Pre-ride rejection...

Finally off to the Blue River on the Jones but had to cleanse my visual palate before loading up...

...and yes, that's a dead baby mouse in a friend of mine's dog food: happy Monday.

Stoned.

In my myriad attempts to be the drunkest of all drunk cyclists, last night's diversionary tactics might just get me into the record books: I had my car loaded with all my mt. bike gear, ready to hit the Blue River for a long night ride, and lo and behold, Urethra Franklin - the Whitest of all Mikes - sends me a picture of the tap takeover at the Flying Saucer...Stone Brewing. My beer geek-itude may be a bit fledgling when compared to many of my closest friends, but in times of embarrassing addictive behavior, I can keep up with the mama bird quite well. As long as the company is correct - and with Handleballs, the aforementioned El Blanco and Ms. Melissa - the Power and Light district can be somewhat tolerable, even when a gaggle of dipshit Futbol fans are sporting their ascots and scarves in a fashion statement that even the Bieber would find offensive.

The saddest part of this sordid tome, however, is the simple fact that I again chose to forgo a chance to get dirty on my Krampus and instead opted for an 18 mile roundtrip ride on my carbon 'cross bike - with slicks.  This revelation alone should get my IMBA card revoked, but the regret I feel this morning is not unlike waking up next to a babe with a hairier face than mine - and pile of Bud Lights and used condoms...

On this day nothing happened...

Other than a few bubbles telling me it's a good day for near-death alcohol poisoning, and a 10 hour workday - working for the biggest morons on the planet - little news of substance is available for distribution. One good ol' party in my panties happened, though, when Urethra Franklin posted that he'd seen that my lover from another mutha, Stevil, posted the flier of my upcoming Ride for Death -and if you don't follow AHTBM ( http://www.allhailtheblackmarket.com ) you are probably somewhere close to a 70 IQ and a few cards short of a deck...

Maybe tonight if Ricko the Dicko shows his face here at the house, we can hit up The Bier Station and I can fantasize about riding my bike on the trails; something that has not come to fruition as of late...an utter failure of conscience and lack of anal fortitude that is quite shocking, even to I who don't not never be shocked by nothing. Quadruple negatives can go shart on themselves....

Dump me...

Since the humidity is in the range of being close to a whale's coochie, I decided to stay in tonight and drink many a North Coast 'Pranqster' and commiserate with myself over the state of the union; following a ridiculous amount of self-pity with a side of remorse over the obvious lack of morality that the Bible told me that I no havy...

...which is concurrent with my hatred of the tard of the South Newt Gingrich and his modern-day equivalent, Ted Cruz...but that is old news and I hate repeating myself myself myself myself myself...

....so tonight's festivities will be limited to the stimuli of the visual, because in my altered state I cannot even begin to make sense of either the aural or the mental; due in no small part to denial being a force to be reckoned with - and my imaginary friends even hating me...

Cocky Blocky...

Ah beer, the elixir of life itself, the drowner of sorrows, the lubrication of love, the sweet sweat of the Gawds...

the crew made a trip up to the Northern Climes of Kansas City last night, and had quite the little meeting of minds with the beer geeks at Cinder Block Brewery, our newest establishment of import -

http://cinderblockbrewery.com/# .  Overall I give the Boner Ghost stamp of approval, and would rate the beer and atmosphere in the area of 8.5 out of 10, which for KC is phenomenal...

These guys really have their shit together and I can only see success in the immediate future...

I will not go into a detailed analysis of the beer, instead I will leave that facet of this conversation to those who get chubbies from elucidating others on the merits of 'mouth-feel' and debates on the ability of our palates to detect IBU's over the 120 mark. All I can say is that I will be going back again and again, until the owners kick the Princess out for fondling the barrels of sours that are displayed ever so tastefully along the wall adjacent to the bar...

Bathroom decor at Cinder Block...

As it was a weeknight, we had to head south to the Bier Station and eventually to Charlie Hooper's for after-hour sustenance and of course, per the high standards I require, debauchery ensued - as the below image illustrates...

Do yourself a favor and support local small business by heading across the river - minutes from downtown - and grab a growler of some of the finest beer in the metro...

Bleep you, bleep me, bleepidy bleep bleep...

Some serious shit has been piling up in the toilet of my mind as of late, and unfortunately I have not been on the trails since last Wednesday...which in and of itself is enough excuse to call in a drone attack on some random Republican district in Texas.  That being said -and all wet dreams accounted for - many a thang has been happening in the recent past that is of utmost import when all is said and dumb. The Pirate finally loaded his Walmart-filling shit into a semi truck and headed west....

...and of course I was a huge help in drinking beer and supervising said packing and stuffing; reminiscent of my last attempt at fisting myself without proper lubrication. El Blanco Miguel said it best when relaying the consensus of the crowd at the final Pirate cXc race: "dude, your new nickname is 'the downward spiral'." But that is neither there nor here nor any-fucking-where when it comes to the recap of the past 10 days: it took at least 4 days for my b.a.c. to drop to a legal limit, and that is actually quite speedy for me if I don't say so me-self...

But at least this week's agenda is shaping up to be a barn-burner of a hoe down....a visit to the newest micro-brewery here in KC: Cinder Block Brewing; and a long-ass trail ride at Swope on Thursday. Sounds good to the Captain Ghost Boner for realzies - I mean, what does the Fox say? I'll tell ya: 'go fuck a retarded llama.'

...so let's get down to the task at tit: talking some bike shite.  JDizzle my shizzle-dog-pizzle stripped his green MukLuk naked and had his way with her this last week, and ended up with an ebony beauty after all was said and done:

It would seem that he has a few friends in medium altitude places, and due to this fact, he got some kick ass paint pasted on his fatty; which is simply euphemistic code for my normal Wednesday night at Buddies. The Porker looks supa-tight, though, and now if he and Jamaal Charles would stop partying every night, maybe the Dizzle would actually get the bike onto some dirt. If you are in the market for a new look for your steed, or if you need to hide the fact that all your bikes are stolen, check out this dude's shit on Facefuck - https://www.facebook.com/breakdowncustompaint - . He does some fine work indeed.....Breakdown Cycles by Helios to be specific; and I here tell Mr. Clay is a devoted follower of the Cuntwat. A fine, upstanding citizen for sure.