarrass both of us by showing up with that.
Can you hold a speed within one one-hundredth of a mile per hour, without looking at a speedometer? Everyone in my group can. Can you hold your line within one millimeter (as a serious cyclist, I measure everything in metrics)? If you can’t, there’s no place for you in my group.
Under what circumstances do you ride in a paceline, and under which is an eschelon preferable? What is the correct duration of a pull? How do you signal that you want someone to pull through? When did you most recently shave your legs?
I need to know all of these things. Fill out this form, make 15 copies, and I’ll get back to you. My very serious riding compatriots and I will think very seriously whether you are worthy of advancing to the next stage of the group ride interview process.
History
Tell me everything you know about Eddy Merckx. It’s important to me that you can speak about him in reverential enough tones and that you are fully versed in his life and racing statistics.
You don’t know that much about him, because he retired from cycling before you even knew professional cycling even existed? Obviously, you don’t take your racing history very seriously. If you can’t be effusive about someone who last raced about forty years ago, I don’t think we have that much to talk about.
Fortunately for you, I have studied him at some length and will be happy to lecture you endlessly about the golden age of cycling.
Fun
I resent that you think, by being very serious about cycling, that I somehow do not have fun. I have exactly the right amount of fun. Two days ago, I did intervals specifically engineered to increase my capacity for fun: eight repetitions of thirty seconds of fun at my absolute limit, followed by two minutes of recovery.
I can show you the the data from the event, if you’d like. I think you’ll find that I am 2% more fun than I was this week last year. That’s significant progress.
Besides, I do cyclocross. Cyclocross is fun. Last Sunday I raced a cyclocross event I peaked for. I wore a skinsuit for maximum aerodynamics, heckled other people within acceptable limits, and lectured all around me about how cyclocross is better in Belgium.
And then I drank a beer. Beer is fun.
As long as it’s a serious beer.
Comments (30)
11.19.2014 | 12:47 pm
A Note for Kindle-Loving Friends of Fatty: I know that a lot of people these days prefer to read their books as e-books. In fact, I am one of those people. So it bothered me that I couldn’t figure out a way to make it possible to pre-order an e-book version of The Great Fatsby and still be entered in the contest to win the Ibis of your choice, not to mention have 25% of the profits go to World Bicycle Relief.
Well, I woke up at 4:00am today with an epiphany. Now I know how to do it, and it’s not even all that hard. Well, it will require some work on my end, but it’s do-able.
The catch is, to keep the logistics from being entirely insane, I need to make Kindle the only e-book format this pre-order will work with. I’m OK with that; it seems like an acceptable compromise.
So, starting right now, you can pre-order a Kindle version of this book. Just click here to pre-order, and you’ll get a code emailed to you on December 10 to download the book.
Or, if you’re giving the Kindle version of the book as a gift, you can specify their name and email (and a gift message if you like) and the code will be sent to them on December 10. Easy.
Huzzah!
Subtraction
I was on one of those long rides last summer, the kind where you’ve been out for a couple hours and have another few hours to go. You’re on a road you’ve ridden many times before and there’s not much new to see.
It was the kind of ride that lets your mind detach a little bit. To wander.
And while I was thus wool-gathering, a question occurred to me—one that has grabbed me and gnawed at me ever since.
If I take me as I am, then subtract the bicycle, what do you have left?
It’s not an easy question to answer. It’s not even an easy question to interpret. But I’ve been considering it from a few angles.
How Big a Part?
I started listing the ways the bike is a part of my life.
- It’s more or less the only way I (enjoy) exercising. I ride a bike probably six days a week.
- It’s how I stayed stable and centered when Susan was ill, and after she died.
- It’s how I met The Hammer.
- It’s how my wife and I spend our time together. Sure, we occasionally go to a movie or restaurant, but more than anything else, we ride together.
- It’s what I spend a couple hours each day writing about. Right now, for example.
- It’s what I think about. When I’m not on a bike, I check bike blogs and news sites and bike manufacturer sites and racing sites and think about my next ride and think about racing.
- It’s how I make a difference. For whatever good I’ve done in the world, a huge chunk of it can be attributed to the bike. I raise money with bikes, I give bikes away, I go to charity rides, and I encourage all of you to do the same.
- It’s what my friends do. Almost without exception, my best friends in the world…all ride bikes. And not casually, either. It’s what we do together. Most of us started in the same company (WordPerfect) long ago, but the bike gives us a reason to stay in touch and do something together.
- It’s how I make friends. I’ve made a lot of friends through this blog. A lot of these friendships now transcend the bike, but the bike is still a part of all these friendships.
- It’s tied to an important personal anniversary. Every year I do The Leadville 100. It’s more than a race to me, it’s a big chunk of who I am and how I think about myself.
That is…a lot. And I’ve spent some time thinking about how my life would be different—how I would be different—if bikes were somehow subtracted from my life.
In a Non-Bike Universe…
Imagine a world where, for whatever reason, the bike simply does not exist. At all. Never has. How would I be different?
Would I still exercise? Would I have been able to be as good as I was to Susan? What would The Hammer and I do together? Would we have ever connected at all? What would I be writing right now (or during the past ten years)? About something different? Anything at all?
Would I have ever become passionate about fundraising?
I don’t know the answer at all to some of these questions. I can guess at others. I think I’d still exercise—before I had cycling, I played racquetball a few days each week, and I rollerbladed (yes rollerbladed) to work and back each day, about eight miles each way. Don’t judge, that’s where my quads came from.
But I think exercise would just be something I do—not something I love, not one of the defining characteristics of me.
Maybe The Hammer and I would have gotten together; after all, our first date was a run, not a ride. But because we each are faster / stronger than the other in one of these two events, we have great balance and understanding of the other. I don’t know how our relationship would be different without the bike, but I do know it would be massively different.
I wrote—a lot—before I ever took up biking; I’m sure I’d be writing something. Maybe Random Reviewer would have survived if I hadn’t been focusing on bikes so much. But probably not.
More importantly than any of these one activities, though, is who I’d be if there were no bikes. Would I have experienced the catalytic moments that have made me do so much fundraising? I kind of doubt it, to be honest. I don’t by nature go seeking things like that out.
Because of the bike, they’ve come to me and I have helped a lot of people make the world a better place.
Of course, there’s no way to check this. No way to verify who I would be in this universe. But I think about it, and I can’t help but be incredibly glad and grateful for what the bike has given me, for what it has made me into.
If Bikes Were Taken Away From Me
The other way I could interpret this question is, “What if I couldn’t ride?” In other words, what if something were to happen to me and I could no longer ride my bike?
It’s incredible, really, how physical my reaction is when I consider this question. I become literally queasy. My anxiety level jumps to the level of near-panic, and I feel smothered. Believe me when I say that I’m not exaggerating here.
I think this is because while a “universe without bicycles” thought experiment is mildly interesting, this second interpretation of the “Who am I without bicycles” question is a little too real of a possibility.
What if I had an accident? What if I had a disease? And because of whatever the circumstance is, I just couldn’t ride anymore? Ever again?
Yes, there it is again: that feeling.
Regardless of whether I think about bikes too much, they’ve become such an enormous part of me that it affects me physically to consider myself without them as a part of my life. It’s like considering what my life would be like without air. That sounds like hyperbole, I know, but take a look at how I described how I feel: it’s not that different from how I’d describe what it feels like to be held under water.
Still, it’s worth thinking about for a minute, because it’s instructive. To consider how important something is in your life, consider the universe without it. Then, make it personal: consider it being taken away from you.
And then, be grateful for it.
Your Turn
Now it’s your turn. Consider the question, “If you take yourself as you are, then subtract the bicycle, what do you have left?“
I’ll be very interested to read your responses.
Comments (51)
11.18.2014 | 11:33 am
Last week I announced that as part of the pre-order on my upcoming book, The Great Fatsby: The Best of FatCyclist.com, Vol. 2, someone is going to win an Ibis bike of their choice.
I mentioned the Tranny 29—my own personal bike, which I’ve been riding as a singlespeed and as a fully geared go-everywhere, do-anything bike.
I’ve mentioned the Ripley 29, which Boston Carlos won last year, and now rides and loves.
What I did not mention at the time, however, was something I knew (and yet managed to keep secret): that Ibis would be announcing and launching a new bike in very short order.
And that bike would be the all-new, incredibly beautiful Ibis Mojo HD3:
This is a 27.5” all-mountain MTB, and it was just announced yesterday, to extraordinarily positive reviews from BikeRadar, VitalMTB, and everyone else who’s been lucky enough to ride one.
I, unfortunately, am not one of those lucky few who has ridden one (yet).
However, I think I am the only one who may get to give one away.
Because, yes, I had the foresight when I was talking to Chuck Ibis about including an Ibis in my pre-order giveaway, to ask, “Can the owner choose any Ibis bike, including this new one you’re launching next week?”
Yeah, I had to frame it like that, because Chuck wouldn’t tell me the name of the bike. Sheesh. But I couldn’t stay mad at him because he said, “Of course.”
So yes: when you buy anything from my book pre-order store, you’re automatically entered for chances in the giveaway (the number of chances is included in each item description).
And, lest you forget, 25% of the profit goes to WBR.
And you might win an entry into the Leadville 100.
And you actually get the thing you’re buying.
And I’ll actually get a little something for the ten years of writing I’ve put into this blog. Which I hope you’re OK with.
People Are Nice To Me
A few days ago, I listed a few folks who have been nice enough to send me short reviews of their thoughts on The Great Fatsby.
Well, I sent out some sample chapters to a few more cyclists I really respect, and have gotten some more great feedback.
Kathryn Bertine is a pro cyclist, the director / producer of the important cycling documentary Half The Road, as well as the author of the must-read As Good As Gold. Here’s what she says:
The Great Fatsby is not unlike The Great Gatsby; one big party with a few necessary morals for good measure. What’s great about Fatty’s writing is his ability to entertain and educate–not just for the cycling audience, but for all readers who enjoy taking a peek behind the curtain of niche cultures. Fatty reminds us of the true joys of cycling, and his self deprecation will keep you laughing cover to cover. We’re lucky to have him–and his witty words– in the sport.
Patrick Brady (aka “Padraig”) is the honcho at Red Kite Prayer, one of the sites I visit every single day. Here’s what he says:
It’s a difficult thing to be funny in print. It’s even harder to revisit existing work and find fresh ways to be funny. Such is Elden’s talent. Perhaps the truest thing I can say of this book is that I envy his gift for finding laughs in the flattest light.
Levi Leipheimer is a pro cyclist, the namesake of the best Gran Fondo in the world, and a really good guy. He said this about my book:
The Great Fatsby is, of course, very funny and sheds a comedic light on a sport that often takes itself too seriously. The far more pleasant surprise is its raw, poignant, and introspective truth about why we simply love to ride bicycles.
Bike Snob NYC is a better writer than I am, and his blog is funnier. There. I said it. So it was incredibly cool of him to send me this quote:
Fat Cyclist is the Godfather of Bike Bloggers. Just when you thought you were out…he pulls you back in.
Does it seem like I’m kind of hammering you on pre-ordering this book (and jersey, and t-shirt)? I know. Here’s why: I’m making some big personal bets on it. (No, not actual gambling-style bets). So, if you’ve already bought a copy, thanks for your patience.
And if you haven’t, well, you’re exactly the person I’m talking to.
Tomorrow, I promise: less selling, more regular-style blogging.
PS: If you haven’t read my first Best of book, Comedian Mastermind
, the Kindle version is now cheap as dirt.
Comments (11)
11.17.2014 | 10:07 am
Today, I am beginning what may be the busiest week I have ever lived in my life. Here are the things that are happening:
- I am finishing my edits of my new book. I may have to do some late nights to make this happen, but I will get it done.
- Something I can’t tell you. It’s important and kind of a big deal to me personally, but doesn’t have anything to do with cycling or this blog.
- I am completing and submitting an application to a reality TV show, at their request. I will either have more to say on this in the future…or I won’t. I guess it all depends on whether anything happens after this. What surprises me about this, though, is how much work it is to put this application together.
Why am I telling you all this? Because even with all this, I still plan to post as often as possible this week. Why am I doing this? Because I love you, you big crazy bunch of Friends of Fatty.
And also, because I have some kinda really amazing stuff to tell you about.
Pre-Order My Book (or Long-Sleeve Jersey, or Both), Get a Chance at Racing The Leadville Trail 100
It’s probably no secret that The Leadville 100 mountain bike race is a massive part of my life. That it has, for each of the past 18 years, been the focus of my racing efforts.
It’s also no secret that this race is pretty darned difficult to get into. I don’t know the numbers, but anecdotally it seems like entering the lottery gives you about a one-in-ten chance of getting in.
So I’m pretty excited to announce today that someone who pre-orders my book (or any of the items in my online store, including the t-shirt, jersey, a WBR donation, or a bundle) is going to draw a free entry into this race.
Yes, really.
And those of you who have already pre-ordered something? Yeah, you’re already entered in the drawing. How about that?
And even if you don’t win, well…you’re still getting the book (or whatever it is you ordered). And 25% of the profit still goes to World Bicycle Relief.
So no matter what, you get something cool (I promise, my book is cool…more on that in just a minute) and help the world become a more awesome place.
And of course, you also have a chance at winning any Ibis you want, completely tricked out with a top-end SRAM build.
Oh, and also…I’ll be announcing more prizes soon. Including one that is going to require you to have a current passport.
Here, Let Me Give You a Big Chunk of The Great Fatsby For Free Right Now
I am, in addition to being a beloved and award-winning superstar celebrity in the cycling blogosphere, a fairly imaginative person. This is, mostly, a good thing. Thanks to this trait, I generally have a pretty easy time of coming up with things to write about, and the writing process is a lot easier for me than it is for most people.
However, this imagination also makes for some freak-out-edness sometimes. I worry about things I shouldn’t. I lose sleep. I fret about worst-case scenarios, in spite of the fact that this worrying does me no good.
This surprises you, doesn’t it?
No? Oh well, let’s continue anyway.
So this morning I was talking to The Hammer, telling her how it worries me that my readers don’t know much about my new book, The Great Fatsby. You haven’t seen it and don’t know whether you’ll like it. So you don’t know whether you’re going to want to buy it.
“Well, why don’t you give them a sample to look at, so they can decide for themselves whether they want it?”
Oh. Well. Duh. Have I mentioned that one of the downsides of being an imaginative person is that I’m not a particularly practical person?
But I can recognize a good idea when I hear it. So here you go: a PDF of the first 28 pages of Chapter 3: “Valuable, Practical How-To Guidance You Can Use Right Now,” from The Great Fatsby.
Yeah, a 28-page sample—that’s about half the chapter. That should keep you busy for a little while…and it should give you a pretty good idea of whether you’re going to enjoy the book.
If you do, I hope you’ll pre-order it.
And I’ll be interested to hear what you think in the Comments.
Comments (22)
11.13.2014 | 1:07 pm
An Early-Reviews-Note from Fatty: I’ve sent rough, pre-press copies of my new book, The Great Fatsby: The Best of FatCyclist.com, to a few people, asking them what they think.
One of those people is the very famous, handsome, and intelligent Stevil Kinevil, creator of All Hail the Black Market. Here’s what he had to say:
I read the first three chapters of The Great Fatsby while sitting at a computer, putting off other stuff that I was supposed to do.
Ironically, I enjoyed it more than I did Comedian Mastermind, which I read in the woods with a six pack of beer. Clearly in the years since his first effort, his sarchasi-meter has been finely tuned, and for that fact, we should all give thanks.
After reading The Great Fatsby, however, I need to recalibrate my entire existence because with the exception of also having a disdain for selfies, and never shaving my eyebrows, I now know everything I’ve thought and done up to this point in my life is wrong.
Bill Strickland, who is a deep thinker and thoughtful writer, as well as Editor-at-Large at Bicycling Magazine and the author of about 35% of all cycling books ever written, had this to say:
Here’s the big lesson: When something really, really matters to you — as cycling does to Elden and all of us who’ll read this — it’s worth being funny about. The lightness of the writing doesn’t detract from the importance cycling holds in our lives — instead, it helps you appreciate and enjoy your passion all the more.
And this came in from Phil Gaimon, who is so good at both writing and riding that he’s gone pro at both:
It might be too late for me, but the worst thing a cyclist can do is forget how ridiculous it is to shave your legs, pull on some tights, and ride a $5,000 bicycle through traffic. Elden’s new collection from his hilarious blog is full of wisdom to save cyclists from embarrassment, and fart jokes to remind the rest of us not to take pedaling too seriously.
So yeah, as you might guess, I’m pretty excited that a few very funny guys are enjoying The Great Fatsby. I’ve put a ton of work into organizing, editing, explaining, and annotating this book, and I think it’s going to stand as some of my best work. And I think you’ll like it too.
But only if you order a copy.
How to Properly Share the Trail
Even as I become increasingly famous and wealthy, I do my very best to stay in touch with common cyclists—people like you. This can, of course, be difficult, since whenever I go riding, my advance team closes down the road or trail network upon which I am riding. I am flanked by a phalanx of security personnel, all specifically . And also my cheese wrangler rides alongside me, whose services I have retained because I am fond of cheese.
As I was thus riding recently, a thought occurred to me:
“Wouldn’t it be weird if other people were on this trail at the same time?” I thought to myself. “And if some of those people were going in the same direction as I, while others were going in the opposite direction!”
“And what if,” I continued musing, as my cheese wrangler handed me a cube of Swiss with spicy brown mustard smeared on it (my cheese wrangler despises me), “all of us were going at self-selected speeds, some faster than me, while others were slower!”
At this point, my mind was boggling a little bit at this preposterous hypothetical situation, but I decided to run with it and take it to its logical extreme. “And then, what if there were cyclists and walkers and horses on the trail?”
I started laughing uncontrollably at this crazy bizarro universe I had just dreamed up. My imagination can take me to some pretty wacky places.
Still, I was intrigued. What madness would I encounter if I were to ride my mountain bike on trails open to the public? Would it be chaos? Would it be purely terrifying? Surely, it would be a living hell!
To my astonishment, I was mistaken. Indeed, I am happy to report, riding with other people on the trail is not something to be terrified of. Indeed, with my expert guidance (I become expert at anything I try, usually within a few minutes), you will find that it is possible to share a mountain biking trail with other people.
Understand the Fundamentals
As it turns out, the fundamental principal for everyone getting along on a trail is for everyone to understand the rules of who has the right of way when two people encounter each other on a trail. Here are those rules, conveniently organized for you in a numbered-list format:
- Cyclists yield to pedestrians.
- Pedestrians yield to horses.
- Horses yield to nobody, and get to act like they own the place.
- Cyclists coming downhill must yield to cyclists going uphill, unless they’re having an incredible Strava run.
- Cyclists going uphill must yield to pedestrians who pass them as they are also going uphill, which is pretty embarrassing.
- Cyclists who are in the zone do not have to yield to anyone. Because they’re in the zone, that’s why.
- Nobody yields to cyclists, because cyclists are apparently not as important as pedestrians and horses.
- Cyclists yield to horses. Because horses are bigger and can freak out over tiny little nothings and can crush you to death when their rider can’t control them, but as a cyclist, that’s your fault, not the horse rider’s.
- Cyclists and pedestrians yield to the giant piles of crap that it’s apparently ok for horses to leave on the trail.
- When approaching a pedestrian from behind, cyclists should alert the walker that you are coming, so they can move aside. Which means that in this case the walker is yielding to the cyclist, but that’s just the way it’s got to be.
- When the pedestrian doesn’t hear the cyclist because the pedestrian has his/her headphones cranked way up, the cyclist must try again, this time louder.
- When the pedestrian still doesn’t hear the cyclist, the cyclist must ride behind the pedestrian at a snail’s pace for about twenty minutes until you see a place to go around the pedestrian
- When you finally go around the pedestrian, the pedestrian is required by law to jump out of his/her skin and scream in a comical voice
- Even though it’s the pedestrian’s fault they’re unaware of their surroundings and you have in fact been behind her/him for pretty much ever, it is the pedestrian’s right to say, “You scared me!” and the cyclist’s responsibility to apologize.
- When yielding to horses, cyclists must get well off the trail, observing the 3-foot rule, or be willing to catch a faceful of swishing tail as the horse goes by.
- When a cyclist comes around a blind corner and finds himself/herself wheel-to-wheel with another cyclist, it is the responsibility of both cyclists to put a foot down and laugh with relief that you’re both OK, then say, “Have a good ride.”
- When a cyclist comes around a blind corner and finds himself/herself face-to-face with a pedestrian, it’s the responsibility of the pedestrian to jump over to the wrong side of the trail, throw their hands up int the air, and shriek. It is the responsibility of the cyclist to suppress laughter.
- Cyclists must yield to all mammals, and most invertebrates.
- When a cyclist approaches another cyclist from behind, it is the responsibility of the passing cyclist to ask, “How’s it going,” without appearing to breathe hard. It is the responsibility of the cyclist being passed to reply, “Just enjoying a recovery day,” and then to do his level best to grab onto the other rider’s wheel.
- When passing another cyclist, it is the responsibility of the passing cyclist to say, “On your left,” even if you actually mean you’re on their right. It is the responsibility of the cyclist being past to move left when you hear, “On your left.”
- When a cyclist has pulled over to the side of the trail in order to let a horse or pedestrian pass, the cyclist is required to discover, to your horror, that while you have unclipped with your right foot, your bike is tipping over left and there is no way you are going to get that other foot unclipped in time.
- Once lying in the middle of the trail with everyone in the whole world watching you, with one of your feet trapped under a bike so that you cannot clip out of it and are therefore as thoroughly trapped as rabbit in a snare, it is acceptable for the cyclist to wish he were dead.
- Once a cyclist has yielded to a horse, they must expect a reasonable time (5 – 10 minutes) to pass before the horse decides that maybe it’s time to start walking again.
- Oh, and also right here, right now would probably be a good time to drop another enormous pile of crap. The splashier the better.
You may want to print and laminate this simple set of rules, keeping it with you at all times.
Comments (36)
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