Passed Tucker Carlson in the hallway a few minutes back, who was flipping through a stack of papers and didn’t acknowledge me except to throw a dirty look my way when he noticed the red bow tie I have on. “That’s right, Wonderboy,” I hollered after him. “You don’t own the red bow tie. And I look good. So live with it.”
protein wisdom’s RNC coverage
August 30, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 4
Passed Tucker Carlson in the hallway a few minutes back, who was flipping through a stack of papers and didn’t acknowledge me except to throw a dirty look my way when he noticed the red bow tie I have on. “That’s right, Wonderboy,” I hollered after him. “You don’t own the red bow tie. And I look good. So live with it.”
August 30, 2004
Sixteenth in a series of real-time empirical observations (Republican National Convention edition)
As you read this, Michael Moore is marching past his third eatery in as many city blocks without once stopping for a meal. Instead, he unwraps another Slim Jim beef tube and devours it in three bites, all the while thinking if the goddmaned Republicans hadn’t brought their convention to New York, I’d be naked and thigh deep in a pool of chocolate pudding right now. God, how I hate
August 30, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 3
5:47 PM. Westbound on 35th and Broadway, a group of white guys with dreadlocks spin lopsided urine balloons at police. “What are you guys protesting?” I ask one of them, a skinny kid in his early twenties whom I slide up alongside. “Fuck off, narc,” he says, not looking at me. I flash him a peace sign. “No war for petroleum-based latex products filled with liquid human waste,” I say—then
August 30, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 3
5:47 PM. Westbound on 35th and Broadway, a group of white guys with dreadlocks spin lopsided urine balloons at police. “What are you guys protesting?” I ask one of them, a skinny kid in his early twenties whom I slide up alongside. “Fuck off, narc,” he says, not looking at me. I flash him a peace sign. “No war for petroleum-based latex products filled with liquid human waste,” I say—then
August 29, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 2
After visiting a friend on St. Marks Place in the East Village, I stopped for a beer at a nearby pub and was immediately approached by a cute hippie girl who handed me a flier printed on blood red paper demanding Bush get out of New York. I told her I’m sorry, but that I love Bush—especially New York Bush—and that I was looking forward to seeing lots of Bush
August 29, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 2
After visiting a friend on St. Marks Place in the East Village, I stopped for a beer at a nearby pub and was immediately approached by a cute hippie girl who handed me a flier printed on blood red paper demanding Bush get out of New York. I told her I’m sorry, but that I love Bush—especially New York Bush—and that I was looking forward to seeing lots of Bush
August 29, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 1
Not much to report yet. My flight was rather ordinary, as was the coffee I had this morning—which tasted the same as Colorado coffee, though it cost me $1.50 more. Maybe because of the fancy paper cup with fold-out cardboard handles. Or maybe because Mayor Bloomberg is an insane tax pimp. Anyway, in the Big Apple’s defense, the poppy bagel and whitefish salad I had for breakfast was superb. As
August 29, 2004
protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 1
Not much to report yet. My flight was rather ordinary, as was the coffee I had this morning—which tasted the same as Colorado coffee, though it cost me $1.50 more. Maybe because of the fancy paper cup with fold-out cardboard handles. Or maybe because Mayor Bloomberg is an insane tax pimp. Anyway, in the Big Apple’s defense, the poppy bagel and whitefish salad I had for breakfast was superb. As