ivan

apparently, no one who ever played "let's make a deal" figured this out

yup, while the common sense assumption is that your odds would still be 50/50, in fact, only 1/3 of the time will you have made the right choice at first, whereupon the devil's revelation will be unimportant - but in 2/3 of the cases, your choice will be wrong, and the devil will then only have the choice to flip the other wrong door - therefore, you should always flip the door the devil leaves alone.

he's the devil, so of course it's not random, and of course he'll never show you the prize. you can always stay w/ your original choice, or switch to the door he didn't open.

reading "the drunkard's walk" at the moment - it has an interesting puzzle: there are 3 doors, behind 1 is a prize. you may pick 1 door, after which the devil will open one of the other 2 doors before you are asked to make your final choice. does changing your mind on which door to open in any way improve your odds of winning the prize?

not sure if it's good to compare western n' eastern cuisines oh wait, was that a gay thing?

...jesus, is there anything it's NOT good on? i seem to be going through more bottles of this shit than bourbon these days it even perks up cold coffee i've found - next i'll try it on cleansing fresh wounds

reading ruins women, man

is this specifically intended to exclude me?

it's somethign like 2 hours to gunnison from the folks house i hear and i reckon it'll be years before i can pysch the crew up to come support me in my hobbies on the family vacation - was hoping to do the diamond first though

Trip: Colon-raid-O - Mt Princeton - George W Bush Memorial Route Date: 8/5/2012 Trip Report: okay, okay, doing a 14'er in colorado ain't much of a much, but it's high time that running-dog feller's gonna come along and cock-block me on my quest to get the first century-note of cc.com tr's, so a honky's gotta make do, see? so then, i shall make up for my trip's lack of merit w/ tremendous mendacity n' maybe a sideways jab at our less-than-illustrious motherfucker #43 that might well land me on some sorta homeland security watch-list for many years now my folks have been making a summer residence in the sleepy abode of alpine, colorado, a hole-in-the-wall nestled into a valley separating mts altero n' princeton in chaffee county, not too far off from the prison-fuck-me complex of buena vista n' the jesus-christ-is-this-all mecca of salida - the local gentry are a bit a of study in post-apocalyptic genetics, but the setting n' history are compelling, and w/ 2 14k peaks literally in the back yard of their quaint cabin, i can't complain when the old man buys my clan passage on a commodious southwest 737 from portland to denver, then comes to fetch us w/ some cold beer on the side - by my reckoning, this is the 4th annual pilgrimage we've made intent on actually death-marching my kid-os on the trip this year, after several years in a row managing little in the way of aerobic adventures beyond venturing 100 yards from the truck to feed shiftless ground squirrels in the nearby ghost-town of st. elmo, i mushed the wife n' progenies on a 3 mile hike here in the flatlands of vantucky the day before our flight - here the wulfman is being bought-off of his athletic bitterness near mile 2 w/ a couple sour-patch kids while his sister, wrapped in stolen ivy laurels, gesticulates insensibly as i hide in their shadows, invisible but for my beacon-rock-stigmata later we made it to safeway, where they were further bribed w/ a buck each in candy-cash and me w/ a box of gut-rot burgundy flush w/ victory, or at least something north of total defeat, we winged it out to the centennial state the next day - a grand flight actually, at 2 hrs practically the perfect length, and a long glide into denver w/ rods of lightening lancing into the ground all around us, jet bucking and dipping like a bronco w/ a brand up his ass, did the job of reminding us of that tendentious tenet that Life is Really Worth Living a much longer drive from denver to the house through the pouring rain - horror-struck to find my pbr was of the same fucked vintage as the swill in your common u-tard convenience store - cruel talk of my common avocation n' career - disregard for a life of danger (lame as it is) - my californications dispensed with - darkness down the last stretch of lonely highway - wine n' liquor in the rarefied air of 9600 feet, then to sleep in the dark hole of the basement, rigged up schooner-style, the kids racked-out above us - bloody noses by dawn in the dryness n' stifling cabin - nightmares of the month done with, and back to work w/ hormonal, high-born weasels - the calmness of the crepuscular sky at the rising of the sun mission #1 this year was horse-abuse - we returned to a right-nice ranch on the flanks of raspberry mountain, across from chalk creek n' the princeton hot-springs - my dad bailed out on the goodness, so just the five of us for a two-hour tour - once again i drew a quarter-horse/mustang combo-meal called pinto - a froward horse by all reckonings, but set a big old bitch like myself atop her, hungover and w/ a hankering for hurting something huge, and soon enough we get it all set to rights here we are near the end of the 2nd hour, most of the meat-puppets pictured smelling the barn and wanting to get back sometign fierce yippie-kiy-yeah-muthafuckers - jesus christ, do they make a model of horse big enough for a bastard like me? near the end of the ride, i got my sights set on mt princeton, the highpt behind me in the way-back needed another day of carbo-loading n' couch-loafing before attempting that awe-inspiring feat though, so we had a leisurely breakfast, then headed down to the hotsprings - imported help, life guards, czech-style - holy hell, are those REAL?!? slides n' sunburns - books n' bullshit - gandhi n' wild turkey n' root-beer n' glares in my cop-glasses - eowyn, my fair-haired daughter, so full of my own fears n' loathings, here so fuck-all happy to do endless laps down the watery way of glory this expression makes it quite clear her thoughts on tagging along w/ me the next day for a humble 4000 feet of high-stakes hiking so, fuckit, looks like a solo-thing for me on the 'morrow, but the family can still catch a gut-laugh at the chaffee county rodeo-hoe-down, no? the parking lot pretty much sums up the scene - the funny thing of course was the car in front of this feller had just as much pro-bama shit on it i can't claim to have carried meself half-sober through that many a rodeo, but jesus-fuck this one seemed cock-billed n' lop-sided! do the animals usually win 96% of the time or were all the contestants as drunk as sloppy hillbillies at high-noon of a sabbath? all good things end, and a cold wind sprung up and the elephant-ears were dispatched - the last rodeo diehard was bucked off in a bitter 5 seconds, and the announcer kindly asked if we might not get the fuck out after saluting old glory one last goddamn time - we found some diversion in the big tent - corn-bread displays n' prize-cauliflower - rocks n' rutabagas - anthropological examinations of an arch-odd world of which i have but a tangent part next morning i was up at 5 amid night-dreams of jesus-fuck - my bags all packed, my father engaged, i noshed on biscuit n' country ham n' weak coffee in an open-top jeep, shivering like a sum'bitch under a flannel coat in the coursing wind - baby porcupines n' fatherly-talk of killing the lesser things - a climb up a classic colorado rough-track to 10k, where the old man kicked me out and headed off for home to make coffee n' bacon for the little ones, awaiting a call from me at the summit i danced off through the growing day, poling along the dusty track - mt princeton this prissy phuck is called - seems a right-right appellation to me - like that citadel of haughty half-wits, so ably represented by that rare-auold retard of post 9/11 renown, it too is stupid and brooding, crest-broken and bowed but in love w/ its own bullshit baptismal credentials - nothing to it but wind and half-cured cumstains, a curious track well-worn by witless welfare queen-haters locked into their quotidianal quest to queue-fuck the common man more than a few cars parked along the road past the towers, before the cast-off point around 11k luna leaping up above the peak i lazily figured was my paramour - fuck it all, dontcha know, this was but the prick-tease of princeton leaving the road, climbing up the crusty step-stones cut of the living mountain, i came to grips w/ the true task - ultimately it was just 3 hours from the cell-towers to summit, at a fair clip, w/ a short stop to music-up n' gob down some gummy-worms at 13k talus side-hiking till time to stop for pictures, all glowing in the glowering a thousand feet to go, meat-popsicles but little particles on our parting way a few feet below the summit - some fellas is lucky, some ain't? can't say a lesson's been learned - i was down to the towers just 5 hours after leaving, and well before noon, but a bakers dozen i passed wouldn't be in the zone of safety by then, and w/ big ass thunderclouds growing then too ivan on top - since my first visit to the state in the flush of the bush-baby, i've managed 3 14'ers - by my calculations, at this rate, i oughta get the list completed by something like 2172 AD an obvious look back at the "route" - reckon this might be a more serious endeavor in the bitter cold of winter? looking south to antero, which i managed, orv-enabled, 2 years back - my folks place is in the valley between - a nice hike out the back yard leads you up to what i labed "eowyn's peak" after my own dear daughter norhtwest towards mt elbert i reckon, my first colon-raid-o high-as-georgia-pine route i rollicked off the summit, free as a fuck-pepper, down to cold-beer n' lunch w/ the kids and then movies in the rain - next mornign the little lady and i and the old man made a slow trek up the grouse-creek trail - my dad departed early, and so the missus and i had a chance to soak in the sun in "molly's meadow" looking up at my object of the day before horrid aliens alpine daisies in the dry meadow our last full day a bit of a cock-up - ghost trains in the gloaming - the old man hollering at me like i'm a half-century younger - the little girl melting down only a bit past midnight - the wife walking into walls and falling down halls - long drive - radio-songs of the long dead '80s - car sickness for the half-cured - plane flights next to plenty fat-fucks - pleasing portland - a run to safeway - machinations - machines of fuck-you-grace - culminations - plans half-laid for peradventures coming on - typing into the night - trueblood - time wasting, wasting, wasting... Gear Notes: a clean conscience Approach Notes: cloud, hill and dale

ken salazar, the current sec of interior, is at least moderately better than whoever romney would put into the same job, but yeah, sure, both parties are clearly the parties of big business, and until i can walk everywhere i need to go or get gifted a car that runs on my own flatulence, i can't deny i'm part of the problem.

looks like a man could do a whole lot worse for an international expedition

nah, carnival's have more free-float'n titties run'n about!

it's death to go up there!!!

that's what the article said

you can always take comfort in the fact that tweakers, like 'skeeters, are an unavoidable part of life, and that they too have a short season before shuffling off their mortal coils... You can spray DEET to scare off 'skeeters, and you can swat them when they bite, and they will bite no more. sure, and yet, if you spend an evening at hardin flat, you can put on all the deet you want, and swat all the 'skitters you wish, but if you don't sleep in a tent, you end up w/ welts all about you

true, though folks don't generally seem happier in zombie-flix!

wait, i thought bath salts made tweakers turn to zombieism?

muuuuuuuustttt fiiiight amerrrrrrrikan instiiiiinct to hate france

reminds me of reading "the history of useful things" which included the story of the invention of the paper-clip, which was also simultaneously fascinating and completely boring

you can always take comfort in the fact that tweakers, like 'skeeters, are an unavoidable part of life, and that they too have a short season before shuffling off their mortal coils...

this kinda shit don't happen if you drive an adobe

That chick looks like she could beat me to the 100 m finish line running the opposite direction. and also completely disinterested in your invitation to coffee n' coitus

if she was a super-hero, her name would be "preying mantis"

you just weren't bored enough