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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column with a nose itch.

And it’s not one of those easy-to-scratch, on-the-outside kind of itches, either. No, this is an inside-the-nose, gonna-embarrass-ourselves-if-we-scratch-it-at-the-wrong-time kind of nuisance. It keeps causing us to run our fingers under our nose – kind of like it’s runny and we’re back on the elementary school playground – but we’re afraid people will notice and think we’re some sort of coke-head (believe us: with our hyperkinetic antics and tangential thought processes, we get that accusation often enough).

We keep hoping someone with a microscope or a magnifying glass will help us out by looking up in there. We’re pretty sure there’s a contorted hair or something. But nobody wants to volunteer their services. Go figure.

Let’s just hope it’s not some secret weapon of Saddam’s.


Dear readers know we like to complain about our ride all the time. For good reason – it’s falling apart. Now we’re concerned it might not be the vehicle but us. Out for a burger Monday night with a field agent, we offered to brave the dumping snow at Farmer’s Korner and drive home. Wouldn’t it be our luck that the window went down (we had to get the snow off somehow, and getting out to scrape was just not going to happen, you know) and never came back up. So, we drove all the way back to the Secret Summit Up Cave with the window down.

Let us just say we don’t recommend you try that at home.


Mary was rightfully ticked off Tuesday. Somebody stole her sled. But this Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! is not all that simple. See, this was the sled she used to haul her kids to school in Summit Cove. Tuesday afternoon, she went to pick the kids up, parked the sled up against the wall, and when she returned, it was gone.

All field agents in the Summit Cove area should be on the look-out for a mongrel thief towing a purple sled with a yellow rope (and mountains of bad karma following both).


Brent read our bit Monday about urinals and had a curious tale to share. He was in Eastern Europe with about 25 Japanese fellows, he said. The urinals in Europe are very tall to accommodate the very tall European men. “Even I have to stand on tip-toe,” he said.

“So you can imagine when you’ve got 20 minutes for a wee check how they formed a queue in front of the kids’ urinal,” Brent said. “I didn’t take a picture. I didn’t think they’d appreciate the humor.”

Oh, but we do, Brent. Wee do.


It’s Wednesday and we think cable war coverage needs more Condeleeza. Tell us what you think it needs at, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just channel your favorite dead general on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237.

We’re out doing as little as possible …

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