Swope me Swope me...SWOPE.

Or maybe not...looks like the rain is moving in as I type, preventing me from getting my Blanco Knight Pugsley SS even muddier than the slop-fest stream crossing debacle at Landahl last Friday...as has been foretold, the rocks at Swope park are not conducive to traction in any way shape or form when wet. Or just give it a Bon Jovi for attenuation...

So, no narcissistic selfies of me and my beloved Surly today folks, just a photo dump of epic proportions....not unlike the morning after a Chipotle burrito and a Tank 7 Smokestack.

I'll Cum on your KOM...

29+ is where it's at folks...get used to it.

Far be it for me to complain about technology and its many nefarious appendages, but the Strava shite is giving my chubby a deflating blow...I completely understand the need for speed and the ego trip that comes along with having the one up on your buds, and the compounding effect of pedal-induced affectations on your "training regimen"; it is unfortunately akin to having your face buried in a smart phone whilst at the dinner table with your family. My distaste may also just simply be that I am fat and slow, but I do love the trails for the dual purposes of escaping from the wired world and for burning off the demons through blood and sweat. So next time your boop-beep machine goes off in my vicinity, make sure and check for a little sample I might have left while you were not looking; which is just a normal night for me in the first place...

BonerPrincess out_

Sweating with the oldies...

Holy dead Gawds and sweet 'n sour baby Heyzeus the humidity can blow me and give me a reach-around simultaneously. ...Landahl kicks ass and all, but it felt like a cocking jungle on the surface of the sun - even at 1030 pm. Oh well, the conditions were phenomenal and the company of Team 8 Lumens was even better....good times indeed, even though I bailed on the Mccoys idea....my giner was so wet I had to get her cleaned up before I got on my pole....

This is what a feminist looks like...

I realize fully that this is me if I stop riding my bike and start a parrot collection, but nonetheless this pic  rules the known universe. It was sent to me via Jack Sparrow via Kevin Calhoun, who at last night's ERTA meeting was lamenting the fact that he had yet to be given a nickname by the Pirate cXc crew a.k.a Team 8 Lumens. Well, since I am on the board of said disorganization, I hereby give him a working title: Kevi-nasty. Leave it to the drunken debauchery that will no doubt ensue tomorrow night at Handleballs' Kindergarten graduation party to inspire a more worthy moniker...

And speaking of those damn delinquents that build the most incredible trails in the Midwest, I was actually able to find some dry dirt in the Metro last night up at Smithville Lake, even though I attended  said event by my lonesome, due in no small part to the overall lameness of my compatriots who call themselves my friends....

Luckily, Dan Doss and company took me in and cuddled me in their stinky-ass arms, gave me sustenance for my wagon ride home, and held me up on the pedestal I so richly deserve...I looked down upon them all and gave away Capt. Cuntwat stickers to their wives with glee.  Even Flash Gordon is in my posse now, spreading the filth that is the Legend of the Boner Ghost...

Which brings us to the climax of this here itty bitty post...there is some confusion out there in the Blogosphere about the content of this blog and the people involved in its production.  Let's get the shit straight folks, it is only I, the Princess who is behind this travesty, and all characters are played by my stunt double Oprah. No one else has any say or undue influence, and I take full responsibility for whatever offensive innuendo that may raise its ugly cock.  That being said, the whole purpose behind this blog is TO OFFEND...I am making fun of the Glen Beck's and Rush Limbaugh's of the world that cannot take a joke, and who also have a myopic view of sarcasm and satire.  The title of this blog may easily be construed as misogynistic, but I am anything butt...My target audience is the mt. biking community and we have a collective average IQ of just above 70; just let us get in our short bus and we'll go away to the forest...

Am I sensing a theme here?

From drought to deluge, the conditions of our amazing local trails are in the dumps currently, and I poop my panties at the thought of having to ride on the road more than once a year; besides commuting to work and for runs to the pub. There might even be time to get my rear wheel re-laced with the sweet Paul  SS hub that has been eyeing me like a rabid vulture in my shop for almost 2 months now...All I know is that after my failed attempt at glory last week, it is way past time to have some tasty single-track under my Fatty, and by the time the rain stops the mosquitos will be carrying off infants...

Here's to you Brazil...

The Rim Race Nationals went down like an atomic bomb last night, and I am still recovering from the absolute mayhem that ensues when you voluntarily remove the rubber from your velocipede...I have more cuts and bruises than Lindsay Lohan on a coke bender, and still have a b.a.c of at least .20%. And to think I was winning the criterium stage of the race when my rear rim cracked in half and taco-ed under the weight of my PBR-filled belly. Joel was cheating as usual and used his BMX bike and its 3" wheels to stay afloat on the pave'; only the Gawds above could be more corrupt in their envy...

                              Jevon fondles the infamous Boner Ghost podium slayer...

 
                             Forgot I had an old Rocco's Pizza sticker from my days in PDX...

Perfection achieved...

And then I rode home with my muddy, bloody, broken iron horse strapped to the trusted Kona Ute cargo bike....the wind and rain had ceased and the streets opened their arms to the victor.

Long live the Princess...

Rim job...

Tomorrow night is the KC Sprints Rim Race and I plan on winning...above is my steed for the festivities, which has a freewheel and no brakes, albeit a caliper on the front with no cable or lever. I will not need to stop until I crush the entire field and drink more beer than an Irish Priest in the Boy Scouts. You all have been warned...

And from 2008's race...Chris-Go customizing his Barbie bike.