Volume 150 - October

It started with a ride to the airport in a 1971 Pinto with 810,000 miles on it.
(That's not a typo.)

Since Scumbags #1 and #2 stole Mrs. BartCop's car,
we had to rent a car, so I went to Avis.
They handle fine cars with unlimited mileage.

We loaded the car and drove west.
We only got as far as western Oklahoma when a big-ass thunderstorm
with mega-lightning forced us into an unscheduled motel stop.
We stopped at the Knights Inn at Elk City, Oklahoma.

It was a pretty nice room.

The air conditioner didn't work very well, the window was cracked,
the Coke machine was out of order and the bathroom was so tiny,
you had to straddle the toilet to close the door.

In other words, it was just like our room at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas,
except it was $241 dollars cheaper!

I wanted a small nightcap before retiring, and since there was no
chaser available from the Knights Inn, I grabbed The Goose.
The Goose came through.
If you're ever in need of a no-chaser buzz, reach for The Goose.

Early Saturday, we crossed the Texas panhandle into New Mexico.
As soon as you cross the border, you reach Tucumcari.
For decades, it's been a favorite stop on old Route 66.
Tucumcari is a strange little town - nothing but hotels.

The Apache Motel
The Blue Swallow
The Buckaroo
The Royal Palacio
The Palomino

From Tucumcari, we went off-road. We took Highway 104 towards
Las Vegas, New Mexico. This is where you see giant, ship-like formations
begin to rise out of the ground as the dirt turns to rock and sand.

We came across Lake Concha. It seemed like a good place for a break.
I bought a six-pack of a new beer I hadn't tried - Tequiza beer.
Tequiza beer is made with the nectar of agave.

(Anything made with "agave" gets my attention.)
I'd never tasted Tequiza beer, so I was looking forward to it.

Mrs. BartCop and I drove to the shoreline and selected a picnic table.
Maybe some people don't know, so let me say this about lakes out west:
Most of the lakebeds are rocks, instead of mud, so they're perfectly clear.
How clear are they?

Clearer than Pat Buchanan's Master Plan for non-whites.

So we're at a picnic table at clear-as-Tahoe Lake Concha,
enjoying a fatty and an ice-cold bottle of Tequiza.
"This is how a vacation should start," I thought.

Staring into the blue water, watching the clouds roll by, I let my mind go blank.
The sun and wind in my face, a cool malt beverage and a week of play ahead of me.
It was very quiet and peaceful.

It was so close to Heaven,
...I thought I saw Betty Bowers!

As soon as we got back on the road, we heard a horrible rattling sound.
I jumped out and saw barbed wire sticking out of my right rear tire.


We're alone in the desert, dozens of miles from even a town of Spanish-speakers,
and there's rusted, jagged metal sticking out of my tire.
We decided to put the matter in The Lord's hands so we ignored it and drove on.

We made it to Las Vegas, NM and stopped for gas.
While we were there, I saw an unmarked mini-van pull up.
A state trooper went in and whispered something to the cashier.
The cashier said, "Sure, no problem," and the trooper walked back to his van.

The trooper led two serial-manacled, leg-ironed men to the bathroom.
After that, two others were led in.   It looked like a Woody Harrleson movie.
I read in the paper the next day these Bad Boys, Bad Boys had been
involved in a prison riot, and were being transfered to a more secure
facility because they were troublemakers.

Still reeling from the effects of the fatty, we decided not to engage the troopers
or the prisoners in idle banter.   Trooping on, we headed for Santa Fe.

I don't know if you know a lot about Santa Fe, but it's a strange town.
In Santa Fe, the $30-a-month peasants mingle with the super, super elite-rich.
There's something about Santa Fe that made me want to turn Socialist.
These poor people spend all day forming a bracelet or necklace out of
silver and stone, then sell it to Whitey for $30 so he can mark it up to $175
and rape some idiot tourist who thinks he's getting a real bargain.

To make things worse, they were having an art festival, and the place
was more crowded than a Big Cancer fund-raiser for Governor Blow Monkey.
We had a bag of ADM money, so we decided to stay  somewhere nice.

Don't get all shook up by the Glock.
When you get a gun permit in Oklahoma, they ask,"Why do you need a gun?"
The reason I gave was, "Often carry large sums of money."
The real reason is, "What if I run into somebody who needs dyin'?"
(Notice that's the Baby Glock.
 40 mm, yet it's smaller than your hand.)

Only people with an IQ above 60 should be allowed to possess a gun.


All the downtown hotels were sold out.

We walked around the Plaza, and it was so depressing.
I don't know Dole about art, but I know a painting of a fish kissing a man
on the lips isn't worth $1500.  That's goddamn stupidity on canvas.

Which reminds me of the current "crisis" in New York
with the dung-laden painting of the Virgin Mary.

Hey, Rudy!

As much as you want to make this crisis the "liberals-like-dung" crisis,
it's just not going to work. It's just like a Republican loser to find
a single painting among the gazillions of paintings in New York and create
a huge federal case out of it to score points with the religio-ignorati.

Rudy, I have a lightning bolt for you:

YOU sent this museum the seven million dollars.
YOU authorized the exhibition of this dung-art.
Why weren't YOU informed of the museum director's tastes?
Why did YOU pay for this painting to be displayed, Rudy?
This is YOUR fuck-up, and you want to lay this all at Hillary's feet?
Take some responsibility for once, Rudy.
This is YOUR administration that paid for the display of this painting, you nut!

Besides, when you give money to the arts, you have to then step away.
That's why they call it "art," because some people thing a dungy Virgin Mary is art,
and some people think a fish kissing a man is art.

Rudy says the painting is "Catholic bashing."
No, Rudy, it's just really shitty art, so to speak.
I saw the painting, and I know first-graders with more talent,
but that doesn't mean New York must come to a halt, you no-issues nut!

When you hire an artist, you're giving him a blank check.
When I hired bands at the Hard Rock Island, I didn't jump up onstage
and stop them in mid-song and say, "The bass player missed a note."

When you hire artists, they perform the art you HIRED them to perform,
and you have the option to hire someone else next time,
but for now you shut the hell up and pay the agreed-to fee.

Back to Santa Fe...

Swear to Koresh, this next part really happened.
We were hungry and needed a place to stay, so we looked for assistance.
On the Plaza in downtown Old Santa Fe, we spotted a sign that said, "Tourist Info."
So, we waited in line while some hiker got a trail-by-trail description of every
hiking path in the whole goddamn state of New Mexico, but I stayed calm.
If there's one thing I don't do well, it's wait.

As the sun was setting, we finally got our shot at the Information Lady.
I said, "Can you give me some information about restaurants and hotels?"

Swear to Koresh, this old lady looks me in the eye and says,
"I don't think I know too much about restaurants and hotels."

I sorta lost it.

"Jesus Heche Christ, lady! You run a tourist info booth on the town square?
And you "Don't know too much" about restaurants and hotels?

What the hell good are you?
What CAN you give me information on?

Russian troop movements in Chechnya?
Iraq's anti-aircraft defense systems?
The mating habits of the two-horned rhino?"

About this time, Mrs. BartCop started digging her nails into my arm.
That meant the lady in the booth was about to buss open.
I wanted to continue the pounding, but Mrs. BartCop is always right.

I know you're thinking I'm the bad guy here, but what the hell is this lady doing
in an information booth if restaurants and hotels were foreign concepts to her?

We ended up at the Santa Fe Budget Inn, which was a half-dive,
but it was the Four Seasons compared to Elk City's Knight's Inn.

I will say two good things about Santa Fe:
They have good restaurants and great liquor laws.

While looking for a place to eat, I spotted a liquor store.
In New Mexico, they sell those little airplane-sized liquor bottles.
They had dozens of kinds of tequila, in little sample-sized bottles.

They were so damn cute, because you know how tequila bottles come in the
wildest shapes, so I bought a half-dozen or so, thereby greatly furthering
my Holy Grail to taste all the different brands of fine tequila.

The local newspaper said Tomasito's restaurant was the best.
It was hard to find, so I asked a cop where it was.
The cop looks at the Cadillac and says, "That's a rental!"

Mrs. BartCop burst out laughing.

I was just bewildered.
I never claimed this was my car, but from the cop's reaction,
you'd think he just trapped me into admitting some big, damn lie.

Sorry, Paco.
You have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch Ol' BartCop.
When I'm lying, you can't catch me, so if I have nothing to hide, you're screwed.

So I asked him AGAIN where Tomasito's was, and he said,
"Nice car. ....go two blocks and make a right."
Cops can be weird sometimes.

So, we ate at Tomasito's Mexican Restaurant, which was some good eatin'.
It's in the Old Santa Fe Train Station.   Matter of fact, while we waited
to be seated, the American Orient Express pulled into the station.
Someday we'll do the American Orient Express and write about it.

My legal training told me Tomasito's had been sued for "too-hot chile."
They had large, red signs posted in every room that said,
"Our chili is HOT! - Ask for a sample first!"

They must've had some real palefaces in there, because the chili just wasn't that hot.
Maybe they just had a stupid-ass attorney.

After we were seated, our waitress handed us our menus.
You talk about a BartCop-style restaurant - on the menu was a tequila list!
Thank you, God.

I ordered a shot of Herradura Gold and she got a Herradura Margarita.
Damn, that's a fine drink, but since I was driving, I only had one.
When we got back to the motel, I sampled the other tequilas I'd bought.
I liked the Don Julio Anejo most, but even it was plagued by those dreaded "needles."


So, it's Sunday morning, and the talk shows were going crazy with "Dutch,"
the Reagan bio by that extremely boring man with the English accent.

This guy, Morris somebody, called Reagan "an airhead," and said he was stupid,
cold-blooded, banal, a mental-lightweight and, while not a bigot, he was,
"blind to the racism demonstrated by his policies."
The Republicans hollered like Gingrich at a slave auction.

Hey, GOP, who hired this guy?
Could it be.....Reagan himself?

Are you saying Reagan didn't have the brains to hire a good writer?
Are you saying he was so stupid, that he hired a bonehead?

This Morris guy was given three million dollars and unfiltered access to
President Reagan for 14 years, and we get a phony, made-up pretend bio
that calls Reagan a dundering fool and a bore?

...and that's the fault of the liberal press?

The Reagan administration has been gone for eleven years,
and this monkey-at-the-typewriter finally gets a book out?

Those of us who were awake during Von Reagan's reign know the truth:
Reagan had Quayle-for-brains and he never doubted himself.
I heard Pigboy say Friday that that's exactly what we want in a president.
"Reagan never, ever once doubted any decision he ever made."

Rush, the sane people call that "arrogance to the Nth degree."
Reagan was a real pig of a man.
If you were white, and rich, and conservative, Reagan might be your friend,
...if you were to make a big enough donation.


Pigboy always talks about how "phony and staged" Clinton is,
but the truth is Reagan invented the phony photo-op.

Deaver told the story on Meet the Catholic with Tim the Whore
about the time he brought a still camera into the Oval Office and Reagan winced.
"Why do you recoil from a still camera but not a camcorder?" and he said
Reagan replied, "You can never get the still photos back," whatever that means.

They also quoted Reagan saying, "I'm the only president who knows how he
photographs from every angle."

Yet Rush says Clinton is a stage-setting phony?

We'll do more on "Dutch" later, but the second big topic was Gore.
Gore is making a lot of big mistakes.
(I still think he's going to win, which is bad, bad news for RL-LNW.)

First, Al, why are you spending money?
You have five pollsters and a staff of 3,000, why?

All you have to do is sit still and watch the super-Christians plant stories
about each other screwing around on their wives. Then, when the "Christians"
are done raping themselves, they're going to rape Governor Blow Monkey.
Somebody is lying, and the guilty party is a Republican!

Meanwhile, the democrats are behaving like gentlemen.
The voters know who the dirty, lying whores are.
The dirty, lying whores are the mean-spirited Christian right.

Second, Bill Bradley is nobody.
Big mistake challenging him to a series of debates.
Oh, I think Gore will win the debates, but Bradley doesn't even
belong on the same stage as Vice President Al Gore.

I follow politics more than 95 percent of the country, and I can't tell you
anything about Bradley other than he's not racist and he was a senator from New Jersey.
Gore needs to learn how to navigate the political waters.
Bradley should be ignored, at least for now.

Third, moving operations to Tennessee was a mistake.
It makes you look desperate, Al

Hey Al, do you own a calendar?
This isn't the fourth quarter.
The game won't even start for another eight months,
and you're out there throwing Hail Mary passes.


You should be running the ball, Al.
The Republicans are eating themselves now, and the prelim winner will
reveal/plant every wild story they can about Governor Blow Monkey.

Run the ball, Al.

Moynihan is a moron of monster proportions.
"Gore can't win this election," Moniyhan declared with certainty.

Hey, Patty!
Aren't you the one who predicted that the Gulf War
would kill "untold thousands" of American soldiers?

Aren't you the one who predicted that Welfare reform was going to throw
500,000 starving children into the streets?

A prediction from Moynihan carries the same certainty as a Kato Burn prediction.
Patty, you've been a moron since I was just a kid.

After the Sunday morning shows, we hit Santa Fe for one more meal.
This time it was the Blue Corn Cafe and Brewery.

Another Tequila list!
"Garcon, I'll have a shot of Petron Anejo and a shot of Hornitos."
More good food, too.

As we're leaving, Mrs. BartCop spots the Coyote Cafe Gift Shop.
It's loaded with mugs, dried peppers, fancy cooking oils and hot sauce.
In this Trendy, upscale tourist trap, they sell hot sauce with names such as, "Ass in Hell Hot Sauce."

Pretty classy, eh?

They also sold "Assburn" and the always-popular, "Christ, My Ass Really Burns."
Do the owners think those ugly mental images will make people buy their product?

I went outside and waited for Mrs. BartCop, when I saw two gentlemen
holding hands as they walked. I overheard them making plans for dinner.
They agreed to meet at "Monte Fisto's" for cocktails about 7 PM.

I don't even want to know...

Down the street a little we found the Santa Fe Hemp Shop.
I purchased a small hemp bag.

I plan to put my... my...
Oh, I don't know. I'll find something to put in the hemp bag.

This place had everything.
Hemp clothing, hemp shoes, hemp boxes, hemp purses, hemp paper,
(This report was written on Hemp paper.  Cough!)
I asked if they sold hemp rolling papers, but they said no.

The boss told me their web site would be up any day now.
Visit santafehemp.com for all your hemp needs.

By the way, are you ready for Halloween?


So, we headed north, towards Los Alamos.
Sure enough, as we were driving just east of town, we saw some roadside tables,
manned by Chinese people holding signs that said,  "Nuclear Secrets 25-60 Percent Off!"

It took a lot of driving, but me finally made it to Durango, Colorado.
The next morning we woke up hungry for bear.
We found Christina's Cafe and Grill just north of town.

If you get to Durango, you should get to Christina's.
The eggs were perfect, the sausage was a half-inch thick, like the old miners
used to eat a hundred and fifty years ago right on this same spot.

How long has it been since you had REAL hash browns?
The ham was a half-inch and you could see the iron griddle marks
on the sides - it had only been turned once.
The waitress asked if I needed any habanero sauce for my eggs,
which reminded me of Gov. Blow Monkey's illegitimate child.

I caught some Pigboy that morning, here's a quote:
"I understand that elephant who stepped on a land mine isn't doing too well.
 If he dies, will they bury him next to Princess Diana?"

Christ, that pig can be such a boar.

So, we headed north, along the "Million Dollar Highway," which is an insult.
Koresh, single acres of land go for $500,000 here, so that title hardly seems appropriate.
Incredible mountain formations and trees exploding with color.

What's that up ahead?

This is no time for politics!

There was a...disturbance.
The Coloradoans for Buchanan were protesting the GOP's treatment of Pat by blocking the road!
There were hundreds of them, tying up traffic to make a political point.

I asked that sheep on the left what the point was.
He said, "Buchanan is getting bigger all the time, he's going to be our next president."
I didn't bother to set him straight.
Sheep never understand when you try to help them...

By the way...is this California's next governor?


Proceeding north, we found the scenery we came for.
Here's what we saw.
(Click on a photo for a very large close-up.)

Good work, God.

Not So Fun Quotes

"One out of every eight Americans is governed by a Butch,
 and with your help, we'll make that all Americans."
  -- Barbara Butch, and she's not kidding.

Oh, No!
My main candidate Danny the Indiana Spud dropped out of the race.
He said he did it because Gov. Blow Monkey has $100,000,000 to spend.

Gee, Danny, all the other candidates say he's got $50,000,000,
but then Quayle handles math like he handles spelling.

Next up was some good, old-fashioned train chasing.
The world-famous Durango-Silverton Steam Train takes three hours to
cover a sixty-mile, uphill journey to Silverton, so we got to Silverton
early, found an ideal location to set up the camcorder and waited.

Remember that old Star Trek, "Obsessed," where Kirk has to kill
the cloud creature that lived off of red blood cells?
That's what this train looked like.

Coming out of the narrow, rocky gorge, you see the smoke-cloud rising up
into the trees before you can see or hear the train.

(This is where the killer video will go when my Voodoo 3500 video card arrives)

Having secured the most-excellent footage, we went into town and grabbed
some more authentic "grub" at the Chattanooga Cafe.  (Get it?)
We each got the Pot Roast, with potatos and carrots.
This was more real food from a hundred year old recipe.
It was cooked on a stove from the 1800's and it was tasty grub, indeed.
Sensing we were on a roll, we headed west for Telluride.

You really gotta love those old mining towns in Colorado.
One hundred and forty years ago, Telluride had a population of 20,000.
They had 60 saloons, eighteen whore houses and two churches.

There's a great, old story we heard years ago about Telluride.
One year, the winter was particularly early, sudden and brutal.
The town was hit with heavy snow in early October and they were low on supplies.

The town council met with the toughest, strongest young miners and elected three of them
to take most of the life-savings of the townspeople and a team of mules over the ice-packed ridge
to get to Durango and come back with enough food and supplies to save Telluride's residents.
They chose a team led by Trevor Coldwell, son of Mayor Aaron Coldwell.

The trek was supposed to take four days.
After two weeks, the Telluridians just knew their team had been killed by the harsh elements.
But then, just as they had given up all hope, here came Trevor with twenty mules.
The town went wild - their lives had been saved by the courage of Trevor Coldwell.

One thing, tho...

Trevor had a bit of a party when he got to Durango.
He had some liquor and some women and, ...shall we say, ...lost his focus?
Trevor Coldwell came back to Telluride with two kegs of beer strapped to each mule.
That's all he brought back - forty kegs of beer.
The town drank until spring and they almost changed their name to Trevorville.

You should make your next vacation in southwest Colorado.
If there was a God, this would be His country.

So we get to Telluride and found a place to stay called, "The Victorian Inn."
Nice room, amazingly cheap rates, ($80) but it was entirely No Smoking rooms.
Hey, I'm on vacation, here, Dude!

Before they give you a key, they make you sign a legal document saying they can
charge $250 to your credit card if they catch you smoking in your room.

Silly Boob!

Trying to outwit Ol' BartCop with a contract?

ha ha

I peeled off a hundred and registered as "G.B. Monkey."
Let 'em sue the state of Texas if they think they smell smoke in that room.

Sidebar - I'm not sure why, maybe it's their rebellious nature,
but out west, they have cold water on the left and hot water on the right.
Somehow, that seems Satanic.
Anyone know why that is?

Of course, it could just be my own perspective.
Born in Missouri, reared by Catholics in Missouri and Arkansas,
settled in Knuckdrag, Oklahoma, I only know what I know, so maybe everybody
has hot on the right, except for those weirdos in the southern midwest states....

After we checked in to The Victorian Inn, we decided to pull an old-fashioned Number Six.
That's when we go riding into town, a whompin' and a whoopin',
and we cause as much trouble as we can while committing the sin of tequila,
before calling a cab to take us back to the hotel.

One problem: They don't have fucking taxicabs in Telluride.
How do bars stay in business without cabs?

So we walked to Colorado street, and found our favorite spot:
The Flora Dora Saloon.

We've been going to the Flora Dora since 1985 or so, because they know how to party.
It's basically an upscale trendy kind of burger/sandwich saloon with lots of TVs.
Swear to Koresh, and you all know that means I'm a thousand percent honest
when I Swear to Koresh, this place is owned by a man named Howie Stern!

I asked for, and expected a tequila list.
I was winding down my "research" into the world's finest tequila.

Then, my heart was torn from my chest and stomped on.
"We only have Jose Cuervo tequila, Sir," was the sad, pitiful reply from our Cubby.

Things went downhill from there.
We assembled a search team to find something edible on their menu.
What happened to the old Flora Dora?
Burgers, steaks, chicken sandwiches, wings and ribs and tequila?

These donkeys had calumari, truffles, pheasant and free-range orange-flavored chicken.

Hey, Cubby!
We came here for some beef and some tequila.
You're killing me here!

Then I made the mistake of asking what today's soup was.
Being in the heart of old mining country, I was expecting some old-fashioned vegetable beef,
or bean and bacon stew, or some cream of chicken concoction with chips, but noooooooooooo.
Cubby said today's soup was, "Hot and Sour Tofu."


Did the miners eat hot and sour tofu a hundred years ago?
I don't think so...

Fuck it.

I took the hundred dollar bill off my forehead and we walked out.
In one calendar year, I couldn't buy a shot of great vodka at a Vegas casino bar,
and Howard Stern disappoints with cheap liquor in a squid bar.

Why is it when I throw some ADM money at a party,
I get reason after reason why it's not going to happen?

Howard Stern and the Strip in Las Vegas...
What does it take for poor Ol' BartCop to get a decent drink?

Dejected, we stumbled next door to Garfinkle's Bar, which was full of rowdy drunks.
I asked about their tequila - more Jose Cuervo.

Please, America, open your eyes on this tequila thing.
Jose Cuervo is 49 percent cheap vodka.
If I wanted vodka, I'd go for the Goose, but I want tequila!


Just then a really drunk couple stumble through the door.


I be damned if it wasn't Dr. Laura Schlessinger!
What are the odds?

There she was, drunker than Nixon the day they told him the Senate would convict.
She was wearing a really slutty outfit, too.
She was all tarted-up like she was Kathie Lee Gifford.

It was terrible!
She was kissing all over this drunk cowboy and rubbing his chest. Now and then, she'd drop her hand down and start rubbing him through his jeans, but he slapped her hand away and scolded her for being such a cheap and horny tramp.

That did it for me. I have no desire to see noted radio talk show harpy Dr. Laura Schlessinger debase her sex by publically screwing some cowboy in Telluride, Colorado.

So, we got some burgers to go and walked back to the Victorian Inn, where we could actually drink real vodka, real tequila with real limes.  You'd think a couple with money to throw away could get a decent drink in a town like Telluride, but sometimes the gods just line up against me.

Remember Glenn Frey's Smugglers Blues?
"You'll find it up in Telluride, I telling you it's here to stay."
Glenn wasn't talking about fine tequila...

I probably could've scored some cocaine in Telluride,
but I'm not seeking the GOP's nomination - so why bother?

Back at the hotel, I had the bad luck to see Spin City.
Koresh, that's a lame TV show - and they have Heather Locklear!
They can afford Heather Locklear, but they can't afford writers?

This is supposed to be a show about politics, but it's not.  It's a cookie-cutter piece of crap that often mentions the word politics.  This gang could be in a bakery or a diner or whatever, and the jokes would be just as lame as they are in the mayor's office.  It's formula sitcom crap-bullshit.

Usually, I can listen to the first sentence of a conversation on a sitcom
and tell you what the lame punchline is going to be.
ABC/Disney should hang their heads in shame.

I remarked to Mrs. BartCop that most of those jokes were so lame,
they'd never make it on  bartcop.com

She replied, "That's because your website is aimed at a smarter crowd than network TV."

Geez, that's sad/scary.
I make no claims about being a good writer,
it's just that my drivel is less offensive than typical sitcom fecal matter.


Back to the story...

We must've gotten to Telluride between the summer crowd and the skiing crowd,
because the town was deader than Gary Bauer's marriage vows.
It was time to start the scenic ride back east.

Driving back towards Durango, we got nose-to-nose with a deer.
It was a very short meeting, because we were going 60 MPH at the time,
so we didn't get a good look, but I'll bet that deer won't ever forget the near-hit.

Early the next morning, I saw three headlines:

1 - Surplus Up to $218,000,000,000 Dollars
2 - Poverty at 20 Year Low, Household Income at All-Time High
3 - Poll Says 53 Percent of Americans want a New Direction.

I agree.
Fuck Peace and Prosperity!
War and Recession builds character!

That's what America needs now - character!
Character is important, just ask Henry Hyde's ho'er.

Driving south on the Million Dollar Highway, we ran into the Buchanan Protestors again.

Looks like the Buchanan Brigade is picking up steam in Colorado!
The protestors were thicker than Angora!

We had some time to kill, so we drove to Lake Vallecito.

In years past, we spent a few nights in the cabins that line this lake.
Nice place.

When we got back to Durango, we tried to find a Flora Dora substitute.
We asked the Adobe Inn manager where the fun bars were, and taxi information.

"We don't have taxi service after 5 PM," she said.

What is this?
A town of vampires?
They all go home by 5 PM?

Who runs the saloons?
There aren't hardly any saloons in downtown Durango, they're all spread out.
So, who drinks at a saloon and drives home?

Why can't the bar owners figure out if they don't have taxi service,
the City Slickers won't be putting hundreds of dollars in their cash registers?

We decided to drive around and soak up the scenery.

This is the Animas River that runs through Durango.

So we get back into town and I felt like a milk shake.
I pulled into Arby's and, since I'm on vacation, I decided to splurge.
I ordered a chocolate shake with an extra shot of chocolate.

Swear to Koresh, the guy gives me a chocolate shake
then he gives me a second cup with a shot of chocolate in it.
Sometimes I'm afraid for the future of this country.
That kid had no idea that I wanted the chocolate IN the goddamn shake.

Sidebar - As I type this, Sunday, Ron Reagan Jr. is on 60 Minutes.
He just said this about his father, Red Ink Reagan:

"My father was intellectually lazy.
 He knew what he knew about a subject and that's all he knew
 and he didn't want to know any more after he's made up his mind."

Here's a lesson for you younger kids.
THIS is why George Herbert Traitor Butch wanted a "Kinder, Gentler" America,
because Reagan was so cock-sure about everything and he had it all wrong!

Reagan was a simple B-grade movie actor who couldn't do anything but deliver lines.
He was a pro when it came to finding the right camera, but that was all Reagan had.
He had some of Clinton's charisma, but he didn't have Clinton's brains.

Driving around northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, it's easy to see
how Rush the Pigboy and Doc Harpy have made their fortunes.
There's nothing else on the radio, except music you've heard 1,000 times.

They have bullshit swap shows,
"Hi, I have a suspension for a 77 Chevy pickup that I'll trade for a double-bobbing sewing machine."

They have bullshit car mechanic shows,
"My car doesn't start when it's cold. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Cheeses, I'd rather hear about Hillary's body count that than crap,
and apparently America agrees with me because Pigboy and Harpy rule the airwaves.


More Great Quotes

"Ronald Reagan had a degree of self-confidence
 that an objective observer might argue wasn't warranted."

  -- John McCain, more honest than some


You see this lady?


Her name is Cindy Margolis.
Don't feel bad if you've never heard of her - most people haven't.
Yet, she goes on TV talk shows to brag, "I'm the most downloaded woman on the Internet."

USA Today disagrees with her.
Once a week, they run the top twenty five requested search subjects according to Lycos.
Last week, Brittany Spears was number two, Pamela Anderson was number 4,
Jennifer Lopez was number 16, Shania Twain was number 22 and Sable was 24.

I didn't see "Miss Downloaded" on that list, did you?
Cindy Margolis should stop lying.


Driving near Taos, New Mexico, we saw a sign on the side of the road that said,

What are you supposed to do when you see that sign on a hill, on a curve, near a cliff?


Jesse Ventura

You've heard this by now, but Jesse said,
"Organized religion is a sham and a crutch for the weak-minded people."

I didn't even know Jesse read  bartcop.com

You know ahat Jesse's crime was?
Telling the truth.
The American voter doesn't want to be told the truth.
Weak-minded people can't handle the truth.

They want to be lied to.
They want baby-kissing, cookie-cutter candidates who all bore us to death
with talk of "sweeping out the rascals" and endless cliches and empty rhetoric.

I've never been a big fan of Jesse Ventura, but his religious views seem to be
similar to mine, he thinks we should decriminalize prostitution and drugs,
he says the president's cock is none of his business and he carrys a gun.

Somebody - show me the bad news about Jesse Ventura.


Pigboy always brags that his signal, "blankets America."
If they get him in Tucumcari, it's on a delay, because he's nowhere to be found in the morning.

By now, we're back in Tucumcari, preparing for our last leg home to Knuckledrag.
Heading east towards Texas, the AM radio was nothing but Nazi hate.

It started with a dude named, "Jack Christy," on USA Radio daily, which seemed to be
a tribute to Rush since our Pigboy's former bullshit AM radio name was, "Jeff Christy."

As you'd expect, this guy HATES Al Gore with all his heart.
His entire show seems to be villifying Gore.
Y'know, if Gore wins, it's going to be a very boring eight years.

Then we started getting Bob Dornan's show.
Dornan spent his entire show bashing Al Gore.
Y'know, if Gore wins, it's going to be a very boring eight years.

As Dornan's signal faded, we got my old sparring partner G. Gordon Liddy.
Liddy spent his entire show calling Al Gore an incompetent crook.
Y'know, if Gore wins, it's going to be a very boring eight years.

We'd been on the road for three or four hours so we stopped at Amarillo for gas.
I pull up next to the pump that one of the attendents was wiping down.
I stopped and opened my door and this asshole leans into the car and says,
"Sir, this is a CREDIT CARD ONLY pump."

I'd just been through four hours of Nazi hate, so I was like a coiled snake.
The pimply bonehead just rubbed me the wrong way, so I launched.

"Hey, asshole, this is a brand new Cadillac I'm driving.
 What the hell's wrong with you?
 What makes you think I can't afford a credit card?"

Mrs. BartCop did the nails-in-the-arm thing again, so I had to stop
to get the circulation going again in my lower arm.
I don't know why people pick me out to say something that stupid.

We made it home to find out they screwed up my computer
and Mindspring doesn't have a clue how to provide customer service.
They say my ultra-hot video card will be in this week.
SWBell.com swears I'll be digital in a few days.

By November 1, a lot of things may change.
I could be the seventh television network when I get that card installed.

Wish me luck,


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