Glorious Anniversary of Doing Epic Poop.

It has been roughly 3 years since my core group of riding partners/criminals shifted into the new school, and away from all things squishy and skinny-tired: as has been stated ad nauseum here in the annals of ahistorical excrement, I no longer own a suspended bike and all 4 of my main ponies are single and sassy, like your mom. With that being repeated, it has been a whirlywinded  downward spiral of excessive spending of time/money/sobriety/birth-control during the aforementioned period of transition, both in terms of who I hang with for the purpose of the mountain bike-cyling, as well as who is available to bail me out of the KCMO cop-shop: I am an unabashed alcoholic/enthusiast who keeps getting faster and more betterer at riding stupidly technical terrain. This is in part  - hell, greatly influenced - by the serendipidous joining of arms with the Pirate Crew ( now Team 8 Lumens) and this blog, which turns one year old this week,  and is a natural outgrowth/tumor of said relationships that are illegal in 49 states. But, after almost 23,000 views in the last 12 months of our Lard, the need for meth grows in me more every day, a testament to the power of prayer and David HasselShoff puking on the ice…

But back to the present boner in hand: the riding has been massive and sick over the last week, including a bust-a-gut Landahl run with The Manimal, and a death-defying charge of the hills at SMP with Urethra Franklin and El Asesino Silencioso. With the rain skirting around the metro this evening the weekend may beckon even more track of the single and dirt and ticks in every orifice - even though we are in near drought conditions. 

…broke out the Classic Krampus -aka THE TANK - for a run to The Crossroads for First Friday last weekend and ended up at the Czar Bar watching the ex-drummer of The Flaming Lips open for a local band, which in the best of terms was an incredible train wreck that was thoroughly enjoyable.

After all is said and over-done, I would like to thank the usual suspects for tolerating my

clinical depression/anger/freetardedness/perversion over the last year…here's to a doctoral thesis on the merits of Ghostly Boners and Princely Twats.