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Summit Up

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Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column trying to figure out how it can get in and out of the building without going around construction cones or becoming permanently cemented onto the street.

For a few days now, we’ve been speculating on what spreading a whole bunch of rocks onto the streets of Frisco is doing for residents, much less humanity. For a while, we thought it was an effort to slow down traffic. If so, it’s not working for us. Because, driving over the rocks at five miles per hour makes a bunch of puncturing sounds that only scare us into driving faster. It’s like walking across hot coals. We’re hardly going to take it slow and let the damn things brand letters into our feet.

Now that wet tar is being put over the rocks, we have to wonder at the repercussions of getting caught in that. While the idea of being the official Summit County Tar Monster holds a definite appeal, we’re not sure we’d want to go around being mistaken for a seal or spend the rest of our years unsticking our hair.

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We couldn’t help but overhearing one of our fellow staffers call somebody with some mechanical background and refer to some piece of processing equipment that needs replacing as “skinny and scuzzy.” Of course, this grabbed our attention, since basically it describes almost everyone here at Headquarters. Also, we’re big fans of providing inanimate objects with personalities (unconsciously wishing, perhaps, that this might one day make them animate). Take Earl The Bastard erox. Earl is known for his excess buttons and his concurrent potential for lots of random malfunctions that nobody can figure out. Our personal confrontation strategy with Earl is to jump up and down on all of his buttons until something happens. Which works for people, too, usually. Now that we’ve become fairly well acquainted with Earl, we’ve discovered he transforms into a fax machine, a paper eater and, we’re not sure yet on this one, a Lambourghini. And, far from a Lambourghini, there’s our car – the one with the newly rock-incrusted tires. We tenderly refer to her as “Penelope,” and lots of other things that can’t be printed. She’s known for her ability to transform into a smoking slab of plastic and also to breathe through her own set of lungs. She’s only about one falling star away from growing her own two legs.

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Well, it’s been awhile, but as the trails are getting more and more crowded and the haze is dissipating, we’re probably long overdue for a Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! This one comes from Dan at Treeline Sports, who was mountain biking on the Flume Trails in Breck recently and was nearly blown down by seven dirt bikers.

“I’m all for having fun on dirtbikes,” Dan said, “But there’s plenty of other places for them to ride.”

Yeah. Go back to where you came from and your mullets and jumping over Monster Trucks. JOKING!! Seriously, though. There’s nothing like a peaceful bike ride on a quiet single-track trail and suddenly having to dive into the bushes to avoid a pack of Hell’s Angels. OK, so maybe not like that. But stay off the single-tracks, guys.

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We’re pleased to report that, while we’re stranded in our building for fear of walking across a greasy road and becoming the Fearsome Tar Monster, nobody’s tried to blow up our flower barrels this week. Woo-hoo! What such people don’t know is, since the incident last week when some careless passerby nearly singed the building by tossing a cigar butt into a flower barrel (you know, at the same time when all of those, what do you call them – INFERNOS – were all ignited across the state), The Mother Ship has been equipped with a special force field that, when penetrated, zaps people into shriveled beans.

That’s right … TRY IT!

On that note, we’re going to grab our hang glider and see if we can’t bypass the tar situation on the way home. Stay sticky and the hell away from our dried up plants with your cancer sticks. We out.


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