“Locked but mostly loaded.”

Reflection Junction, what’s your function?

Despite the fact that the mail bag is now at this point damn near bursting, I am going to take a second and dedicate a short post to a single idea that developed recently while on a bicycle ride. I would also like to note that during said bicycle ride, the effects of the last two weeks of self inflicted abuse almost killed me;
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I like to refer to this spot at ‘The Snack Bar’. You can sit and eat snacks, and the well cap provides a nice table top surface. Sometimes I drink beer here, and I even have some always stashed nearby, but on this day I mostly just drank water and said bad words under my breath.

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Brand new All Hail The Black Market kits.

I interrupt this mid-week’s regularly scheduled post for an announcement.
I have some new skins coming down the pipe, the price breakdown for which is as follows;
$70.00 for a short sleeved jersey (club and race raglan)
$65.00 for a vest
$107.00 for a short sleeved skinsuit
$78.00 for a men’s or women’s short
$88.00 for a men’s or women’s bib
$90.00 for a long sleeved jersey (club and race raglan)
$90.00 for a jacket
$127.00 for a long sleeved skinsuit
$35.00 for arm warmers (one red, one grey)
You wanna know how you get these? Go here, log in, place the order, pour yourself a glass of juice, cheers your dog’s or cat’s collar, step on safe with the knowledge that you are soon gonna be way more good looking.
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A tale about a place and some things, part one.

Since my return from this past weekend’s Oregon Manifest show, my brain has been awash in the sights and sounds of a bicycleboozefueledstripperladenandfriendlyfaceexplosion train wreck.
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This is an image of a simple, white square, because any other attempts to create or provide an illustration of a bicycleboozefueledstripperladenandfriendlyfaceexplosion train wreck proved to be unsuccessful.

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What happened in Vegas stayed there, part one.

Except for the physical maladies that are a result of drinking too much and sleeping too little, not to mention the general state of self loathing that develops when there..
As usual, those returned home with me.
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My deathbed is little more than a pile of pillows in front of the television, next to a bag of peanuts.

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