Pre ryde – Day 1
Mistress Cheeseburger sent me a fancy interweb message a few weeks back about riding motorcycles, I like motorcycles, she knows this, but SisterCousin doesn’t make plans so I promptly forgot. Whammy, flash ferward two weeks and Wednesday night or so she said sumthin like “You ready for dat weekend ridez?”
“What rides? I like rides? Let’s rides”
Just like dat, I was in.
Sistercousin had to fix his bike lickity split. Needed a new frunt tyre, new lights, lubez (can never have enough lubez) Got all my shiz in order, packed my ghetto trunk full of things and stuff. Turned down sex with someone who wasn’t, or I think wasn’t mah cousin, to go ride bikes. Yeeeehawwww
Then it was Friday morning, we dun met up at Sturbucks in Emeryville, Homedepo next door had it’s alarm going off, the homeless were pissing in the street, there was a black guy in zerbra pants dancing to Kelly Clarkson. I luv the east bay. Cheeseburger rolled up and yelled at me “You park like an asshole!”
Sidewalk parking is not asshole’ish, it is goshdarn manditory! Git it right!
Then I ates a bagel. Mmmm bagels.
Twenty minutes later I got a Performance Award from a big kind feller on a Harldy. His flash’n blue and red lights were mesmerizing, he gifted me a pretty little yeller piece of paper dat reads mah name and things I allegedly did wrongz. Hooligan’ism isn’t wrong, it’s god damn right!
PIN IT TO WIN IT!!!
Mistress Cheeseburger snapped dis cool pic of me getting awarded:
Then we brappeled along until somewhere, where we drank moar caffeine and bought some jerky, I ruv me some jerky. It is SisterCousins life sustenance. Den trouble dun showed up, BanjoBoy. Such a sillywilly hillbilly, he rides on of dem big tour’n bikes, but I think he is too stoopid to realize it ain’t a dirt bike. Somethin ain’t right wif him. But he is pretty funny, and he can ride goods too.
The three of us rode our bykes all over. Up, down, left, sometimes right. Mostly left. Hours and hours of lefts, with some rights. So many giggles, lots of gravel, some stops for gas. Every time I wanted dat foods, BanjoBoy just looked at me and rode away. I thinks he likes watching others suffer, good thing I like to suffer.
We finally stopped for runch somewhere up in the mountains. Banjoboy took off his Stich and the mountain town drunk came up and started chatting him up. Probably because BanjoBoy’s little behind looks so cutes in his little bike shorts, dat camo t-shirt he had on completed the outfit. Oh, the cowboy boots too, always dem boots. Well the drunk guy talked, no one listened, we ates our cheese burgers. Den the drunk guy got drunker and left.
Then we rode bikes some more, up, down left and this time lots of rights. There was a lot of that stuff that bikers hate, gravel. We all likez that junk. Slippy slidez, when in doubt, throttle out! BoyHowdy! Finally Banjoboy hathed to head homes to his wifes. I dun’t has one of them, neither does Mistress Cheeseburger. So we kept ghetto touring, after buying some meat sticks. Mmmm meat sticks.
A bit later we dun set up camp in them mountains, but it started to rains, so Cheesburger took her hammock down and we set up a ghetto chanty camping tent under my construction site salvaged Tyvek tarp. GHETTO TOURING. We was comfy as could be on them rocks, and ants, and beetles (that climbed into Burgers hair, but I couldn’t stop laughing as the beetle just burrowed away deeper and deeper into her hair… laughed until I dun cried myself into a silly stooper, I dunt think she likes me no more) Neither of us slept much, cause rocks, ants, the thought of more beetles, skeeters, pretty much we were busier than a cat covering up shit on a concrete floor all night flicking things off.
Ghetto chantey in all its glory:
Soon after setting up our GhettoTouring homestead, we dun decided to trudge through them woods and climb a big rock to watch da beauty of a sunset. I only brought my flippyfloppies, so it was a challenge, as I already dun drank a portion of whiskey. But the cuts and scrapes were so worth it:
I dun’t has much to say bout this day other than
And I had to takes a whore bath, cause whores gotta bathe too…
There was also a newt in the bathing pond, LOOK AT IT:
EPIC MIND BOGGLING ROAD SPOOGE
Then it got hotter than two hampsters fart’n in a wool sock! Both dat temperature and and dem roads. We had wet t-shirt contests all day, I soaked mah dingle berries to keep them nice and cool. As cool berries are key to comfort.
More road spooge and dem views:
Mistress leaving me again… Don’t let her fool ya, she ain’t slow!
The day was 400+ miles of hillbilly, wiener hardening bliss, no cousins involved!
We dun stopped for some tasty TacoHell before stopping for the night. I tooks off mah crispy stich and found this little feller! He was dun try’n to sting mah pecker!!!!! Nooooooo!!! Not mah one-eyed trouser snake! He was probably trapped inside mah britches for a good while. Skurry stuff.
After all day road spooging, and a near death experience with the little bee… We stayed with mah new found Ma’ma’s / Cheeseburgers Ma’ma house. I got’s me a shower and a good nights sleep, not on rocks, but I did miss the ants biting my ankles. Did I tell you I like to suffer?
I guess it was time to heads home, as SisterCousin has to continue with his Edmumafuckincation. Mistress Cheeseburger has one of them fancy yobs that pays money or things and stuff. So off we went.
The Hoon’n started shortly after leaving, real fast hoon’n. Fast sidewalk hoon’n, fast freeway hoon’n, erratic hoon’n, you name the type of hoon’n it happened. Then Denny’s. So much meats in and around mah mouth and Mistresses mouth. We both wanted to die of shame/salt overdose. Mistress swore off food for the rest of the day.
We rode sum moar, places, things were seen, more wiener hardening roads were slayed. Then I got hungry… Thankfully so did mah ghetto touring partner in crime, who swore off food earlier. So we pulled over and had cheesebugers. After eating dem burgas, I noticed some little leggies sticking out of Cheeseburgers byke. SHE DUN MURDERED IT!
But do not fear, we gave the little dead traveler a nice burial under some dirt n sticks’n’things in the woods.
Soon there after we rode real fast past police officers, small childrens and stoopid tourists. GET OUTA MAH WAY. This is when mah tire started to be lyke, “you gonna die son” Der was no treads left in dat center. None. De nada. I ride the most powerful bike in dis here world. I kept spinning it on corner entrances when I power-downshifted. But do not fear, I motarded mah ghetto touring rig to victory. Lots of unintentional kegel exercises!
After a bit, we slabbed home. Mistress must have had somethin up in der somewhere, cause she wanted to go fast. So we went fast. It was skurry, I had no tyre to go fast on. Dem triple digit speed on that close course with mah rear tire just wiggling around back yonder made mah poop hole tighen up. Since my kegel muscles were tired from the earlier puckering… I was ride’n dat gravy train on biscutt wheels all da way home.
I gots back to mah shack, took off my stich, and my bruther dun hollared frum across the yard:
“That would gag a maggot on a gut wagon”
My job is done here.