PINK bike seat
Blogger Post April 23rd, 2006
Well, I am tired of getting chami sores so I decided to get a new seat. This is the Terry Damselfly seat, made for women. I got it in pink so I can really piss off guys when I pass them and made chodes feel like wusses when they try to hammer me and then blow up. Sweet! I’m trying to pimp my ride a little, but hopefully next year I’ll get me a nice, new road bike. The frame on this one is a handme down and it’s actually pretty heavy compared to what the other girls are riding. It’s a leaned out frank the tank. The original frank was my 35 lb mountain bike that I thought was light before I knew better. More later on the race I did today. All I can say is that I will be in a world of pain next week at the Gila.
April 25th, 2006 at 6:08 pm
.
We work like a horse.
We eat like a pig.
We like to play chicken.
You can get someone’s goat.
We can be as slippery as a snake.
We get dog tired.
We can be as quiet as a mouse.
We can be as quick as a cat.
Some of us are as strong as an ox.
People try to buffalo others.
Some are as ugly as a toad.
We can be as gentle as a lamb.
Sometimes we are as happy as a lark.
Some of us drink like a fish.
We can be as proud as a peacock.
A few of us are as hairy as a gorilla.
You can get a frog in your throat.
We can be a lone wolf.
But I’m having a whale of a time!
You have a riveting web log
and undoubtedly must have
atypical & quiescent potential
for your intended readership.
May I suggest that you do
everything in your power to
honor your encyclopedic/omniscient
Designer/Architect as well
as your revering audience.
As soon as we acknowledge
this Supreme Designer/Architect,
Who has erected the beauteous
fabric of the universe, our minds
must necessarily be ravished with
wonder at this infinate goodness,
wisdom and power.
Please remember to never
restrict anyone’s opportunities
for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence.
There is a time for everything,
a season for every activity
under heaven. A time to be
born and a time to die. A
time to plant and a time to
harvest. A time to kill and
a time to heal. A time to
tear down and a time to
rebuild. A time to cry and
a time to laugh. A time to
grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones
and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a
time to turn away. A time to
search and a time to lose.
A time to keep and a time to
throw away. A time to tear
and a time to mend. A time
to be quiet and a time to
speak up. A time to love
and a time to hate. A time
for war and a time for peace.
Best wishes for continued ascendancy,
Dr. Whoami
P.S. One thing of which I am sure is
that the common culture of my youth
is gone for good. It was hollowed out
by the rise of ethnic “identity politics,”
then splintered beyond hope of repair
by the emergence of the web-based
technologies that so maximized and
facilitated cultural choice as to make
the broad-based offerings of the old
mass media look bland and unchallenging
by comparison.”