As I sit here contemplating whether or not to go out into the desert heat and jungle humidity to ride the trails, I find that inspiration comes hidden in strange fruit on occasion, and in the interim periods between said enlightenment, my battered soul laughs at the ruse of meaning and animus, taking a leap onto the tracks in protest. With that page of the DSM 4 out of the way, let us reflect on the little corrupt cabal that amassed last night at the Bier Station, laying waste to the sanity of the regular, moral individuals who would have wished to enjoy a tranquil evening of imbibing New Belgium brews removed from the 8 Lumens crew.
The short ride during rush hour - not on my wish list for many reasons - ended back at the pub, and after dropping my son off with the responsible parent, I returned in full flower to de-robe every skirt- wearing lady and mustached dooshtard within a 3 ft. perimeter. Speeding Jesus was not satisfied with my predictable behavior and, with much haste, brought to our table some Cards Against Humanity; a game that was invented after an extensive case-study of my criminal history was completed.
And, although the evidentiary proof may or may not exist, the Pirate even raffled off a few of my luscious hats, modeled here by the ravishing Diddy. Shit came unhinged when the Dyke arrived, ostensibly to meet his fellow Trek Store compatriots, but everyone knew his true intentions: to smell my scented man-bag and give me *389 titty twists. His legs gave me an insta-boner as he lumbered over our table, much to the chagrin of the Bier Station staff: they were disappointed that he was unable to kick me in the face and shut me the holy fuck up. Many thanks to the Bier Meister Godek for not calling the coppers to take me away - I hope I paid my bill in full before 'driving' El Blanco Miguel all
the way to 10th street listening to his legendary 'fried chicken' potboiler about SSUSA and its aftermath. Only the newest 4 song e.p. from The Bug kept me from choking on my own laughter as I navigated the gloomy I-35 corridor southward, regretting only that I missed the exit for Hooters, wherein I would surely be asked kindly to leave before I could finish one single hot-wing.
Self-potrait with donut.
This is how I look without a beard...not in any way respectable.
And so we do not stray too far from the task at hand, let us both reminisce and look forward to the party that is the Pirate cXc - http://pirate-cxc.blogspot.com, which left to its own devices will go down in history as not only the circo del sexo y de la muerte, but also as the coming out event for the Boner Ghost and his trusty sidekick Captain Cuntwat. It is with zero regrets that Queen Queefer reveals this simple fact to the masses of dirtbag mt. bikers...September 21st 2013, age of the Devil, he will again rape amphibians with unabashed morbidity.
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