Though it's been some time since our romantic interlude in Napa, we still keep in touch from time to time, if only with emails containing photos of Joan Jett in darker days, so I thought it only fitting to let the tears flow intercontinentally and see what insight he might have to offer. What transpired was enough to fill me with hope, and a renewed sense of vigor.

We tentatively agreed that perhaps at a point we might should think about a possible collaboration of some sort, which then transpired into talk of a reality show, the only stipulation for which we both agreed needed to include a hot tub. From there the banter eventually devolved into a discussion of a road trip pod cast. It was then that I found the destination that would ultimately be responsible for making everyone's dreams come true.

What might initially appear to be a gigantic boil on the landscape on Mother Nature's posterior, as it turns out is not only that, but so much more. Open up your fantasy vault, and prepare to take on all of the riches that is Tropical Islands.

Copulation in an indoor jungle? Defecation in the pool? Fights? Water slides? Fake sunsets? Limitless alcohol? Y-fronts?

If you don't think between the two of us, a couple thousand Euros, and this utopia on earth, that it would be absolutely possible to make God shudder with envy, then you my friend are sorely mistaken.

At post time, the concept has as of yet to be agreed upon, but I suspect it is only because The Snob has fallen back in his chair and is paralyzed in pleasure at the thought of such an endeavor. As always, I will keep you all posted on the developments.

So, like.. What did you all get into this weekend? Did you listen to a bunch of Girls Against Boys?

(Who it should be noted, according to their website have emerged "out of the ashes of dc punk rock dischord band soulside, moved up to new york, put out a ton of records since 1990, have 2 bass players, did a bunch of stuff with a bunch of people and we eat, drink, sleep and walk around." If that isn't enough to make you rush to your local record store and buy everything they've ever done, then I don't know what is.)

Well I did, but besides that, I spent a portion of time with F.P and Joe, who from this point forward will be referred to 'Doom Joe', or perhaps 'The Artist Formerly Known As Doom Joe' within the confines of the great outdoors while atop bicycles.
A portion of the portion of time we spent outdoors was not just spent on bicycles however, but instead propped up behind open cans of beer, with drive sides down and a general gaze of goof-offedness spread across our faces;

It is after all, what we're best at, and with a strangle hold, grab every opportunity to show it off to whomever we can.

To prove that other metals (mettles) aside from aluminum were involved in our adventure, I was able to snap a shot from whatever bush I happened to be laying behind;

An interesting side note to our ride was that Joe is relatively new to the world of skinny tires in the dirt, and is still wet behind the ears in terms of hours spent wrestling a bike of this sort over roots, log piles, and bermed embankments, but regardless of this fact he kept his head down and his thoughts pure and held his own with the best of them, with the exception of an OTB/dirt nap, but who among us hasn't gotten sleepy while riding bikes once in a while?

You you say you haven't, then I say, you're a damn liar.

In somewhat random other information-stimulation, Robert sent me an email, the subject line for which was simply filled with 'Steve'. The email only said 'Need some?'

And he continued- 'The kid on the right is named Steve too..'

Ordinarily I would hope that I was all the Steve you needed, but upon receiving Robert's email I realized that this is a foolish and egotistical thought to maintain. Especially with a couple of picture perfect examples of humanity like this who have at one time or another graced our presence.

I am but a small fish in a bad ass pond.

Loudass is working over time on the Swobo T-shirt idea vault, and has got his stethoscope pressed firmly against the combination lock's dial, as has been proven with his second submission from the file;

As I was relating to FP and Doom Joe this weekend, the reverse of a hog attack is what I once witnessed with Loudass and Sasha the giant drunk Russian at the Circus Circus breakfast buffet when they engaged in a pork eating competition of such grandeur that it would have made Caligula blush with embarrassment.

I mean to say that they both had plates piled high with such an astonishing array of pink that the rest of us nearly laid down from cardiac arrest right there on the spot, and if the carpet beneath the table was more comfortable we just may have.

I can't remember who won, but I can say with certainty that those of us who bore witness to the feat most definitely did not.

Are you guys in to a trial run of a 'blog of the day' feature? You may be, or perhaps you don't care.
Either way, it doesn't really matter to me cause I'm driving this big broken boat and you have to go where I say.

She's sassy, she dresses sharp, she likes bikes, isn't afraid of mainlining coffee, and as near as I can surmise, doesn't give a fig about what you think of her.

She's Meligrosa;

Photo lifted from Busbozo.

Another dame in our midst who you could try and match in class and wit is a gal named Kim Dow. Now if you've been racing mountain bikes for any length of time this name would mean something to you as she was one of the original superstars from the Retrotec team of old. Well she sent me an email that was probably far more cryptic than it should have been;

"Did you just see a huge traffic spike from levi's tweet of your most recent HTATBL post?"

To her I responded with "what the hell does that mean?"

Truth be told, I have a love/hate relationship with Twitter, but I'd be lying if I said it was anything other than hate.
I am of the committed opinion that human being's ability to communicate is at an all time low, and to shave away all but 140 characters is truly an affront to the art of language, but with that being said, our dear friend Zoltron, who I'd like to add is increasingly becoming one of my favorite people, wrapped my arm behind my back some time ago and convinced me that I too needed to sign up for the blasted thing, if only to secure my name so that if at some point I have some idea to convey, I could do so.

But my caving aside, I would like to offer my humble thanks to Levi for the recognition and to also say he needs to spend his time healing his wing doing other things more productive than reading The Bummer Life.

I mean there is so much porn on the internet. Why on earth would he be down here with us?

Regardless, I am honored and if anyone would like to get aboard my Twitter train, you can find it here.

I also feel the need to mention that I have refused to follow anyone on Twitter, except for Danzig.

We're tight like that.

In closing, and as usual, with nothing that has to do with anything, Danny B recently turned me on to the following site that although may be considered by some to be far dumber than Twitter, still has filled me with hope and humor, and some days that is all you can ask for.

Don't Even Reply(dot)com.

Nowhere to go from here but away, so that is what I'm gonna do.