Saturday, April 12, 2014

Scorched Paint and Reptiles

Spent some quality time in the shop laying down some passable British racing stripes, following the spirit, if not the letter, of Mr. Loveless' instructions. Turned out ok, but as I inspected the inside of the tank I saw that the tank seal was flaking. Seems there was some rust in the tank before I sealed it, so I put it through the cleaning process. First dropping a handful of fence staples into the tank and shaking the hell out of it between cussing under my breath and guzzles of cold beer.

The staples and shaking got rid of the loose shit, so I filled the tank with muriatic acid and let it sit for an hour. I emptied the tank and flushed it with water. I then proceeded to quick-dry the tank. Lacking hair, and therefore a hair dryer, I placed it in front of the fire-breathing bullet heater. It dried quite nicely, but sadly caused third degree burns on the fresh tank, so it's back to square one with tank paint.

The weather was too nice, (first time the temp cracked 70 degrees in 180 days) to be cooped up in the shop screwing up shit, so I went out to enjoy the warmth and, after the coldest winter in recent memory, there was a f@#king alligator basking in the sun on the banks of the hermit pond eyeballing my ducks with bad intent.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


I hear there ain't no Wal-Marts in heaven, but if they have flush toilets and the gates are manned by nubile, bouncy, Russo-Slavic topless angels like these, then let the time be near.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Unwelcomed Guest

A big-boned gal from my distant past stopped by, uninvited, and before I could shut down the lights and feign absence, she let herself in without even a courtesy knock. She was always a brash and vulgar woman, loud and self-centered, obscene. The kind who’d fit right in on the set of The Jerry Springer Show.
After the usual catching up on who was dead or in jail, she started going on about her failed relationships, how much she hated her work, the foul weather, bad traffic and her struggles with depression and foot odor. My thoughts drifted as she spoke and I pretended to listen, noting her enormous girth and remembering how annoying her non-stop prattle was. She droned on, me nodding my head occasionally and noticing that, without missing a beat, she was ripping open the box of Triscuits® I had carelessly left, unprotected and vulnerable, on the kitchen counter. On and on she went, throwing down mouthfuls of Triscuits® between whining about inconsiderate boyfriends, broken washing machines and her latest existential crisis.
For kicks, I mentioned that I’d just finished up some undercover work for the Bulgarian Secret Police, and was considering a sex change operation. She paused briefly, then asked, “You got anything to put on these crackers?” I smiled as she went on about her old car and new shoes, and silently wondered how Liquid Drano might work as a condiment.
She looked at the clock, said, "Oh shit!" and left the house hurriedly, muttering something about picking up her kids. For a few horrifying moments it sounded as if her car wouldn’t start, but mercifully it coughed to life and she sped off down the drive.
I sat for a few moments after she left, feeling used and dejected, shaking the crumbs of a once-full box, and wondering what the hell I was going to do with two tins of sardines and a full jar of olives with no damn Triscuits®.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Can't a Brother get a Break?

Painted the frame "Dark Machine Gray" 'cause I liked the name, fully aware that a black frame would have been the safe bet, 'cause black is beautiful. Mudflap and Sputnik have no complaints, but I think it looks like shit with a black tank. However, with the motor mounted and lock-tighted it ain't coming back out of the frame 'til at least next winter. I'll try painting the tins the same color, and hope for the best. Coming so close to completion and riding season is coming soon........I think.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Hump Day Honey

Everyone needs a little happy, gratuitous rump to get through the week.

Well, almost everyone.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Laundry Day

Nice stainless steel front-loader.
Despite the poorly placed window and scattered clothing, she gets the seal.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Tender Moments in a Plastic Pool

From a now semi-defunct site I infrequently frequented <---------click here

At a party, long ago, somewhere in an impoverished part of my imagination, just east of suburban Omaha Nebraska I dropped some powerful acid with an obese, but thoughtful, Native American woman who looked just like the woman pictured above, except much fatter and uglier. We shared several bottles of strawberry wine while waiting for the drugs to take effect. We parted company, but later I went outside to piss and found her squatted in the prone position in plastic kiddie pool with about two inches of stagnant rainwater sloshing lazily on the bottom wearing nothing but a pair of yellow, rubber boots and a look of deep confusion. Not wishing to alarm her, I went back into the house and found a bottle of Dawn dish soap and a longhandled scrub brush, the kind often used to wash busses and large trucks. I began scrubbing her shoulders while applying long green stripes of the dish soap, creating a fine lather which pooled in the dirty water about her knees and elbows. She would voluntarily raise her arms, first right then left, so I could scrub the stubble ‘neath her underarms, as she moaned with pleasure.
I asked her to flip over, which she did obediently, soapy water sloshing over the sides of the pool like the Orca exhibit at Sea World. She lay there, looking up at me with those dark, pleading eyes, black and deep as puddled motor oil. Out front on the darkening road cars sped past, distressed drivers returning home from their toil, unaware.
I continued to work her torso with gentle, scrubbing motions, her large brown breasts swaying, nipples glistening. I deftly scrubbed her round generous belly in gentle, circular motions, moving slowly down to her cavernous gash. She had a protruding set of vaginal lips, the color and consistency of calf liver, which pulsated regularly to the rhythm of her beating heart. At the slightest touch of the brush bristles, these protrusions would suddenly retract like a pair of frightened eels, emerging again, however tentatively, only after several minutes of persuasive coaxing.
At this point I went behind the bushes and vomited a purple stream of strawberry wine into some freshly placed mulch, held my hands to my head and wept.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014


Shiloh's thoughts slip across the sky like a flight of migratory birds in a delivery truck. When spring beckons, with bird calls and the greening banks of babbling brooks, a young girl's fancy soon turns to corn starch and Nyquil 'neath the warmth of satin sheets in the darkened recesses of apartment number three.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Rust always Creeps

As I tarried down south, my neglected rigid project sat idle, the frame developing a coat of rust. So, with the engine hanging like a convicted horse thief, shrouded in mystery and greasy shop rags, I fabbed a small kickstand extension and wire-wheeled the frame back to bare metal. Then gave everything a coat of rattle-can primer to stop the bleeding. Not wishing to waste precious shop heat, I gave the 'Zuke a much needed oil change and sorted maintenance, hoping for some decent weather.
Soon... maybe?????

Friday, March 7, 2014


Don't know the asking price, but I'd give my left nut for this badass antique. It would be perfect for trips to the nail salon or pulling stumps.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Grinding Again

The Cold was still waiting for me when I got back home. This has been one long, cold, badass winter. Nighttime temps still in the single digits, but hope springs eternal. Unlike the ineffective sun of January, the sun of midday March shines in earnest. Snowmelt trickling icy liquid through the downspouts, the music of early spring.
Glad to be back I suppose. The walls of my tiny camper began to close in on me as I bounced from park to park moving northward. It became increasingly difficult to find weekend campsites as the warm weather brought the Panhandle locals out of their brief hibernation. One morning, as I sat in a crappy, Mississippi asphalt lot, prepared to wait out a couple more weeks, it occurred to me that I may as well return to my beloved Jerkwater, and wait it out there. It was a relatively quick drive up I-65, running the southern Indiana I-65 gauntlet without incident this time in cool, but sunny weather.
So, here I am back to the daily grind, but fortunate to have screwed off for a few weeks.

Friday, February 28, 2014


Old abandoned phone booth, some kind of green donor box*, overflowing trash can, R2D2 air compressor, inexplicable concrete cube, $5.47 smokes and huge three-month-old hard-as-rock snow piles can only mean one thing.

Back in Jerkwater, baby! Broke, sunburned, and looking forward to ten more inches of snow predicted for Sunday.

*That green clothing donation box in Jerkwater is like putting a tip jar in a homeless shelter.