Shit got rogue last night somewhere in Midtown Kansass Shitty; the beer flowed like Devil's Gravy and too many inebriated miles wore holes in my flabo-ass. I ended up stumbling home on my Jones SS at 1:45 a.m. , still picking stick-tights out of my beard. A decent sized crew met at The Bier Station and followed the Trolley trail -in all its concrete dusted glory - down to an undisclosed location atop an apartment near the bowels of hell.
Myriad Java Stouts and Ranger IPAs were consumed with utter abandon, and I was at this point so over-served that I rode my bike backwards all the way to Linwood or some street of similar ill-repute. Our goal was a blind, suicidal run through the newly-finished Roanoke trail system - replete with 3 story cliff drops and ankle-crushing boulders - and then up the ancient 16th century brick hills to the Hi-Dive bar on 39th for a pit stop then on North to the Scout and eventually the river. I can neither confirm nor deny whether I made it to any of those destinations; only my credit card statement can act as my mental GPS in any attempt to reconstruct the line of travel...a muy bueno night of riding with the young'uns to be sure. Thanks for the invite you inviolate fucktards....
...just needs a Captain Cuntwat sticker for instant classiness. If I hadn't already handed out about 10 of them as business cards I would have stripped naked and applied at least 3 with my schlong. I'm a pro.
Princess TwatCunt out___________
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