I figure that Im due some time to relax and swim around in my Scrooge McDuck pool of gold coins cause my life has been one of destitution and poverty since my highschool band broke up.

On the chance that our aforementioned cash cow of key leashes doent arrive on schedule, we will maintain business as usual and like our business plan states, will continue to be "forcing people to see it our way since 1992".
One way or another, we will prevail.

The other distant rumbling is that of The Bummer Lifes most epic post to date, which is just around the bend.
It has something for everyone.
Truth,
lies,
bicycle related stuff,
references to killing things while wearing pants,
and the standard fare of undying appreciation for those whove allowed us to cling onto their proverbial coat tails on our blitzkrieg to the top.

Speaking of moustaches, Master Keith wrote in;

"So I saw on ye olde Swobo site today that you can get free hat if you get your picture taken with Turd Ferguson while wearing said hat. I dug into the archives to find this pic of me and Burt arm wrestling back in the 1970's. Coincidentally I happened to be wearing a Swobo hat.
Happy belated Jesus birthday.
Keith"

Now seriously Keith- Do you think that brazilionares like ourselves became brazillionares by giving hats away to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who swooned us with images of greatness?
It also appears that you might be wearing a Members Only jacket, which indicates that you are doing even a tad more better in the old dollar department than we are.

Now to jump from over there to waaaay over here. Armchair scholars have long debated when it actually was that punk rock died. Personally, Id be willing to bet it was the day The Refused disbanded.

"Good frames wont save bad paintings", indeed.

Anyhow, back to the news...
We here at Swobo H.Q. sometimes like to document vistas such as the one below and remind ourselves that its the end of December.
Thats December- like the middle of winter.

As a good portion of the rest of the country is doing battle with snow drifts, and running out of road salt, were here falling down hills on our bicycle machines.

This isnt to serve as an unwarranted boast, but rather an invitation to friends and strangers alike that if a retreat from winters icy grip is in order, we always have floor space.

So thats it for the day. As usual, theres a cross race that Im late to register for, and judging by the over abundance of work this month, and the under abundance of riding, sleeping, eating, and everything else that makes 45 minutes of hell a bit more tolerable, this one stands to make this grown man puke.

Like usual- Im over and Im out.