There are few words with the power to accurately describe the imminent world-domination of Team 8 Lumens, though penistitties might be descriptive enough for the haute quality of this blog. For those of you in the bubble that is Republican politics, a refresher course in the origin story/creationist myth of how the Lumens of 8 was birthed out of the fetid coochie of our Dear Earth Daddy is in order. It goes a little sumpin' like this: There once was a Pirate who hosted night rides from his scalawag-infested lair in the high peaks above SMP; from this vantage point, many a dickbagaggeretard was known to arrive with faulty and or redacted lighting; this failure of character was rewarded with taint abuse and equine steaks, followed by beer enemas and toe-sucking; then the ultimate faux pas was injected into the collective psyche of all mt. bike riders throughout the known universe: someone arrived with a mini mag light strapped to their helmet, convinced that this piece of shite of less than 20 lumens would suffice for single-track bombing and park police mocking. After panties were filled with laughter induced poopyness, the attendee - whose identity is being protected for fear of NSA attack - was given a more bettererer darkness eliminating device and the ride was begun in earnest…and after the eventual drunken denouement, a plan was hatched by someone who is not I to name an International Pro team after this most pivotal event. Though it has taken almost 2 years for 8 Lumens to get on the podium of life-coaching, our time has cum: we have a full kit - if you go nude below the waist - and *458 custom bikes from Oddity Cycles in Ft. Collins. If you watch closely - even closer than you watch your wife not giving you a blow-job - you will see the 8 Lumens, Evil Knevil-inspired jump over the Peloton at this summer's Tour De Pants; a veritable mega-mooning of all things Mor(m)on. You're welcome.
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