Saturday, January 17, 2015

Sans Sheriff.

It is without any explicit irony that I can state, that whenever I write I'm wrong, or some exemplification/specimen to be held to a greater magnification than one would fancy: broken English notwithstanding, communication is a linear breakdown on a good day. But, who requires the gospel when perjury is the raison d'ĂȘtre of our modern age; give me a Santorum in all three holes and I'll sell you a beachfront property in's getting hot in here, let's put on all our clothes. 

Let us rejoice and sing praises to the Lard on High, for now that this half-fortnight is at its wane, I can now begin the process of placing myself ever so daintily into the gutter of cranial effluence, where recent commemorations are being emptied in a vat of barley pop and salsa emissions.
At least the 8Lumens Bored Meeting went off with a queef of epic proportions at the Bier Station, and plans became far more solidified for Single Speed Kansas City - 
New Belgium Brewery is now an official sponsor, as well as a litany of far less respectable donors, mainly my home away from home, The Strand Theatre.

60 degrees in January...hero fucking dirt on the Blue River.

kyped this from the Stagram...ha ha roadie badoosh.

One year ago, Arizona with La Pirata...epic shite.

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