Saturday, December 17, 2011

Vagina Town Diaries

 Nine Thousand Ninety Nine NEW Reasons to BUY USED
 In the circles I hang out in (in my dreams), the "clicks", the chopper elite(s) (double barf) there's always an element of the awesome garage build to some degree (one would hope). It might be nothing more than a well accessorized Sportster; stripped of the non-essentials and equipped with a few shakes of the salt-stick (maybe a pull start or some drilled breather bolts, etc. i.e "cleaned up") or maybe it's the full retard rigid frame single wired (from the battery to the points to the frame with a twist somewhere along the length) every piece fabricated from cock raw steel patina inviting handlebars or heat and bent extra wrenches salvaged from laying around the shop floor now brake and shift pedals. You know... But on my travels both in the "real" internet world (aka the matrix) and in the perceived reality of every day norms, I occasionally come across the "grand inspiration" Sportster chop/build.
(Did you notice the rear fender on the above "pink" Sportster? I know, the tassels were such a distraction, especially when you then proceeded to imagine them not on the handlebar grips but on the jugs of the rider nude. Go on, admit it.)
 It takes a true motorcyclist to advance to the next level of abandoning the stock "Black" or "Denim Black" or even "Gloss Black" (please ignore the "Cross Bone Flat Black" as it is definitely not included in this apparent "all things bad ass are black" reference) and pushing fast forward, snorting meth, drinking Jolt cola, punching yourself in the testicles, on the evolution meter to "I can and DO rock a Pink Sportster." They seldom go to rally's, events, art shows, or other hipster parties. More often they ride, dig this, to AND from work! I know? Where's the glam in that? No glory.
 You might expect this the perfect opportunity for a "pink taco" insert joke application, but hold back. We're on "pull" out mode not "push." Pink draws the attention of the night. In a sea of baggers foaming at the mouth to find the "rebel" inside the white (collar) world on black colored bikes (must be a small man syndrome if you think about it), pink screams at the top of her lungs. True, much like the Life Guard whistles of yesterdays city plunges, others have taken the art of blowing into a resounding annoying horn to new levels (read: the homosexual community, no offense given but often times taken with having to recognize your obviousness to the extreme point of annoyance. Yes, you're here. You're here with the rest of us. Now shut the fuck up and sit down.) Pink bikes are not only the diamonds in the rough but also the illusive Unicorns of myth.
Hiding in plain sight; the Hobart worthy razor sharp front rim, the blood covering the tank from where this rider failed to yield the right of way through downtown Sturgis (can I get an a'men brother!). The leather suit she's wearing was actually white before the killing started, now the stains rarely was all the way out, but damn if they don't smell like Downey's Jasmise Scented Water Lily's. Doucha'licious!
Read the Original Post for a deep insight to Lady Humps new adventure time project: "Vagina Town Diaries" new on AMC monday nights after Breaking Bad.
The cast includes all the elements of the "Hipster Youth" that Adolf never dreamed possible. BTW, their dad's are all named "Adolfo" or a version there-of, coincidence? I think not. Each has they're very own fat chick at home waiting anxiously for their man(*) to come home (can you say motherly influence). Not for sex mind you! Ha ha, no! ... bring home the take out bags of family feast dollar chinese food. He (Hitler) had to make it mandatory all boys ages 10 and over joined his youth camp (that or face execution), these days, the kids just conform mindlessly. Raybans were gay then, and they're gay now. You've got the skinny jeans, knit caps, flannel, leather shoes (if not booties), black and/or tight fitting sweatshirts, all three are rocking the facial hair, crotch fascinations (not facist-ations), and they're drinking the Mother Teresa pee tainted holy water of the cult; PBR. You just can't face this shit! (... or FAKE it!)

(*) "Man" definition still pending...

"I don't understand this post Robin?"

It's okay Batman, this blog sucks donkey dicks anyway... Let's go get a 12 pack of PBR and peel off this spandex.

No comments: