Monday, August 25, 2014

Siphon the Moob Sweat.

'In order to choose an incorrect course of action, one must first exhaust all other paths of proper behavior.'  The Boner Ghost, circa 1908.  

It looks as though the Midwest and South are in the crosshairs of the Deevil Herself at this point, and my coochie is drying up faster than a team of oxen pulling a cart of goat testes through the Sahara, driven by Oprah in a reflective thong. Yes, I fully realize that it is technically Summer here in KC, but for Van Damme's sake, turn off the fuckety heat lamps for a day or two....some clouds or fog, shite I'll even take some smog from LA if anyone wants to ship me a cargo container full. If only there was a secondary market for my perspiration; there has to be a fetish forum out there in the tubes that would pay me by the liter, which is the world standard system of measurement, Tony Stewart. 

Since the ultimate in debacle-management success that was the Chop 'em Ups of Doom 8 days ago, the cycling scene has been a bit distant to my attendance, and that is purely of my own volition, at least that's what I tell the Captain, and in all liarly, the beer consumption has been impaired as well: this trend must end abruptly, my brothers. As Viking ships are found 100's of miles up the Mississippi  - dating from the 11th century - and Gawd's left gonad is found on the dark side of the Moon, let us all rejoice in the happenstance glee that is discovered when the lottery ticket comes up a winner; in other words, keep on getting in the morer stupiderer line at Burger King as they off-shore their corporate, tax-dogding cuntarded company. May the farce be with thee as per usual....

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