Thanks, Amba. I once did a whole lot of 2-worders like this in a row, then started a separate blog devoted to this style: over here. Shoulda kept it up. It's a nice discipline. Quite bloggy.
Jacques recalls seeing a man in an after-hours club in New York, a drunk with cowboy boots and faraway prairie- sky eyes who kept drawling (as a menacing "don't mess with me"), "I'm from Butte, Montana . . . Evel Knievel's home town."
Click here to enter Amazon through the Althouse Portal.
Amazon
I am a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for me to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.
Support this blog with PayPal
Make a 1-time donation or set up a monthly donation of any amount you choose:
13 comments:
Don't we love our outlaws. Dylan should write the song of Evel K.
69 years old? Man, that's young.
He suffered a total of 40 broken bones during his career.
What a way to make a living.
Oh Lord, who will deliver all the toys to the good little boys and girls this year?
That's Eval, right?
The American housing sector went up like a rocket scooter. Now it's coming down slow, slow, slow the way Evel did over the Snake River.
Excellent post! Because I had just seen the news, I got it instantly.
There should be a word, like "haiku," for a two-worder.
Thanks, Amba. I once did a whole lot of 2-worders like this in a row, then started a separate blog devoted to this style: over here. Shoulda kept it up. It's a nice discipline. Quite bloggy.
BTW, my original wording was: Last... crash.
That too.
I saw a live broadcast of the 'Jump' at a sports arena.
Ol' Evel pulled the chute before the astrocycle even left the ramp. He had to have figured that that was the only way to survive.
A great con artist. A great American. A great number of broken bones. The man belongs on a postage stamp.
Safe...
landing.
He was a bit of a con man but plenty real. He was as American as they get, it was hard not to admire him.
Jacques recalls seeing a man in an after-hours club in New York, a drunk with cowboy boots and faraway prairie- sky eyes who kept drawling (as a menacing "don't mess with me"), "I'm from Butte, Montana . . . Evel Knievel's home town."
Post a Comment