Sunday, December 17, 2006

Sign up now:

Sorry to put you all through this again, but it's all for the better. With a forum we can get more people signed up and posting, and hopefully keeping this wreck afloat. Spread the word to your friends, and post up a topic to get started. I'll soon be redirecting the forum to connect directly to the main page, but for now you'll have to go through this link here, or type it your own damn self.

Friday, December 15, 2006

So instead of a blog, what do you think about a small web forum? I could set up one for local rides, road and mountain, and then a couple others for random bull- keeping it simple. Any thoughts? Anyone other than Wiz reading this?

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Yo I'm back. Lost my password and blooger wouldn't respond to my requests to reset it for some odd reason.

So for now, listen to Superuser Do:

Some new bullshit soon enough.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

In cold we will ride, from the wind we will hide

Finally rode my mountain bike in Frederick last night, and it was amazing. I rode with Jason, a guy who’ll be helping me informally around the shop. He races for the team, works with more, has a ‘real’ job, leads group rides for more (and on the road), AND is married...quite the feat in the bicycle industry. We ended up doing a loop in Greenbrier State park that Jason had mapped out. The night was very windy (gusts up to at least 30mph) and cold (41 degrees), however the loop that we started on began with a bit of a climb, actually a bitch of a climb. It was loose, rocky, long, semi-steep (but not too much so), and straight...all the things Frederick is known for with a climb. This of course quickly warmed us up - cursing the fact that I decided to throw the wool jersey on before I left the car (which I actually brought as a post-ride change of clothes. Got to the top of the climb and saw the first thing that excited me about night-riding at this particular park, signs. Not just any signs either, ridiculously well marked signs - like the sort you see at airports (oh, never mind...they don’t mark shit in airports...the kind you should see in airports.) After checking the you are here pointer and knowing we were moving in the right direction we ponied-up and did some more climbing...but this time the nice, long, steady, non-rocky sort...yummm it was delicious. I’ll spare you the pedal for pedal details, but suffice to say the riding was incredible...the perfect mix of down hills, rocks, technical rock gardens and climbing. I think this will have to become a weekly night ride spot, if not a couple days a week.

I truly can’t wait to show you fuckers these trails out here, after only tasting this one for the first time. Get your bikes, get in your cars, stop arguing with each other, charge your lights...and get your fucking asses out here. Now.

Friday, October 20, 2006

In twilight we will ride...we all must ride

Motherfucking Night Ride...Hollah
Thursday the twenty sixth day of our dark lord satan. Meet at 9:30 on rolling road. P-Town State Park. Bring brewskies if you wana drink brewskie or grass if you wana play the kazoo. Any questions direct them my way in one of two formats: Pigeon Carrier with a note to 5732 Buckeystown Pike or leave a comment.
GFY Velo...represent!

P.S. You Slack better start posting.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

The immediacy of imperfection is always recognizable....

The realization that we all are, isn’t.

I was slapped in the face this morning by a bag of shit in overalls. Our paper bag full of feces manifested itself in the form of a bearded fellow in blue overalls. Scraggly and dirty he looked like Will Oldham, if Will Oldham was actually sincere about who he might be. Shitty was sitting, legs sprawled out, head back against the window, between two stores in the shopping center: The Owls Nest, a new-age hippy fuck fest of a store and, appropriately given his state, a childrens hair-cuttery named short cuts.
‘Fuck’ I thought ‘just don’t ask me for a goddamn dollar, it’s not that I’d give you the fucking dollar, or even that I feel bad saying no, it’s that I have to open my son-of-a-bitch or a mouth to speak to anyone - much less someone who smells of cat urine - already this morning.’
Alas, my worries were ill found, Mr. Shitty was deep into conversation, with himself.
‘HEH!’ he spewed, with that half laugh guttural sound that only comes when someone is in disbelief, ‘well I’d say that...sure...what, and why can’t we just do it?’ ‘DO IT!!!!?’
Now he’s taken to smiling and his voice is raised a notch, I’m full on staring at the poor bastard (laterally) and he takes no notice of me. At this point I realize that he’s not merely drunk, as at least drunk people by this time would ask to either fight or make out, full on psychopath.
Shit-ball then starts to laugh so hard he sort of topples to the side, slaps the ground with his hand then bangs the back of his head into the window. Arms splayed out like some sort of retarded Angel - ‘So why, WHY, heh....HEH! Sure, sure he said that....AHAHA!’
Noww I’m like any other human being on this earth, I feel bad for the ignorant - poor - disheveled - ugly - psychotic masses, so long as they don’t slow down my production for the day, and even more so when I feel the need to refer to someone as: ‘bag of shit’ ‘Mr. Shitty’ or ‘Shit ball’. But here is the fucked up thing, I felt some envy for him. I mean shit, this motherfucker could sit on some sidewalk in Frederick fucking Maryland and have a fuck of a time, with no one around. I can barely entertain myself with the TV on, music playing, dick in hand, with a crowd full of people around, and this son-of-bitch is rolling over in laughter.
Of course the perils of the vagrant go beyond smelling of piss and vinegar, as I type this the police have come. The man flees into the woods, police in hot pursuit, but not wanting to leave the coziness of their African-American-Chasing-Mobile they decide to turn scarecrow and sit in the parking lot enjoying the last bits of Dunkin’ Doughnuts and seaman smoothie from the morning stop.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Can you hear me now?

So what the fuck people? Call me stupid and ignorant but you guys have to have time to throw some stuff on here every so often. Trevor, your at school, a mild alcoholic and living the life all of us want to live - skipping class, drinking daily, staying out all night going to random house parties, getting anally penetrated by the pirates of Beta Kappa Anal.....oh yeah..we did all do that, it was called High School (minus the but sex) B.S. you make music, you smoke weed and drink beer and work at the shop, you can post shit, git’ to it dammit. Gurrie and Tucker (and who ever else I might be leaving off this email that has access to posting) crack those little ham fingers and start typing. Give me some tabloid stuff people....either about you getting laid (or Tucker, spooning) or drunk or bike rides or vandalism or just a goddamn story about trees and leaves and birds getting shot.
As for me, well first of all, fuck you for calling me stupid and ignorant (see above) I got a tattoo, as your all well aware by now, then followed it up with a good night of shit-facing, illegal public drinking, and listening to the heart ache of the drunk guy that just tattooed me talk about his girl getting the served the cock by someone not named Jon (obviously our little tattooer’s name was Jon, fuckhead)
It was a Saturday and I was excited as shit all day about having a needle repeatedly jabbed in my back, so much so that I didn’t eat. A single thing. All day. Six o’clock came around and with the ceremonial turning-off of the open sign came the very recognizable sound of a beer opening - then 2 more after. I make my nervous-ass way to the car and drive down to the place...get out, say hi - ‘hi’ - then walk in to the buzzing sound of needles going to town. Immediately I regret my decision to put something permanent on my body. O.K. I think - this is a normal psychological reflex of altering ones body permanently and your mind telling you that as you are is as you were meant to be...fuck your mind..push through this Brian. So I smile and say ‘k, what am I putting on my back’ We decide (and by we I mean Brian and Brian - my alter ego that kept saying ‘can we make it smaller) alter it a bit, take out some of the detail, take off some things here, change the size there, pussify it, you know. To the printer it goes and out comes the result...k...guess I’m out of time-wasting-excuses ‘lets do it’ I say with an eager, but very fake, smile.
Now comes the pants shitting. We get to the booth, ‘take off your shirt and sit backwards on the seat’ Christ it felt like being in the doctors office waiting for those AIDS tests to come back, you bite your lip and think about every Tommica, Dickrhonda, and Harry-pussy you slept with - without protection, ‘cept this time I was just thinking about being ‘one of those guys’ who has some self important mark on his back for the rest of time - and I was going over the list of people that might ever see it and what they would thinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnk......whelp, guess we just got started. The pain was meh. Annoying and at worse mildly painful. Felt like someone took a needle, dipped it in ink, then started to draw on my back with a little machine that poked at me a shitload of times - hmmmm.
‘Anyone want a beer’ - and by the look of things the ‘anyone’ was me - so I got a 22oz can of budwiser to gulp down while getting stung. This of course led to another of the same - as do most drinks, and a finished tattoo. I was really happy with how things came out, the artist and I got along really well (sure, we cuddled a little bit too) He mentioned that there was a show going on at the local speakeasy that evening - a bit of punk/hip-hop/heavy metal mash-up dj shindig that I might wana check out. Well what a brilliant idea...why not go and get shitfaced, run my body into the ground, bring down my immune system via dehydration, encourage my new open wound to bleed and become infected and possible into a fight. “I’m there”
So after getting home and cleaning wounds, I decided the best course of action would be to drink at home to save some money, encourage a buzz and possibly a car accident. Well upon getting to the bar - Guido’s - I get carded, of course, and no I.D. Fuck. Must’ve either left it at the tattoo place or the liquor store (for the second of those 22's), let’s try the liquor store first as the tattoo parlor would require a brick through the window to get inside, which may alert the authorities. Walk down to the god-awful purple building with liquor inside (hard to call such a run-down shit hole a liquor store - don’t want to tarnish the image) and there it is...still sitting on the goddamn counter I plopped it onto for the guy to check. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even have the courtesy to move it for me so as to at least pretend to diswade some vagrant from stealing my identity. Oh well.....back at Guido’s the music is louder and it seems like the crowd has taken to dancing a bit more. I do a shot with a few friends - blackhouse - followed by a beer - followed by another shot of blackhouse - followed by another brewskie - all in quick succession of course. Then over to some tables to hang out with my new crowd, where I’m introduced to another little substance called cocaine. Now the introduction was merely that, I decided not to sleep with her that night, rather I chose to go dancing, but was amazed by the fact that people were doing blow off a dingy table - in fucking FREDERICK. Christ people!
Anyway, I started dancing. Well ok, ok, started to move around and flail to this mix of whatever over whatever - occasionally grinding myself into some lucky lass standing by me, ‘till she realizes that I’m not her boyfriend and promptly walks away...NEXT. Once I become bored of this little charade, or at least scared of about 12 different boyfriends, I move back to the bar. Not wanting to hang out with the coke-head group and seeing the my newfound tattoo friend is having some drama time on the phone I move to the bar to have another drink.
‘Hi!’ a girls voice says
I turn my head smiling - thinking they must’ve mistaken me and see her staring right me ‘hey, how are ya’?’
‘Good how are you?’ she retorts...smiling, real big smile.
‘blah blah blah’
This goes on for an hour or so...all the while drinking heavily - shots - drinks - shots...then dancing..another hour...she leaves...numbers are exchanged.
Wow, I think...that was different! Another shot for that one...then back to the dance floor. Guy comes out in a devil costume and starts to spin even more over the top mixes (slayer and Tupac comes to mind) I dance for another hour or so...until closing time which we all then spill out onto the streets. My tattoo friend comes stumbling around the corner with a bag and some depressed looking shit on his face.
‘Whats up Jon?’ I ask
‘Ahhhhh my’s sfucking girlfrien’s a bitch...fuckin’ sslut isssleeping with another guy tonite’ He slurs back
‘Shit man, wana go start a fight? Or drink those beers I think you have in that bag there’ I point to said bag.
Jon’s face gets all smiley...’that’s the fucked-up things bro...I aint gotta no place tooooo drinkem’ since the ol’ ladys fucking this other guy.’
‘K....lets go fight’ I say
‘Nahhh bro...I don’t wana gets arrested again...’
At this point we start to knock on about 5 different doors around Frederick, hoping that one of the poor slobs Jon knows is up and about (maybe the coke-head crowd woulda been the best to see at this time in the A.M. After finding not nerry a one house to imbibe ourselves in I offer a local alley-way:
‘Hey..what about just drinking down there?’ I point down a fucking alley - of course
‘Sssshit - yeah. Yes. Why didididin’t I think of thatsshit?’
We finish the sixer, break some bottles in the dumpster, yell that people in Frederick need to wake ‘the fuck’ up and head our merry little ways.