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I am an organized and tidy curmudgeon that says what’s on my mind because I have reached an age where I really don’t give a damn if anyone disagrees with me or even pays attention to me. Harumph!

So, being neat, as in tidy rather than as in cool, because I have never REALLY been cool, not even when I was young and not cranky, and that’s cool with a “K” … uh…oh, I remember now what it was I was going to say: I make lists. Right. … All those impressed, do stand and hoot.

Thank you, Mom.

One of my “lists” is my scumbag list, and I have more than one list; actually, I have several. I have one for politicians. I have one for non politicians. And I have one for incarcerated scumbags, some of whom may have formerly belonged to one or both of the first and second lists. By my own definition, a scumbag has to be alive. Scumbags that are dead, like Richard Nixon, are not included in my lists. One needs discipline in one’s mania and that’s mine: Dead scum is ignored, like toenail clippings.

The reason I mention my listing habit at all is that the pinnacle of my non-politician scumbag list has a new Chief Scumbag. His name is Lance Armstrong. All those who weren’t paying attention and who are still standing, please be seated. Never stand for scum.

Now, be advised: Chief Scumbag is a very lofty position of disdain, indeed. Were I king and the era in which we live was, oh, say the 9th century, I would draw and quarter this bastard in less time than it took me to rant these few paragraphs. And I would take pleasure of ridding my kingdom of a cheat, fraud, and liar – any one of which disqualifies a man from being or becoming a gentleman.