Pentagrams and Pickle Juice

So I’m riding my bike on a highway overpass, wearing jean cut offs and a pentagram around my neck and a Cubs hat. I’m not wearing shoes or anything else. This clueless chick rides by in the passenger seat or some old beat up piece of shit rust bucket and yells “Nice biker shorts fag!”

They never expect you to catch up.

So there we are at the next red light. The beautiful thing about sarcasm is I could say to her “You got a boyfriend?” and no matter what her reply is I can say “can’t imagine why”

I stopped posting to this blog weeks ago. In that time I have re-located the Danger Compound, watched all six Star Wars films 7 or 8 times, been arrested, drank pickle juice from the jar, attended two concerts: Black Crows/Tom Petty & Allman Brothers Band with special guest Moe, smoked enough dope to chill out the Tasmanian Devil, and found a leaf blower.

I thought I’d come back to this blog full of ideas for posts.

So here I am typing the mental poop that pops into my head. And I can’t imagine why.