Handleballs and his Bunny outside El Blanco Miguel's ( who will for the purpose of this article now be known as Urethra Franklin ).
The 8 Lumens Crew went East towards the Meth-flavored, hushpuppy-stained winds of Independence MO, and the best trail system in the entire region, Landahl Park reserve. If you are not from the Kansas City area and are on your way through our glorified Cowtown on I-70, you must stop and ride these trails, for they are the best in the four-state area - no shit, believe it. There was a time when I rode Landahl every weekend, but those days are gone, and I am lucky to get out there once a month at best. But, like sex from your *36th cousin, it's mind-blowing when you can get it. Crazy fast and rocky, with a ton of elevation to boot; a veritable cornucopia of pleasure that keeps you standing at attention as if Kate Upton was cupping your twins. Aside from a few minor mechanical issues - mostly mine - the crew of 6 dicks valiantly attempted to ride the infamous 10-11 loop with as little shameful hike-a-biking as possible - a tall order in the pitch-dark. But, as always, beer was awaiting our return and a cold front followed us out of the deep forest, finally annulling the disgusting 100 degree week that dried out our region like an arc welder pointed at the flora.
As per Pirate ride standards, the shit hits the fan when completely dehydrated mt. bikers refuel with the Hop Juice...and last night was no exception. As we were pulling out of the parking lot in Beej's monster-clown-truck, what we thought to be babes coming out to the trails to run or hike pulled in next to us, kicking up the desert-like gravel as they did a quick donut and pulled in behind us, eventually driving up next to us on the skinny-as-fuck, super hilly roads that lead back out to 7 highway. They were in the mood to hill-top and play Garth Brooks at an unacceptable volume, and we were ready to oblige their desires. Once we steered onto to the southbound lanes of 7 - a 4 lane - Urethra Franklin immediately commenced in requesting of these nice ladies a chance for their shirts to possibly be lifted, as to ascertain a glance at their dairy-cannons. All we got was a bra-flash and I lost my patience and stuck my bare taint out the back window -at 55 mph - to show my disappointment with the show...
Of course, after this debauchery, I was ready to enter the Dragon -otherwise know as the Taco Smell portal - and tame my inner hunger demons with my favorite Roach Wrap Deluxe. Folks, I'ma here ta tella ya...nothing is open on a school night in Blue Springs MO...We drove in circles, through a Taco Johns or some semblance thereof, and eventually opted for the Socialist Republic of QT: the finest of all convenience stores; always stocked with rotating, rounded blobs of heated meat - or spicy cheese taquito if you play your cards close.
Ultimate Taquito Death Match...featuring the Manimal, La Pirata and the Boner Ghost, respectfully...
Unfortunately, we were not accosted by any remaining high school sweethearts on our way back to good ol' I-70, and we made a successful disposal of Urethra Franklin and the Manimal downtown, finally getting rid of me and my Porn-bike...yet another great night of riding with the 8 Lumen Freetards, and yet another instance of me waking up confused and sore...
29+ cock-fighter...
And, since you dipshits need plenty of time to plan ahead for your imminent demise - and the smarts to get good life insurance- I give you this...flier designed by the Genius Commander Sparrow and his team of tranny goats...this will be an urban mt. bike ride that will test your limits of sanity as well as the fortitude of your sexuality. Do it.
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