[Fox]

Santa Cruz deputy police chief describes the worst California biker violence in a decade: “It was all about who would be allowed to hang out at the Starbucks downtown. The Vagos brazenly came in and tried to cement their presence… Only in Santa Cruz would you have biker wars over who’s going to control pumpkin spice lattes.” [Reuters, via LuxMentis]

[Salt Lake Tribune, via Political Wire]

As we noted recently, Tim Pawlenty’s videographer made a bad career move switching to Rick Perry, because you expect Perry videos to look like they were directed by Michael Bay. Although now that Deranger Rick is trailing Newt – Newt! – in the polls, we might get some entertainment yet out of their misplaced bombast.

But the Ambitious Young Editor’s work is quickly being eclipsed by the comic genius behind Herman Cain!’s videos, which, following the instant classic of Thank Me for Smoking, are receiving renewed critical attention.

So we present for your viewing pleasure Not Without My Chicken!, a delightful romp that leaves us wondering whether the Herman Cain! campaign is less Andy Kaufman, and more The Producers. Because with material like this, surely the last thing they expect is to win.

[via Mother Jones]

Our guest columnist consists of plastic bricks.

My name is Ego Leonard and according to you I come from the virtual world. A world that for me represents happiness, solidarity, all green and blossoming, with no rules or limitations.

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“Those people in the Republican primary have got to lay off of this stuff. They’re forcing their leaders, the frontrunners, into positions that will mean they lose the general election…They’ve got to stop this! It’s just so counterproductive!” Ladies and gentlemen, Pat Robertson. [ThinkProgress]

We know from Drum Circles.

For several years, in a number of capacities, we were involved with the Oregon Country Fair, a three-day summer crafts and music event that (during our time) drew 30,000 visitors to the woods outside Eugene.

Founded in 1969, it was already a multigenerational hippiefest by the time we messed around in the late ’80s. Over time, we worked security, helped in the front office, even played trumpet in the Fighting Instruments of Karma Marching Band/Orchestra, which, after two daily parades featuring “Teddy Bears Picnic”, would sit in as the house band for the juggling Flying Karamazov Brothers.

It was very, very, very fun. Especially the night we dropped acid and kept the camp awake singing Gilligan’s Island.

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