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The Daily Word in biker wars, flash flood warnings, a massive prison hunger strike and speculation about Edward Snowden

The tone of this local KRQE piece about an influx of rival biker gangs reminds one of an old biker film.

I do not own a lawn but I still want a free rain gauge.

There was more flooding in the Albuquerque area last night.

My iPhone sent me a warning about flash floods for the first time in my life last night. The government knows exactly where I am.

Urban chicken farming sounds great but apparently is starting to result in skyrocketing chicken-abandonment.

A massive hunger strike protesting prisons' isolation policies began yesterday in California.

Edward Snowden might be going to Venezuala according to a Russian politician. And who the hell is Snowden, really?

This U.S. federal court decision in favor of the EFF is an important result of the documents leaked by Edward Snowden.

At the Transportation Safety Board of Canada site you can check out ALL the recent Canadian train wrecks (and other disasters) including updates on the one in Lac-Megantic, Quebec.

Osama Bin Laden owned a cowboy hat which he wore to prevent drones from spotting him.

dreams

Rowdy’s Dream Blog #220: An adventure with some burly bikers.

My friend and I watch a group of burley bikers rough up a belligerent tattooed guy against a car. My friend makes a comment under his breath about how stupid they all are. The tattooed guy grabs him from behind, and with a quick sawing motion, gives him a red mustache, as was done to him by the bikers. I step back. My friend is stinging and humiliated. He tells me it's ok, he has insurance. "Great." I say. Inside a building, I walk down a ramp, and am followed and overtaken by the bikers. I step aside. At the foot of the ramp a blonde, burley biker with a rubber thimble over his left eye latches onto my arm. His name is Harold Wilson. He walks me up another ramp. I tell him about my passion for music. He tells me about the books he has written. I don't think he'll hurt me now. I want to show him the one book that I've written. We sit down on a blanket by the street. Under it is my book and a bunch of old "Sag" magazines I had forgotten about. He tells me how an old man he knows learned to turn down his hearing aid so he could only hear the things he wanted to. He missed the setting thunderstorms on the sea, but could still hear his own lovemaking.

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    High Mountain Hideout
    High Mountain Hideout8.29.2014