Sunday, June 15, 2014

Indolent Masturbatorium.

What a week it has been dear leaders of the Freetarded Wurl: 7 days of drunken abandon - well, minus 3 that were spent in a dry county in central Arkansas - but who is counting when you can make up the time lost with beers like this:

Butt, as per usual, I am getting a foot of myself…Let us 'remember' the previous half-fortnight with fortitude and flavor, slowly analyzing the vast knowledge gained and the myriad brain cells lost through either lack of use or alcohol poisoning or any combination thereof. 

1. Chasmgasm celebrated his sweet 16 in style, frying up concrete-dusted shrimpies and chickies, along with a few brats dowsed in espresso barbecue sauce supplied by yours liarly. El Blanco was his typical selfless self, arriving 2 hours unfashionably late because gravel-grinding is far more important than having friends. 

2. Traveled to the Boston Mts. of north-central Arkansas for some swimming hole abuse and hiking with the family, hitting the Glory Hole Falls and Round Top Mountain, then spending the entire day winding through poison ivy-infested trails in the Richland Creek Wilderness area, ending with a few hours at one of the coolest swimming spots in the midwest, Falling Water Falls.  Then ended the trip with a visit to the Hasty area on the Buffalo River, followed by a tour of the Hurricane River Cave -incredible and worth the time - but as is always the case, the most difficult part of the drive was the 10 miles or so of Branson Buttarded Billboards; give me strength and all the legal grenades available and the problem would be eliminated.

3. Broke out the old-school Eletro-Industrial DJ chops for a party Friday night and proceeded to drink enough Blvd. Tank 7 to forget to ride back to the venue after a 1:30 a.m. coffee run that was unsuccessful to say the most. 

89. Urban Dirty #1 was last night and I won nothing but delayed sobriety.

…89 continued: Let it be said that David HasselSHOFF and his crew of near-homless minions can cut a fucking trail like IMBAers on speed; or whatever consciousness-avoiding substance is available when driving a mini backhoe. That being said, the rain here in KC has been relentless - 8 inches in the last week alone - and the trails have been slicker than a donkey show in Tijuana. But that did not stop us from having a little 'race' in the Rozarks under the Rosedale Arch, which was replete with my first flat in over 3 months, as well as enough mosquitos and pit bulls to last me a lifetime. Still an effingham of a blast, mud, blood and all, though everyone was brownied out by 930 and I consumed Gatorade instead of obliging  the normal magnetic pull of the Bier Station, which is somehow always on my way home when riding a velocipede. 

345. My Kona Ute cargo bike is almost 5 years old now, so it's time to fuck around with a newer model/type of faux car…I want one of these Virtue Trucks for no reason other than it's a bicycle and bikes are saxy golden showers of love.

904. Kat Daley and Geekhouse Bikes are just fucking cool as all helly hellness.

This is the shit that blew through at 4 a.m. making the off-roading even more out of reach...

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