Look! I managed to wedge a whole bunch of names in there, and cast doubt on whether TSOJ even made it to the lake part of the race.
It’s cruel, yes, but… Nothin’. It’s just cruel.
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Food jokes. They’re just too easy. These days, you can make jokes about meat, about eggs, about veggies, about cookies, about beans, about processed stuff, about raw stuff… truly, the freedom we have in the opportunities to laugh at our own consumptions is truly amazing. There are no food groups, no diets, no allergies, no preferences that cannot successfully be made into some kinda gag. Gag. Pun intended.
I like ice cream.
And it gives me gas.
Hilarious.
The Farmer’s Market people know who their customer base is, and it isn’t someone who’s trying to win a race. Cowboy-Hat-BBQ-Sauce-Man will tell ya, you play to the people who are peddling by and see your county-famous tomato-based banana-pepper marinade and grilling sauce who are gonna slow down long enough to make a purchase. You gotta wait until those hot, tired, sweaty, defeated folks ride by before you’ll sell a few quilts or gourd bird houses or organically farmed leeks and pickled peas.
And WE know that very few of the bikes will have baskets, and very few of the racers will have wallets. So we’ll have to wait until the Farmer’s Market people discover that for themselves.
How do you like ol’ Docta Pain, leaping out of the canoe and back into the bike race?! Nice, right? She’s got spunk. And probably a weapon, somewheres on her. I wouldn’t wanna find out.
And that Kara Biner, she’s really moved into the role of leader of her team, and not just a hotdog who needed backup. ‘Cause that role is taken by another competitor in the ‘Fest.
Speaking of other roles being taken…
You didn’t think Mr. Biner would be unaware of his powerful voice, didja?
You didn’t think he wouldn’t be crazy proud of it or anything, wouldja?
You didn’t suppose that Kara doesn’t just love her daddy for his unique, ear-splitting ability, shouldja?
Mr. Biner has issues. We know this.
He also has some skills. They don’t often get used, what with having limited application in a world that hasn’t become apocalyptic yet, but they are skills nonetheless.
Nikki’s out of the shop and getting things done! Everyone watch yourselves now.
So, the rules piled on rules piled on rules eventually land Crazy-Ball in a place where the game goes into a sort of singularity.
Honestly, I can’t imagine another way for it to end. Eventually, things would get so tangled that Entropy would choose the winner.
Except, of course, if you’re clever and motivated enough to play Crazy-Ball, entropy has a hard time dealing with you in the first (or last) place.
Clem’s back again!
You should never say that anything is a particular superlative… without qualification.
What I mean is, if you say, “This is the worst meal ever.” you should probably qualify it, or the Great Universal Sense Of Humor will kick in and the next meal you’re presented with will still be moving and will cause explosive disembowelment or something. If you say, “You are the biggest liar!” to someone, someone else will come along and sucker you into something even scammier. (According to spellcheck, I just invented the word ‘scammier’.)
So, if you say some kind of bike racer is the weirdest, you’re just opening the door to something you hadn’t planned on ever seeing.
It’s like double-dog daring the universe to be more startling than you’re prepared for. And that the dumbest thing anyone could do.
Uh-oh. I superlatived. Watch out. Something’s gonna be dumber than ever now.
