No sir, Yaser

A bit foggy this morning and 3 degrees Fahrenheit. Good ride to work. Puts me in a fightin' mood.

Has anyone ever met a university student body president that didn't fit the stereotype portrayed in every National Lampoon movie ever made? Yaser Alamoodi at Arizona State University made an effort last month to get ASU to use the code of conduct as a way to prohibit students from posing for Playboy. He said, "It's a disservice to the students and an insult to all the effort we put in." Thanks to this self-righteous twerp, they can no longer pose nude with a university logo in the picture.

Now I know that many of us aren't Playboy readers. Hell, I don't think I've bought a copy since college myself. This isn't about the magazine, it's about freedom. It's about some do-gooder trying to impose his narrow-minded views on the rest of the student body at a major university—an institution that is supposed to be about learning, civility, freedom of thought, freedom of expression, tolerance and yes, youthful fun.

Holy crap, Yaser, have a beer, will ya? Take off your sweater, stop decorating the homecoming float for five minutes and talk to a girl. Hell, talk to a guy, if that's what you're into, but get laid and learn to relax, for cryin' out loud. You're in college! A fun one! I know, because I graduated from ASU! The women are exceptionally attractive. And they happen to be adults, which means they're free to strip for the magazine, become nuns, tell you to go to hell or anything else that's still legal (and those options are fading fast these days).

A girl I used to regularly see in the library posed for a "Girls of the Pac-1o" feature when I was there, and nobody was harmed. My degree wasn't diminished. I didn't feel that my work was disrespected or that my fellow students and I had "a stigma attached" to our names. Hell, she represented the university better than the student athletes who got busted for their various crimes. Bluto and Otter need to load Yaser into his brother's car, take him on a road trip, get him drunk, trash the wheels and leave him on the wrong side of the border in Nogales.

OK, I'm takin' a deep breath now. The venting therapy session has concluded.

Back in my ASU days, I learned of a strange way to keep my legs warm when I drove up to the mountains for some downhill skiing: I wore pantyhose and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Well, I was ashamed for a while, but then I found out that Navy SEALS wore them in Vietnam as a way ward off leeches. When I heard that, I puffed up my chest and took pride in having something in common with the SEALS. We badasses stick together, you know. Why do I now torture my fellow cyclists with this disturbing mental image? Because one of our fellow riders espouses fishnet stockings for safety while riding. I'm not going to try it, but I hope it catches on . . . especially among bike-riding coeds who pose for Playboy next to a university logo.

Speaking of sexy legwear, the hellish and furry little beast that chomped my leg this fall left a gaping hole in a brand-new pair of tights. If anyone has tried Iron Mend or a similar product for repairing Lycra, please let me know if it works. Seems like a tall order, to patch such a stretchy fabric. Maybe I'll just have to ride with hole until it gets too big and I have to trash the tights.

As long as we're discussing twerps, I'd like to say that I gave Bush two brains on Tuesday, and he still sounded like an idiot. Give it a try and see if you have better results. Your score may be higher, but I bet his IQ won't be.

If you're reading this blog I don't have to tell you to hang up first, then drive. Most of us have nearly been taken out by careless drivers. No more fines and revoking of licenses. Let's start throwing the bastards in prison when they kill cyclists, pedestrians, or anyone else.