At this moment of momentary worship, on this Wholiest of Sacredesty mornings, I prey to the master of the University, the commander in cheese, the lady in the waiting room, and of course the highest of all baked goods, Sir Penistitty the Great. In the probable case that a blog post written whilst imbibing coffee instead of Beezlebubba's taint scrapings begins to travel on a downward spiral wherein sense is made and revelations are reprimanded, please pull the plug and go forth with your day young lads and lassies, for it's about to get all academic up here in your y'all Princess.
Scoopy Scoopy Poo, where are you…? No, really, there are importanterly news of such mega-importantance that I can barely keep my bowels from exploding forth with the glee of * 456 Oprah impersonators on SlimFast. No riding to report on, other than multiple road forays to and from the watery hole, and back and forth to Westport after grain-alcohol abuse, which was sent to me from a 'friend' in Austin who knows of my penchant for all things distilled - a homemade Limoncello hooch that was cleansing of both body and soul, if tripping balls while riding a Cargo bike 8 miles is on the spectrum of 'clean'.
So, as many of yoos who live in the Midwest know, our drought is officially over for now, as the last 7 days have better wetter than Paris Hilton's coke drool: no trail riding, no dirt-worship of any kind. But that is not to say that muchos is not hiding behind the closet door in the cycling community here in KCMOish.
You favorite Terroristas of Terror, Team 8 Lumens, have moved on to the next phase of Wurl Dumbination and will be receiving 150 pairs of tall, black "Fuck Yeah" socks here by the end of the month - you can order them from our Big Cartel site - and the first Urban Dirty race of the summer is next weekend, wherein I will crush Gwhiz and take a victory lap on his Amazonian gams.
Thanks be to HardCorbin Cummybuns for the below dos picturos from the DK, where he broketh the law and brought the wrath of the Northern States down on his crusty toes...
Cinder Block Brewery, North KCMO…I might just camp out under these barrels while they age.
Folks, it's past time to get down and boogie to the seriousness: I promised myself that I wouldn't waste your time with a story of Freetards and their Gawd; but it must be brought into the light so all can bask in its inherent and explicit glory.
picture was edited by the man, the myth the legend, Chasmgasm.
It would seem that someone who isn't named Handleballs placed a couple of 8Lumens stickers on this fine automobile at the Dirty Kanza, which in turn brought the wrath of said vehicle's owners to myself through Facefuck etc. and proved to drag a fine local business owner into the fray as well. Not Rick James in my book bitches. If I wanted to compete for Christ, I would do as all priests do: fondle boys and suck each other off in the rectory while having a 'blood of Jehovah party'. It's 2014, people. I realize fully and painfully that we do live in the bible chastitty belt, but for Fuckunt's sake, peel the offending sticker off and chalk it up to a political protest: that's what the Boner Ghost would do, and he would do it with a smile on his giner. You are on the wrong side of history and your ilk will be swept aside into the dustbin of evolutionary, biological, scientific veracity, so sorry to report. I would expend more effort on this parody of itself, but I am not drunk enough on Bean Juice to find the intestinal fortitude to go on….
…and I didn't even get to a feel-good report on the Moonmen of Ft. Collins and their 00 bike.
Next installment ladies and germs, next installment.