Deal with it.
a true cafe racer….daddy digs.
Jesus, man. Just stumbled across your blog and looks like a good read–but that’s not why I’m writing. I’m writing about how I found your blog–I was pissing in this Iowa truckstop bathroom when this little dwarf-looking dude waddles up to the urinal next to me, muttering “fuck off…fucking savages” and CLANG, rests this meter-long machete on the porcelain while he wrestles this tremendous schlong from his camo pants and proceeds to piss for about ten minutes, like a goddamn horse. It’s not right, but I can’t help but peek–and then I see them: a big .44 revolver on his waist and scabby letters cut into his forearm, spelling the address to this blog. Now, I’m a big tough guy, but I ran for it, man, and hid until long after he’d kicked open his Harley and roared off west on Interstate 80. Run, man. Run now.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 112 other followers