Look here, the Tidewater Challenge is looming, and I got the huge onus roilin' on my shouldaz. The Man with the Hand decided that he's gonna live vicariously through my shit, so he rolls into the shop round a few days ago, and all pins me with an eye, all askin "how am I gonna do Sunday?" For the sake of this example, I=TMWTH=Me=Scooter. What the shit. Some ex-professional decides that his happiness and overall feeling of well-being and accomplishment rides on the performance of a sloppity ass piggy-pig boy with an extremely large butt who cannot lay down the mountain bike ballz at all. The solution? Bacon, Raisins, and 2.4" tires.
Move over, bitch, I'm linin' up.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
CHUNDERKATS
O Great Blumpkinz,
It is with joyous tidingz that I return to the land of the meat-and-preserved-fruit blogs. For I hast got tha bibshortz, delivered from Our Heavenly Nike Cycling unto His children, in Closeout immemmorial. Forever and ever, Hamen.
Dunfortunately, the bibs got DAS WEIRDEN STRAPPEN which are all flat and do not stick out at all from the skin, thus making us look as though we are wearing DAS BODY PAINT.
In bad news, I am still short some expensive bike shit, noteable THE WHEEL OF POWERTAPPING, hallowed forever by the most sacred and transmogrifying semen of DR. ALLEN LIM, Ph.D. Without such a wheel I am stranded forever in the ANCIENT AND TERRIFYING LAND OF POOR CHUMPS, whose plaintive cries resound off high walls, designed to keep the impoverished from ever viewing the bountiful paradise of the wealthy, where billionaires PISS THEIR PANTS WHILE DRIVING FERRARIS THROUGH HAYSTACKS MADE OF MONEY.
If my bike doesn't cost more than my car, how will anyone ever know how important I am? Wait up (doggs), I don't have a car.
Moral: THE POWERTAP SL'S "POWER WINDOW" CARBON INSERTS ALLOW TRANSMISSION THROUGH THE HUBSHELL, WHICH IN TURN ALLOWS THE PLACEMENT OF THE SENSITIVE ELECTRONICS CLOSER TO THE HUB CENTER, SHIELDING THEM FROM THE ELEMENTS.
Move over, bitch, I'm lining up!
It is with joyous tidingz that I return to the land of the meat-and-preserved-fruit blogs. For I hast got tha bibshortz, delivered from Our Heavenly Nike Cycling unto His children, in Closeout immemmorial. Forever and ever, Hamen.
Dunfortunately, the bibs got DAS WEIRDEN STRAPPEN which are all flat and do not stick out at all from the skin, thus making us look as though we are wearing DAS BODY PAINT.
In bad news, I am still short some expensive bike shit, noteable THE WHEEL OF POWERTAPPING, hallowed forever by the most sacred and transmogrifying semen of DR. ALLEN LIM, Ph.D. Without such a wheel I am stranded forever in the ANCIENT AND TERRIFYING LAND OF POOR CHUMPS, whose plaintive cries resound off high walls, designed to keep the impoverished from ever viewing the bountiful paradise of the wealthy, where billionaires PISS THEIR PANTS WHILE DRIVING FERRARIS THROUGH HAYSTACKS MADE OF MONEY.
If my bike doesn't cost more than my car, how will anyone ever know how important I am? Wait up (doggs), I don't have a car.
Moral: THE POWERTAP SL'S "POWER WINDOW" CARBON INSERTS ALLOW TRANSMISSION THROUGH THE HUBSHELL, WHICH IN TURN ALLOWS THE PLACEMENT OF THE SENSITIVE ELECTRONICS CLOSER TO THE HUB CENTER, SHIELDING THEM FROM THE ELEMENTS.
Move over, bitch, I'm lining up!
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