So, making the erroneous assumption that I was leaving town for the week on Sunday, I had all but battened down the hatches, when Mrs. Kinevil came in the door and said “Christ man, I’ve told you four times.. We’re leaving on Monday.”
(By the way, that is an illustration of me as a Unicorn, not hearing what people say because there is a banana in my ear. The only adjustments you should make in your mind’s eye to make this imagery relevant to my point is that he should be less dashing looking and there needs to be only one lady Unicorn, and she should look mad.)
Once the initial sting of being scolded wore off, I was happy once I realized I would be able to squeeze one more post off before my departure.
For those of you who have made inquiries as to where I’m off to this time, I’m not ashamed to say that I will be attending a week long study at the Center for Hirsute Phenomena, as according to commenter Tobese in the following link that was forwarded on to me by The Snob, I am the king of ass hair.
Now I don’t know who would possibly know this, as I have kept the appearance of my own ass a closely guarded secret, even from myself, since I was in the seventh grade.
However, as Steve Albini stated on Big Black’s 1987 seminal interview album ‘Talk About Fucking’, “.. as the only Italian in the band I feel as though it’s my duty to take top honors of who has the most expressive ass hair.”
Once the king, always the king.
Far be it from me, or anyone who has claimed to have seen my ass in the last 26 years to present a challenge in that department.
I would also like to note that I went to high school with a beast of a man named Reed who had jet black hair, and skin so pale it looked as if he bathed in a tub of flower each day. Now as if that contrast wasn’t shocking enough, Reed has the misfortune of having such strong follicles, it was rumored that he began shaving in the third grade.
He was like a mild mannered George ‘The Animal’ Steele;
Though I have never seen Reed, or George’s ass, I suspect that neither Mr. Albini or myself present very much of a challenge.
Now onto other points of interest. On Friday, as I was shipping off an assortment of AHTBM goods, I checked my P.O. box and found the kind of thing I like almost better than any other- a package from the ladies behind the increasingly epic Babes in Bikeland alleycat race in Minneapolis, containing not only a thank you for some help I offered back when I was gainfully employed, but a spanking new t-shirt emblazoned with a lovely graphic;
Firstly, a point to folks organizing alleycat races.. A thank you of any sort, no matter how long after your event has taken place, is the sort of thing that sponsors have a profound appreciation for, and besides Todd from HorroH, I think this is one of a few such packages I’ve received in my time as any sort of purse string holder.
Now in news relating only to t-shirts with graphics that make my heart flutter, Bomb Hills, Speed Kills (otherwise knows as BHSK) is in the process of taking preorders for an upcoming design of their own;
So if you have found your own t-shirt collection sorely lacking in designs including Inspector Clouseau bombs, there you go.
It was only a few days previously that I also got a package from Hurl containing an assortment of items, the most bitchin of which was a new CRC musette bag.
I looked through all
to find an image, but no luck, so here is one of my own;
Crafted special by the good folks at Banjo Brothers, it’s guaranteed to carry all of the baguettes and bottles of wine that you wanna.
While it’s fresh in my mind, I’d like to now reference this photo, with which I am sure you’re all familiar;
Well, while getting cross eyed on the net recently, I came across this tribute put together by what is increasingly becoming my very favorite domestic road racing squad, Ritte Van Vlaanderen;
Photo by Jay Yoshizumi.
The bicycle racing gods heard my prayers, and with this team, they seem to have been answered.
From their site;
“Welcome to Ritte.
The SoCal sun’s warm rays have worked their fingers through the vent holes of our helmets and massaged our well-groomed scalps, lulling us into a tranquil contentment with an endless procession of business park crits and no-drop group rides. Meanwhile racers in other parts of the world are coating their entire bodies in lanolin, rubbing pesticide soaked mud into their eyeballs and climbing cobbled 20% grades until their chains snap.
None of us may ever be so badass, but it is time we turn the pussy dial down to at least 6 and start acting like self-respecting bike racers. Let’s stop taking things so seriously and enjoy the pain.”
If there is still any question from your end, you need look no further than this image shot by Greg Page;
I’d also like to mention that in an exhaustive three minute web search for a site linking back to Greg, I found this photo, shot by a fella named Masen which was too good not to include as well;
Anyway, the Ritte Van Vlaanderen looks to be a squad that is so far up my alley, that they have already built a little shanty town in the cockles of my heart, complete with a little shanty general store, and a little shanty church, so it is for them that I include this video, and offer thanks for doing what they do;
At this point, it is with a heavy heart that I bid you a fond farewell until next week, and remind you that any time is a time that calls for Budweiser;
You know- I love swapping ideas in the kitchen with good friends, and if you’re ever looking for me, I’ll be the guy knocking it out with two bottles in one hand.. You know how I do.
Keep it cool peeps. I’ll catch you on the flip side.