So, I’m Re-Reading Iowahawk’s Linkfest from a Week Ago.

by the Pirate on May 30, 2007

And at first it makes me sad, because the first time I read it I skipped the video of souped-up VW bugs, but this time I watched it, and thought about my first bug, a ’65, and how it was stolen by a stranger—and right after I’d converted it to 12-volt, dammit. And my second one, too: a ’69, that my brother gave me, but my mother stole (and she also took the first gun I ever owned [a S&W Chief’s Special] the nasty 70-year-old thief—I only hang out with her these days because of her cute, pretty, smart pit bull).

But there are three notable things about Iowahawk, these days: (1) he makes me want to read Garage Magazine, which is a terrible thing, because this in turn leads me to those Big Newsstands that have almost everything while I poke around looking for it. And then I buy a bunch of magazines, and have you looked at the price of cool alternative print media these days?

Yet I’m obviously going to the wrong ones, because I still haven’t seen Garage—which I get the feeling neither John Dianna nor Primedia (God bless all of their commercial, quality-be-damned little hearts) had anything to do with.

(2) He has the most scintillating right-hand sidebar in blogger history, because under the heading “blurbs” there lies a series of quotes about his blog and his persona that are almost as creative as the stuff he writes himself.

(3) If Tammy Bruce ain’t reading his blog, she should be: after all, she likes hot chicks and hot cars (that’s my inference, since she drives at hot car, and she once posed for a picture with me . . .).

My life’s mission is now to be published on Iowahawk’s sidebar. Not to see one of my crime novels in hardcover. Not to reach the best-seller list with either of them, or with my memoir. I must write something about Iowahawk that is almost as funny as something he would write himself. And, unfortunately, I ain’t the funny person in this household.

So here’s my first volley:

Iowahawk’s the kind of guy you’d want to run into in that alternate universe. You know: the one in which no one is married, and the bars stay open all night.

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