while judi and domenic were hussying about the pool zone, snakehawk went a-biking. i went for two rides this past holiday weekend, which is pretty fucking rare, and my riding form was nothing short of loser. in the end, i won, and the bomber of tecate crept towards my star-spangled liver like so many whimpering francis scott keyses on their way back to the homeland.
i won, i say, but only because of an ansi-dot-approved lidpad. behold:
woozy and befuddled, wondering how i ended up in such a predicament, i shook it off and got back to chopping the dirt. thanks, america. thanks for coming right up on me in such a bold and unpretentious way.
while reshelving the synapses of my brain after ameri-jock knocked them to the floor, i did see in my mind’s eye, a chariot of egress; a noble purple carriage of salvation. it looked like this:
But alas, i had to let it go. There were more important things to think about today. Like Ben Franklin’s dimwitticisms, illegal north americans, chinese fireworks, chinese railroads, deregulation, domestic oil, and fucking bikes. sweet, simple, perfect, enlightening bikes.
You hit me on the head, America, and that’s just plain jock-shit.by