I bumped into the shaming couple in the third world club the other night. They asked one simple question. They didn't like my answer.
Just because you are wrapped in two tons of steel and plastic doesn’t mean you get to run over anything that slightly annoys you — especially a fat biker just out for a ride.
The CVS drugstore near my office is clean, efficient, and can fill every imagniable personal need. It's fucking amazing. I love it. Unfortunately, it's more of a magnet for crime than a two-dollar whore house.
I was just two windows away from my second possible menage-a-trois, and I'm so old, I didn't even turn around to look.
Believe it or not, I have a friend, who recently became "famous" for quitting. Well, at least "internet famous" (in Tucson only) when he quietly retired.
If you see me being led away in handcuffs anytime soon, it was just life teaching me another little lesson about me. Here's my side of the story.
I fucking knew Josh and Angry Ed would not be able to let that go. I would have bet a month's pay it would be Angry Ed... but it wasn't.
Being a fat biker (pedaling not Harley) with no pigment leaves me little choice. I have to ride at night or risk Satan's kisses (sunburn all over). I'm a night person anyway. I put on two motorcycle power headlights, a flashing red tail light and head out once the sun turned off.
Fucking 57-years-old and what do you get? Another participation trophy and deeper in debt.
Humans came here about 12,000 years ago. Maybe they were explorers following the mountains and water in search of a better life? More likely they were refugees left to die in this god forsaken summer of hell with no air conditioning.