Lobotomy don't bodda me.

In the rare event that Satan in Satin appears before my very eyes and rubs one out in my belly button, let it be known, let it ring from on high, that if somehow my ability to be 110% irreverent  in the face of impotent, vacuous fatuousness, please insert an icepick deep into my nasal cavity and put an end to my misery, my waking nightmare that is the acrid bubble wherein the States of Un-raveled finds itself; take the trash out to pasture, rid the World of the massive mistake that is Turtle Island...

Let us rejoice in the pure and unadulterated entropy that is visible from every fetid corner of our electorate, the culmination of every iota of Right-wing propaganda since 1980. Racism equals fear; fear equals intellectual scarcity; solutions are but one genocide away from Ayn Rand. Fuck you fools.

Aside from a latent drug addiction, bikes and beer are still the holy duality, the balm for empathy, the panacea for mass delusion...so shall we embark on a visual journey through the digital memory that is the off-road cycling scene here in Kansas City, a shining star in the turd-laden punchbowl that refreshes more than Oprah on a GMO binge...

SSKC happened again...the single-speeded bestest eventest on the Planetest. 

A Pog Blost: The Hot Cock Diet

Fail better, fail faster: a visual history of the last 4-ish months, give or take a year. 

In the dastardly case that the meaning of life is simply an addiction to breathing, as well as the proof that everything even half-way original has been repeated ad nauseum for at least the last 50 years; any attempt to discern a modicum of sense/sensibility here in this digital wasteland will be for naughty. So, as per historical precedent, no linear order will be applied to the following scribe, for when available, voluntary retardation is the proper path; the ending masquerading as the beginning is the simplest excuse for a dynamism of stasis. In other locution: hate my balls, not my taint.

When needed, a caption -in italics - will provide a drunken explanation of any pertinent information, most likely a 35 IQ diatribe wherein beer, babes and bikes will suffice...

My last post was a report from Sacramento and NAHBS 2016/reporting for Fatbike.com /Oddity Cycles, and shame has consumed me ever since to a degree heretofore unknown in any Western society...butt, things here in KC have been so shiny and new that my stubby little fingers have been unable to put words to the 10100011001's. My loss, your gain, fucktards.

SMP, Shawnee KS.

Kaw River bus graveyard.

Rozarks, KCMO. David HasselShoff's ultra-urban masterpiece....

Lake Jacomo, KCMO with The Beej, The Silent Killer, El Blanco Miguel and the OrChasm.

Oh, and I bought another bike - sold my Jones and original Krampussy - and hitherto have been banished from the Kingdom of Oddity, a treat unlike a one-armed stripper in Branson. 

...a Scott Genius Plus LT, a carbon wall-climber and rock-crawler with 27.5x3.25 tires: cushy bliss between my bologna curtains. 

Swope Park, home to the 2nd annual SSKC, you fuckunts are not worthy.

...#pussycaps were an International sensation and single-handedly caused the recent Brexit. 

El Blanco Miguel finally received his Moonmen Ti Fatty, and my son already wants to spend his first year's tuition to KU on his....

I drink beer. Beer I drink. Drink I beer.

...Primanti Sandwich ride, an OrChasm victory dance to the Gawds. 

Ryan Jones Strikes Back, the *457th movie in the Star Whores Trilogy. 

The new Oddity Cycles Gayzer bars are the shit in the shazizzle. 

Dan, the Danimal Boxwine Danny puts on some serious prom dances...

Literally the sole reason that Urethra Franklin and I got a divorce, he dissed me so hard that my hot TwatWaffle dripped syrup so thick that #hardcorboncummybuns got a 5-hour chubby.