Tuesday, April 30, 2013
I have no idea what's going on here, other than I find it somewhat disturbing............
...........and it looks like something you might find on The Haints Blog.
Ghetto Lingerie Bowl?
Monday, April 29, 2013
Robert Redford in “ Jeremiah Johnson.”
I saw this movie on the big screen as a young lad and was awestruck by the incredible scenery, filmed on location near the American Fork Canyon area of Utah.
The plot is quite simple and straightforward. Johnson decides to eschew civilization and heads west to become a trapper and mountain man in the rugged, pristine wilderness of 1840’s Colorado Territory. He meets up with Grandpa Walton who likes to poke sticks at grizzly bears. Under the tutelage of Grandpa Walton Johnson becomes an expert trapper, haunting the lakes and streams in in pursuit of mink, sable and beaver.
Johnson marries a Flathead Indian woman named "The Swan" in an arrangement proposed by her father, a chief who runs a riverboat casino on the Eel River. Despite being an arranged marriage The Swan soon learns to love Johnson’s rugged good looks, stylish mountain man hat and his long musket. Not to mention his uncanny skill with the beaver.
Johnson eventually tires of the harsh climate and becomes completely disillusioned with beaver. He begins to dress in loincloths of imported European silk and decorating his cabin with garish art deco furnishings. He soon meets and falls in love with a handsome Algonquin fur trader. They start a torrid, volatile relationship and together open a chain of boutiques specializing in buckskin undergarments and designer handbags.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Some people look at the glass as being half-full, others see it as half-stoned.
I guess it depends what's in the glass.
Chick needs to quit crying over spilled wine and find her car keys.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
1971 Honda 350
Original paint, aftermarket exhaust
Brakes good, tires fair
Hate to sell, but just don't have time to ride anymore.
Needs some work, but was running when I parked it.
Serious inquiries only: call BR-549
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Always loved these flat-paint O.D. green warriors. They’re cool as hell outfitted with a leather scabbard designed to hold the Thompson submachine gun, like a fully automatic Chuck Connors, mowing down Fascists like wheat stalks on the Kansas prairie. The Motor Company made tens of thousands of them as they shifted most of their production to Government contracts, churning them out in record numbers for the Allied Forces.
After the war the US Army had thousands of these bikes in surplus. The GI’s returned home, flush with victory and pent-up frustration. They bought them with their bonus checks for a hundred bucks, bobbed the fenders, pulled off the crash bars and tore across the country brawling, drinking beer and banging all the sexually frustrated Rosie Riveters in gabardine and saddle shoes.
Not sufficient, but at least some measure of therapy for PTSD.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
The venerable Suzuki DL 650 is a bike which "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" can possibly "stay from its appointed rounds." As a longtime Harley rider, I bought mine in '08 just to keep the miles off my FLH, and as a economical commuter/errand runner. I came to appreciate its sheer ugliness, relatively awesome performance, agile quickness and ability to take short sojourns off-road.
I believe this bike to be invincible.........well, almost!
Monday, April 22, 2013
In a former life I would have posted a profanity-laced tirade and rant about the absurdity of the pagan, high-holy ritual that is the celebration of “earth day.” I am, however reformed, and will join in the celebration in praise of mother earth and the majestic, natural beauty of my pond, which was dug a few years ago, by drunken men, with diesel-belching earth-moving equipment.
This is the largest body of water at the complex, (the second largest being the septic tank,) and it is finally showing signs of spring. It is no Walden, but I believe Thoreau would have been proud to wash his dirty socks at its edge or unleash his manhood and pee, unfettered and recklessly, from its slippery banks sending a long, golden stream of philosophical wee-wee into its murky waters.
The bullfrogs are beginning to croak, (must be the pesticides) and are emerging from the muck and mire, still dark from their long winter spent buried deep in the rich mud and dead car batteries. These splendid amphibians are stirring in the cattails, preparing for their months-long festival of orgiastic dry-humping, unleashing an infinite horde of fertile tadpoles, eager to wiggle their way through the tepid waters, seeking to penetrate the elusive ovum of romance and biological imperative.
I will now go out back and set fire to some vinyl siding and old tires, sending a fragrant burnt offering up to Al Gore in celebration, then I shall eat a box of Grape Nuts ® in memory of Euell Gibbons.
Friday, April 19, 2013
When ordering a replacement for the pannier lid I lost during my March Madness trip South, I decided to order a Top Case for the Interstellar Japanese Galaxy Traveler. After all, it’s only money and I don’t have near enough European aluminum on the bike. The instructions for the slick, three-piece locking mount were in German only, with no real diagrams so it took several hours and nearly a twelve pack of beer to figure out how to mount it.
I’m doing all I can to help out the faltering EU economy, while I personally go broke. Now I’ll be ready for my next ill-fated assault on Amërïkä’s highways and byways.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
American Literature is replete with excellent authors. Steinbeck, Hemmingway and Michener are all brilliant, but they ain't got nothin' on Thomas Stone, Hank Janson and perhaps the finest of them all, the incredible E.B. Stuart. (See Below)
Many would find this kind of thing too sentimental and sweet, but as a hopeless romantic, I find it heartwarming. This is the type of Shakespearian, poetry you just don't find in the Twenty-first Century.
Call me nostalgic, but I think we're missing something in modern literature. Courtship, it seems, has gone the way of the horse and buggy and The Rhythm Method.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
I’m a lover of all things two-wheeled, but none more than my 1984 Troy-Bilt Rototiller. It sports the eight H.P. Kohler motor, horizontal shaft drive and tough-as-nails crash bars. I bought it new and it has fed me and my family for all these years. It is nearly bulletproof and always starts on the second pull, even after sitting in the shop all winter. The float stuck once and I’ve replaced worn tines and tires, but she’s never let me down, surviving drought, flood, divorce and a brief bout with bi-polar disorder.
Yesterday she started on the second pull and now stands ready to embark on another season of dirt-churning, long cruises in the garden and County Fair, Nitro-methane division Tractor Pulls.
Just look at her and tell me she ain’t sexy as Hell!
Monday, April 15, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Ever wonder what it would be like to thunder down the street on a motorcycle so awesome, that men cower in fear and women become aroused by its very presence? A bike, equipped with fifteen-inch Progressive rear shocks and a lowered front end, that can carve up a twisty mountain road like a billy goat on bath salts. Think what it would be like to have at your disposal, with a simple twist of the wrist, the ability to unleash untold power and excitement. Frighten your neighbors and impress your friends with a cacophony of thunderous noise, like the hellish explosions of a thousand satanic firecrackers, emanating from the ceramic-coated Vance and Hines two-into-one exhaust pipes.
This ‘97 XL 883 is part flat-tracker, part café racer, part naked street fighter and all treachery and venom, designed and built to rattle windows and frighten small children.
I know the history of this bike from its humble beginnings as a baby-blue bagger with windshield, sissy bar and crash bars. 5,400 original miles. New tires, good battery and a nasty attitude.
I only rode it twice last summer, its awesomeness is far too awesome for a man of my mild manner and pleasant disposition. I must make room in the stable, so my loss is your gain.
This bike could change your life for $4800.00 cash. Won’t last long on Craigslist, let me know if interested.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
First time I saw Easyrider was on the big screen in the seventies. I was living under the constrictions of life in the US Army and a bunch of us dropped some microdot , bought our tickets, went inside and enjoyed the ride.
The plot is simple and pretty much straightforward. The two protagonists, Wyatt (Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) are itinerant Home Depot sales reps who trade a truckload of vinyl siding to some Mexicans for a kilo of bath salts. They then sell the bath salts to record producer Phil Spector, who goes all Zombie and kills a young actress, eats part of her face, and hides her remains behind a Wall of Sound.
The boys head east and meet up in the desert with a bunch of communists who like to smoke chronic and put on lavish Off-Broadway musicals, which really freaks Billy out. They meet a couple of hippy chicks with all-natural, organic shrubbery and swim naked in a cobblestone horse trough, splashing and frolicking like a bunch of playful sea otters.
They continue their odyssey and get busted in Texas for loud pipes, are thrown in jail with George, (Jack Nicholson) who claims to be a lawyer but is actually an alien from Venus who must wear a football helmet and guzzle pints of Jim Beam to compensate for the unfamiliar gravitational pull of planet Earth. They are released and George joins them, hopping on the back of Billy’s scoot, steering it with his feet, with Jimi Hendrix and Steppenwolf blasting through loud, Dolby Surround Sound. They stop at a diner in Louisiana and have a disagreement with some of the locals. Later that night George dies, stricken with a bad case of axe-handle food poisoning.
I forget a large portion of the movie, but I do recall that in the end some dudes in a pickup truck with poor dental work shoot Wyatt with a grenade launcher, igniting all seventy-five gallons of the aircraft fuel stored on board the Captain America bike causing a large brush fire that cancels the Mardis Gras and ends the Viet Nam War.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Listen closely and you can hear the ghosts of clinking wrenches and the gentle hiss of air leaking slowly from an ancient compressor.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
I bought a new phone yesterday. I stuck the old one in my top dresser drawer, and took a walk down memory lane as I pulled out all my old phones. I think the oldest one dates back to the early nineties. I know I'm missing a few, including my first which was a "car phone." It was big as a large woman's purse (large purse not a large woman) and was mounted under the seat. I sprung for the added feature which would blow the horn if I was out of the truck.
The phone actually worked about 20% of the time.
I know this is fascinating, but I'm posting this to see if my Blogger app is working.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Diggin' this Shovel.
Couple years ago I picked up a Superglide with a wrecked front end (below). I put a swap meet Heritage front end on it, a sweet La pera seat and shorty pipes, rattle-canned some primer on the tins and made it my dependable, daily rider.
I like it, but it doesn't have the "je ne sais quoi" of this cool, fenderless Shovel.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
Despite being well-armed, this guy looks like he needs a double-shot of NyQuil® and a good nights sleep.
Computer's broken so I'm reduced to thumbing out posts with the smartphone. Should have it all figured out by midsummer.