Excitable Boy

What I consider good writing, always has one ingredient in the pot that bullies all others and gets to the buds first: snark. Juancho has it in delicious, intelligent, sprinkles and my new favorite witter/t.v. personality, Anthony Bourdain has it in buckets, but he knows just when to pour and when to dollop. I have always attributed the correct use of snark, as a supreme sign of intelligence, and the mark of a genuine article.

I posses more than my share and I think it dominates my speaking pattern more than my writing. As I have said before, if there is a filter between my head and lips, it is either broken of the setting is too low. I have thought for years that the multiple concussions and various other blows to the frontal lobe (where the emotional filter supposedly resides) have damaged the normal emotional response and made me what I am: a wise ass, snide, sometimes mean, and occasionally funny, person. To have snark and to use it wisely are two distinctly different attributes all together. *warning obvious bike tie in -so as to not lose core readers- approaching* It's like someone who rides well and fast, but can't get over logs. It's a subtle skill, honed over time, at great expense to the student, and the poor BASTARDS! that associate with them.

I know that nothing makes you folks happier than when I drone on and on about myself. I know that these exercises are about as endearing as a person that insists on telling what just came out of them and into the toilet. The reason dear reader (all four or five of you, if you count family members and pissed trail advocates, looking for encrypted insults to their efforts) is: I have a fear this trait will rear it's ugly head in the coming months, as I assume the position, I was voted into as a gag, by my fellow (BASTARD!) cycling com padres. I think they knew what they were doing when they spoke by ballot. I think they knew that I have this affliction for saying the obvious thing, that no one else would say, in the spirit of being polite and courteous. I think they they knew when they pulled the pin, and set the grenade on the dinner table. It was just what they had in mind. Maybe for entertainment, maybe for the Johnny Knoxvillish love of watching others writhe in anguish, but they knew how this movie would end. It's fun for the pin puller, not so much for the grenade. This is the reason I quit managing. It is why, when I try to be quiet at a meeting, (like Wednesday) I fold my arms. I am trying to keep the demon quiet. It is the part of my personality I loathe above all others, yet it is part of me none the less.

So I would like to apologize in advance for the wrongs I will certainly commit in the weeks and meetings to come. I am sure I will master the gaff to my fullest potential. Please know that I mean well and hope for the best, but like any caffeine addicted A.D.D. Turrets afflicted BASTARD!, I may yell "FUCK!" at any second in church. As always I will hold no grudges, as you dirty sons of bitches double over with laughter in the periphery.

BASTARDS!

W.B.Z.N.