Brian Schaefer, fat man, little schtick


Every Sunday, Brian trots out recycled nostalgia diarrhea to hang from the Jib, and the blue hairs swoon.

"Oh, Brian, your ability to name drop three Estes Park businesses in a row from the 1970s makes me want to drive my Chevy van down to the levee with my Kodachrome and that's all right with me."

"Oh, Brian, you are such a gentle wordsmith, perhaps you could write a column for Harper's magazine, I'm sure they see your gift for talking ad nauseam about your experiences running a long-defunct radio station with an audience of 37 people, mostly shut-ins and drunks, as so very "Northern Exposure" meets "Hints from Heloise" and all that.  Could I get your autograph?"

Brian Schaefer is one of those patronizing do-gooders who wants to deny Estes Park citizens their right to vote or think, unless they vote and think just like him.  Think Pol Pot or the Devil, Brian lays the schmooze on thick, like country bacon, then pins your ability to smell BS in a hammerlock and makes you beg for mercy.  Note how Mr. Fantastic responds to criticism, with calls to remove all dissent and silence the non-believers.  It's his podium, the Cowboy Brad of the local interweb.

He's just a little man with a big ego, a sorry little man.  And I do feel sorry for him.

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