Clits of Faith.

…this one is of HardCorbin's sweet, condensed cheeks, which got me kicked off of Facefuck but not Instagram.

Words: ridiculous examples of the failure of the human mind to elaborate on the serendipitous moments of reflection that so haunt our every waking moment. Or, conversely: go fucketh thyself in the anuseth.
The latter course of actionable language far better describes the downward spiral that was the group meeting of the rinds last night at the Clips of Faith movie event with New Belgium Brewery; a heinous habitual abusing of all things barley/yeast in origin - a broken series of promises made to the Gawds of proper behaviors and seminal leakage.

Jones' adult XXX bigwheel of Satan Salsa...

After a collection consumption of copious catacombs of sour beers, we, the contingent of Ochos Lumenos, ditched the event at intermission - ostensibly to satiate Handleballs' epic case of the munchies- and yet more brews on the porch of Urethra Franklin's. For those of yoos in the KCMO area, you are well aware of the proximity of the Nelson Atkins Museum of Rich Folks' Pretty Pictures

to  Theis Park where the aforementioned affair was taking place…if not, it really makes no difference or sameness either way. Because, after leaving on our velocipedes -mine being a fully-loaded Necromancer Pugsley - we made a quick pitstop at the Glass Maze on the southern lawn of the museum for a quick, inebriated run-through. Not the best idea ever hatched. Within the first ten feet I smashed my helmeted face into a 'clear' wall, and, then the dashing Ms. Blanco, who was far ahead of me with the rest of the group, punched a wall with her nose, which in turn spurted out blood all over the million-dollar sculpture. As I arrived on the crime scene, White Mikey was stripping off his shirt and attempting to stem the flow from her swollen proboscis. 

But, in true Ochos Lumenos form, she got back on her bike and rode back to Midtown and served Asian salad and taquitos to the rest of us mere mortals…actually, HardCorbin and I made a bike-thru appearance at Panchos, the infamous joint on Main.

Rain was threatening, so the Chasmugger and I headed south to the County of Johnson's and the safety of acceptable rap music and daddy day care. And to think that Saturday night is the Rim Race…my b.a.c. will never let me drive again.