It's about all thats on my mind every November 1st; goddamn, Halloween is such a kick-ass holiday. This year my bloody wounds don't even have a good story, after numerous tall-boys of PBR I wrecked on my way back home, about 20 feet from the front door of my building, it was rad. Scraped up those clean-ass Nitto bars and both my elbows, I'm really quite astounded that I made it though the alley-cat I raced in without killing myself, hauling ass on these mountain streets in the sort of stupor that usually leads one towards activities of the felonious type: trick or treat motherfucker. The after race party was loud and rowdy, just like it should have been, stretching across two apartments and spilling out into the connecting hallways, all guests with the aforementioned tall-boys in hand, either that or one of those fucking lethal "irish trashcan" drinks getting ripped to the tits on the caffeine and liquor, fucking degenerates. God only knows how many of those things i poured down my throat, all i know is that i was feeling it this morning. Feliz Dia de los Muertos.
-signing off.
More Interesting Than This Page:
Fuck You! - somebody brick this guys house.
Lance is putting in work
Update from the Front
Blood, Scars, and Hangovers
Heckling?!?!
Cyclocross has to be the single most miserable event that a collegiate racer can participate in. And just like those poor bastards; we are knee-deep into the season at this point. Being far too poor to afford any kind of bike that would be suitable for the 'Cross season I will be forced to sit this one out, so sad. Don't bother with your sympathies because I am free to have the most fun out of all those motherfuckers! I am free as a bird to heckle and jeer to my hearts content. To my disbelief, no one really knew what heckling was on my back to back championship cycling team! "How the fuck did you do so well so far?!" I exclaimed as i jumped back, horrified with this new realization, that my fellow teammates were absolutely NO FUN. However; not all hope is lost, one buddy has a recently cast-liberated broken wrist, not yet in a condition for riding, and a few other poor S.O.B.'s that dont own a bike that will suffice for competitive cyclocross. I only hope that I may show these kids the joy of heckling as it was presented to be by the great minds at "Dirt Rag" and "How to Avoid the Bummer Life": the unbridled contempt shown for those bastards who were stupid enough to subject themselves to a torturous 'cross race in the first place. 
I explained to my poor comrade all the joys that lay within making the miserable, that much more miserable. The zen of being wasted-drunk, shouting obscenities into the ear of anyone who happens to pass by, either friend or foe, cow-bells reverberating in their skulls for laps to follow. Thats right fella's we'll spit on every sorry motherfucker that passes by us, and have a grand ol' time. I cant wait man, I only hope the kids who I convinced to ride out to the next few races to heckle enjoy this experience in the same way that I did when I was first shown the glory in spraying Pabst Blue Ribbon all over the break-away pack. I guess we'll see.
