SSAZ 2015: Making huge, lasting mammaries.

     In the sparse pantheon of items that consist of linear recollection, riding a single-speed mountain bike until your "for the love of Gawd and all that is holy, my anus is bleeding" may be the best way in which to inscribe upon your black soul the joys of suffering in the Arizona desert. That, and 'Animal Style' fries from In n' Out Burger, which have a similar effect on one's gastronomical organs. Let us revel in all that is hotter than Satan's coochie, and wetter than drool from a Kardashian's hate child, for now is the time to transcend the mundane arena of guilt by dislocation and fire shots across the bow of the bowtie; following no derivative path in the photo-ridden essay that succeeds these words of pissdom....

1. First, let's get this one fact out of the way: many of the photos featured so prominently in this post were stolen/borrowed from professional snappers, so if you are one to care about such acts of severe criminal activity, please assist yourself to a well-lubed bottle of Tapatio below the equator. 

*345. There will be no rhyme or reason to my 'story' that was our SSAZ experience, for pain is a mnemonic device best served with a side of blood gravy.

67. Speaking of salsa, El Blanco Miguel gets what Whitey wants when he asks for packets of said condiment at Taco Bell...over 50 to be exact.

Mr Paul Components was in the veritable house...

As was EndlessBikeGirl Shanna...who just happens to rule the known Universe.

Me, myself and I and El Blanco Miguel, represented the 8Lumens Army of None, making KC proud with every stroke of the cactus.

The Surly crew was in full-frontal effect and handed out foam can-condoms until we all finished in the extra-clean campground sinks...

BPR wins every race they enter...if only we could all aspire to be as kickballs as the Back of the Pack crew.

Pork Torta was the featured band on the second night, and might be the bestest fucktards on the planet when it comes to the total entertainment package. Amazingly good tunes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egq3rJjjJZM

Break me off a piece of that KitSplat bar.

Dejay for President.

Pizza Slut in Wellington Kansas does diabetes right...

They also do monster-busses and old alleyways well in Wellington...

El Blanco Miguel might have missed his calling as a long-haul trucker, and if you are lucky enough to get a VW limo ride someday, be prepared for the worst nasal assaults outside of Amarillo Texas...

Charlie the Bikemonger is a world-class badass in case there was any doubt..

Prototype 29+ Dirt Wizard from Surly Bikes...chop chop suey. 

 67. Until next year Arizona, for in the interim I shall train like a banshee on my recliner, pick cactus spines from between my toes and seek the many lost Tic-Tacs that went missing in my beard whilst attempting to freshen my respiration for an intimate encounter with a rock. Y'all desert dwellers really know how to make us flatland morons feel right at home, even if that means holding our hands so we can't give you reach-arounds.

 

Differently enabled.

     With the smattering of inner-resentment that has infiltrated the guilt index of the Left over the last 10 days or so - political correctness back in vogue - I have decided, on the eve of the embarkment to Arizona for SSAZ2015, to throw all shame aside and come out of the diplomatic closet: I am a Republicratatarian.  In other inane words, Fug the Sistem; let us now party like we're high on Koch and buried under the tar sands. There is no question to be asked that is more feral than whether or not I am a Socialist in both resolve and nucleus: yes dear readers I have a heart, and it is bleeding from a shot that my spleen took from a rooftop in Sweden....All the patriotic/hegemonic fervor that has leaked like a corroded lead pipe since the Sniper/Eastwood propaganda piece landed at a 156-TheaterPlex-in-a-suburb-near-you set foot in the consciousness of the masses, the temper of our nation and it's fear of stable foreign policy has yet again been stoked into a hissy fit not unlike a Lohan/Spears MMA fight. But what to do with our budget of billion-dollar forces of peace? Colonialism will only end when we give up the ghost of Plutocracy...or smash it blindly into a deficit of diffidence.

Now that I am sufficiently imbibed, I shall inherit the wind and review the last few days in the days of days of events here in the KC cycling scene -as manifold and multifarious as they were...

Street Cred #2 was Saturday - though I had to worketh - and was officially officiated by the Fuzz.

The weather has been, well, weatherously-schizophrenic but at least I have been able to get three rides in over the last 4 days, fartsy ice pictures be damned...

Made a pit-stop in at Velo+/Maps Coffee Roaster to drop off some hats and chat about the upcoming NAHBS trip of debauchery...

And, was able to attend the Doan benefit at KC Bier Company with my fellow 8Lumens Luminaries...

...and a few stops at The Bier Station for good measure.

Again, I have no idea where I stole this image from, but suffice it to say that this dude's week

was about as bad as it gets, outside of a brothel in Iceland.