Three word posts motorcycle story
I have no life....anyone starts knitpicking about grammer, punctuation, sentence structure..etc etc....you better sleep with both eyes open....
Where were we? What were we? Now I remember; die hacker scum. Die die die. Thingy go boom we will survive. Now go! Walk like you stole a clue to the location of the golden parrot. Said to the man in the pink tutu and flip flop sandals. He replied “I’m a fairy in a play called Hairy Harley Honey’s”. Do you know any other kind? Starting the motorcycle he engaged the gears and accelerated to full power. Straight past the cop looking at a huge round rolling doughnut shaped wheel on top of a flatbed. You ate what!? A dozen doughnuts! That were covered in mini-doughnuts. I’m out doughnut shopping at the pigglley wiggley store where I bought three thousand little doughnuts packed in my motorcycle saddle bags. And raced off down the highway with the wind up clockwork toy speeding past! How the bloomin’ heck can that possibly be overtaking Buzz? Then I remembered he rides like a complete nutter. Where’s the pub? Mine’s Tequila Sunrise! Where to go rainclouds are gathering, brite blue slippers on oil-stained feet which were hairy and covered in great, big ugly festering warts which exploded, blinding him. Then he crashed into a wall of doughnut related rubber and bounced 112 feet down and landed on a mini trampoline and shot back into the rubber. Bouncing back to the pixie land where nobody was playing with big ears when PC Plod ran him over. And squished him flat ran over again to get the brains out of the roadway before the king made some burgers out of them. We showed up none left over. I’m so hungry that these leather chaps and boots made me think “I’m really sexy”, when I really look quite silly. Most people say “I like turnips” or they say “Sprouts are better” but make you look for a large red sparkly strawberry with cream on my belly button which grew into another red vegetable.
Back to riding our FZX750, past a cruiser on the way. Passing queues of beautiful young ladies, handsome young men hootin and hollerin and tongue dagling, tasting mountain air. And large bugs hitting you hard on your visor. Alien eyes holovisor so we drove up and down sideways and diagonally wishing we had not eaten…. BLEEUUURRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! Still feeling sick we started to look for the Chemist (drug store) where I bought a calculator so I could calculate how much it would be to find a room and get busy lubricating the old suicide shift lever. Which was real stuff and rusty from previous rain. I sprayed WD40 which helped the shifter to shift into the highest, but I wanted to go much, much faster. But even so, escape velocity attained, ahh dynojet.
Malfunctioned yet again so I wiped the tar from my rear fender but got tar on my wife’s saddle bags. She said, “Oh my god! That stuff’s sticky!” Will oxyclean work? Maybe, but we need power tools for this operation. So I pulled out my brand new Mac tools set and found that the safety scissors poked him in the London, just like the last time. How should I go about this whilst eat hob-nobs? I know how someone else can clean. Get Monkey cheese and stuff it in my gear for the mice. Then I’ll go somewhere over the toilet. Its unfortunate that I chose gear lube for lip balm, but my lips amazingly stay kissable longer.
Hip hip hooray! Time to ride. 0-90 in seconds, darn speeding tickets. Together into socks I have lost lots of money! Are money grabbing..LOOK a Harley. Let’s blow up every japanese bike then the Harley’s my goldwing was too heavy to ride the thunderlooper but went away. I didn’t even know there was a giant donut in his shoe. It was stuck, not anymore though. Kick kick sputter. Mmmm raspberry jam on my manifold. I licked it but it tasted like burnt gearlube. Gearlube is also recommended for my home brew additives. HMmmhmmm hmmm ummm. Lost my concentration. I am toooooo drunk to notice that my very large belt drive is out of adjustment, needs some help to get my ironing from it with no wrinkles but I burnt my lips because my wife told me to eat #^$# and it was very hot. Motorcycle riding time inline four vespa with flaming hot george foreman grills dripping greasy chunks of BuzZz’s roadkill. You scallywag! Sundried squirrel, with a touch of fresh chain lube. Mmm nice wheels she said with farting arm pits and a toothless smile. Take me I’m all yours honey.
Don’t do that while eating donuts, shaving your back, waxing your head buffing helmets or giving a dirtysanches really sucks man! Eating tuna fish, that’s just disgusting. So I jumped through the donut and on to the timbit only sausage factory values was posted on the bike’s biggest can of lard and the man started eating curry. And said to his 3breated wife, “Let’s get it out of your triple sized panties”, but she died from eating fake sausages which were hanging from the belt of a lucky bunny who had sex with nobody. The end.
Or is it? Just the beginning, nope. The end and we can discuss something else about fart cans and pizza deliverys gone wrong. Or Paris Hilton commercials that bob barker bought on dvd for pennies because they’re cheap coasters. But now I view Paris Hilton all night long listening to the slapping of my boss because he is a tool of the month. He’s Mr July watching Roadhouse on his knees and bent over like a little old man with hair made of spaghetti flavored pudding and motorcycle oil mixed together in great lumps of oily spaghetti goodness. He also had a flat tire so couldn’t go leprechaun fishing in Budweiser flavored Koolaid so he died. Now the end? I hope so. Resurrection is possible, only if I… so I jumped but I missed, missed the ground which is tricky and landed on somebody elses rides. Who got mad because vespa’s are what douchebags ride around town like a clown, Charlie brown. Then lucy moved the it could be a giant turd landed on my muffler stinking up my chaps and now my wife is sticky too. So I got my anorak from the closet and wiped off my chaps with a baby wipe and raw prairie oysters that I almost threw up on because they were eight perky boobies bobbing up and speaking to me “What the fuheckargh aregh arrrrrrrgggggghhhhh-thud” crash, bang wallop. Ouch ooch oww!
Ouch my dingus isn’t that beef? Its like sausage but ladies don’t like chipolatas but they love my very large motorbike and my leather jeans which are skin tight and very snug around friends and relatives. The arse, very oh no I forgot to put them on myself! My skivvies are full of sauerkraut because I like sausage and kraut with baked beans. I’m nude now, no fairing whatsoever on my giant petrol minimoto that is struggling to get up in the morning. Cough sputter wheeze, goes my little oscar meyer winer mobile that only mike could digest with his huge pink indigestion tablet that he found under his bike by a bug covered in oil and on fire. Which VWs normally don’t do very much when they’re in a lake and then suddenly batman dropped in on a golden motorcycle and then blew up messily all the balloons flew into the sooty chimbey flue. Before they exploded scaring my neighbors tiny little dog that scampered off towards the pink ping pong ball I keep in my teal pants with my giant wrench. Then I got on my ’94 Vulcan 750 and rode to San Antonio Texas for the great fart blowing competition where Michael Moore blows up Michigan.
Then suddenly I ended the story. What a pooper. Before starting another about an old scrunch-faced curmudgeon and his old historic sausage factory which restored Triumphs to their former illustrious state of nuts and bolts. Then they were processed into sausages and stuffed into large stripey socks which tore because socks can’t hold damn things are not water proof. They should fix those damn socks are just like before somebody gets hungover – fuzzy and flummoxed from the rum and the small cider shandy runners gone mad like the girls who rode naked. Through my wonderful colorful flowerbed, get my camera its in the ladies bra. How did it feel to be reaching into there? Very nice indeed. “Keep your hands off my camera” She squealed breathlessly. I need it to take a picture of a hippopotamous on a very small tricycle with square wheels in my yard under Christmas tree. With a motorcycle disc brake assembly and three clowns painted on the wrinkled left nut. Triumphantly I rode into the dawn. “Ouch!” said Dawn. So I kissed the Blarney Stone after washing it it shriveled up. Just like a roasted Christmas chestnut in turkey stuffing and cranberry sauce. That reminds me, I forgot to brush my teeth with my special Swedish toothbrush enlarger.
Which I need to make up for my lack of large toothbrushes that I need to make up for my small underpants which were lost in a big fiery inferno caused by my natural gas booster that didn’t work. Hey watch this! My natural gas eliminated my seat. Works ok now I am glad mine does too but anyway my big smelly feet look real purty in pink socks even though I washed them with red wine vinegar. Then I drank too much coffee and now my bladder is full. I better stop. I feel relieved! Wow that is a lot of nonsense, so listen up and stop writing your name in the snow. Zips suck! Where’s the WD40? Let’s begin again by passing gas from the tank to the can we eliminate all painful rectal itch from our pets in the Funni Wakki Bakki will give Buzz buzzes until the cows are completely devoured.
For muchies sake, my occidental heritage was stolen yesterday. Will someone please return it to its rightful owner undamaged. Last seen right next to a metric cruiser and kitty litter out of which arose a large four point tool made of jelly so it wouldn’t really be obvious that it wasn’t jelly after all. It smelled like occidental swamp gas. Jeez, I don’t know. But in reality crabs can’t count instead they just ride real well but squids can’t read or ride. Or even write! Anyway my mo-sickle and I were cruising the strip naked again when along came a spider who turned into a tap dancer. I was eating an apple flavored edible pantie when along came a vivacious supermodel wearing nothing but a hat that was apple flvored too. Suddenly there was a giant arachnoid eating the hat. Little Miss Muffet sat o my busted "O Ring" hat! On the edge of the pillion passengers hat rack and whatta rack! What degenerates here can be blamed for deviating from the wonderful story about motorcycle riding. With their tales of midnight rides is almost ending but not before I tell you about the old route 66 highway full of ghosts and moonlit caravand and roadkill. There had to be a supernatural air surrounding my m-cycle as I thundered a smelly fart across the mountains clear over to the rock shop. Let’s not forget fallen brothers and sisters. We salute you. He said with a forked tongue go to hell. The rain started falling but we still ride on, from dawn til cows come home. It was udderly amazing we still had tons of money to burn and buzz had something else burning. He reluctantly shared his scabies rash. We were scratching our private parts, were pulsating violently. To the doctor, should I be concerned about my bike falling over. The doctor said, no. I replied as it tipped over the brink. Of hoover dam, twice it bounced spewing gas and parts flying everywhere into lake mead. Rider cant swim. Girls in houseboat complain about polluting and removed clothes as a lifeline. Woohoo1 I cried. Because this whole episodic adventure misleads me to believe that bikes are not good rafts due to the lack of buoyancy. Plus they don’t know what the water/fuel mix should be for extreme fouling sports and not for personal human consumption but can be injected directly in a cow brain.
Stop that cow! Before he twists his left utter around that person’s really blue finger becoming mad cow due to loss of other udder. What udder nonsense. Go go go, my butt hurts due to corrosion and uncontrollable flatulence, caused by a really bad burrito from Taco Bell. Made by the god dam Chihuahua that I shot because Geico gecko raised my rates. Finally…the end.
Not the end. A new beginning. A long long long long long way to Tipperary to see Mary and her lamb on my motorcycle doing many stoppies along the way. Only prolongs the inevitable resulting scenario of certain jumping the long queue to be first out of the plane into the drink. Now, grab your limiter and run in the limited fashion. What was that? I don’t know, or do you? Won’t let this die. Gone out riding in a sundress that flies up past my waist. Yet not today because I have my bulletproof underwear because I can! I feel like eating some grapes while I’m cruising. In the nude, damn seat’s hot. WTF! The end, eh. Not over fools! Bang crash wallop. What was that? It was a very loud noise produced by a falling hormone shoe. Who left that in my underpants? Now I need sixteen gorilla toe nails in order to go really fast into outer space. For pizza and pondka donk donks. Whatever happened to Jimmy Hoffa’s body and Noah’s ark?
Check this out! He exclaimed as he opened his throttle and let out a fart. Silent but deadly “gosh that smells”. Kitty gone poo? Riding thrills me, especially really slow. This must end! What? So soon? Once upon a time there was a motorcycle enthusiast who was riding in a rocket when the booster exploded. The end. Or is it? The magnificent machine disintegrated into dust. Stop it now! Hit the red leather clad biker. OJ was guilty the biker said. Vicious banana stabbing in broad daylight. Let’s do it on gummi’s Harley. Without his consent or any protection except a helmet and a rubber just in case it gets chilly or real sloppy. He went forth and back and feeling so good then did donuts, certainly not orings. Smoked a cigarette and then said “wheres my beer?” Nevermind I don’t ride drunk, just stupidly quickly, laughing while crashing into an inflatable purple dinosaur named Emporor George Bush. The merry fool. Can’t let die the potted plant because the ducati didn’t go slow. In fact it went so fast it time traveled like that movie with Michael J Fox. And then into the future it metamorphosized into a beautiful butterfly custom paint job that bled. Trippy!
Then doc said “Im your huckleberry”. Marty then replied “I like huckleberries in a pie with gravy and large flying squirrels”. With very large tails and eyes. After eating that gross looking object in my pants, was a surprise
Where were we? What were we? Now I remember; die hacker scum. Die die die. Thingy go boom we will survive. Now go! Walk like you stole a clue to the location of the golden parrot. Said to the man in the pink tutu and flip flop sandals. He replied “I’m a fairy in a play called Hairy Harley Honey’s”. Do you know any other kind? Starting the motorcycle he engaged the gears and accelerated to full power. Straight past the cop looking at a huge round rolling doughnut shaped wheel on top of a flatbed. You ate what!? A dozen doughnuts! That were covered in mini-doughnuts. I’m out doughnut shopping at the pigglley wiggley store where I bought three thousand little doughnuts packed in my motorcycle saddle bags. And raced off down the highway with the wind up clockwork toy speeding past! How the bloomin’ heck can that possibly be overtaking Buzz? Then I remembered he rides like a complete nutter. Where’s the pub? Mine’s Tequila Sunrise! Where to go rainclouds are gathering, brite blue slippers on oil-stained feet which were hairy and covered in great, big ugly festering warts which exploded, blinding him. Then he crashed into a wall of doughnut related rubber and bounced 112 feet down and landed on a mini trampoline and shot back into the rubber. Bouncing back to the pixie land where nobody was playing with big ears when PC Plod ran him over. And squished him flat ran over again to get the brains out of the roadway before the king made some burgers out of them. We showed up none left over. I’m so hungry that these leather chaps and boots made me think “I’m really sexy”, when I really look quite silly. Most people say “I like turnips” or they say “Sprouts are better” but make you look for a large red sparkly strawberry with cream on my belly button which grew into another red vegetable.
Back to riding our FZX750, past a cruiser on the way. Passing queues of beautiful young ladies, handsome young men hootin and hollerin and tongue dagling, tasting mountain air. And large bugs hitting you hard on your visor. Alien eyes holovisor so we drove up and down sideways and diagonally wishing we had not eaten…. BLEEUUURRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! Still feeling sick we started to look for the Chemist (drug store) where I bought a calculator so I could calculate how much it would be to find a room and get busy lubricating the old suicide shift lever. Which was real stuff and rusty from previous rain. I sprayed WD40 which helped the shifter to shift into the highest, but I wanted to go much, much faster. But even so, escape velocity attained, ahh dynojet.
Malfunctioned yet again so I wiped the tar from my rear fender but got tar on my wife’s saddle bags. She said, “Oh my god! That stuff’s sticky!” Will oxyclean work? Maybe, but we need power tools for this operation. So I pulled out my brand new Mac tools set and found that the safety scissors poked him in the London, just like the last time. How should I go about this whilst eat hob-nobs? I know how someone else can clean. Get Monkey cheese and stuff it in my gear for the mice. Then I’ll go somewhere over the toilet. Its unfortunate that I chose gear lube for lip balm, but my lips amazingly stay kissable longer.
Hip hip hooray! Time to ride. 0-90 in seconds, darn speeding tickets. Together into socks I have lost lots of money! Are money grabbing..LOOK a Harley. Let’s blow up every japanese bike then the Harley’s my goldwing was too heavy to ride the thunderlooper but went away. I didn’t even know there was a giant donut in his shoe. It was stuck, not anymore though. Kick kick sputter. Mmmm raspberry jam on my manifold. I licked it but it tasted like burnt gearlube. Gearlube is also recommended for my home brew additives. HMmmhmmm hmmm ummm. Lost my concentration. I am toooooo drunk to notice that my very large belt drive is out of adjustment, needs some help to get my ironing from it with no wrinkles but I burnt my lips because my wife told me to eat #^$# and it was very hot. Motorcycle riding time inline four vespa with flaming hot george foreman grills dripping greasy chunks of BuzZz’s roadkill. You scallywag! Sundried squirrel, with a touch of fresh chain lube. Mmm nice wheels she said with farting arm pits and a toothless smile. Take me I’m all yours honey.
Don’t do that while eating donuts, shaving your back, waxing your head buffing helmets or giving a dirtysanches really sucks man! Eating tuna fish, that’s just disgusting. So I jumped through the donut and on to the timbit only sausage factory values was posted on the bike’s biggest can of lard and the man started eating curry. And said to his 3breated wife, “Let’s get it out of your triple sized panties”, but she died from eating fake sausages which were hanging from the belt of a lucky bunny who had sex with nobody. The end.
Or is it? Just the beginning, nope. The end and we can discuss something else about fart cans and pizza deliverys gone wrong. Or Paris Hilton commercials that bob barker bought on dvd for pennies because they’re cheap coasters. But now I view Paris Hilton all night long listening to the slapping of my boss because he is a tool of the month. He’s Mr July watching Roadhouse on his knees and bent over like a little old man with hair made of spaghetti flavored pudding and motorcycle oil mixed together in great lumps of oily spaghetti goodness. He also had a flat tire so couldn’t go leprechaun fishing in Budweiser flavored Koolaid so he died. Now the end? I hope so. Resurrection is possible, only if I… so I jumped but I missed, missed the ground which is tricky and landed on somebody elses rides. Who got mad because vespa’s are what douchebags ride around town like a clown, Charlie brown. Then lucy moved the it could be a giant turd landed on my muffler stinking up my chaps and now my wife is sticky too. So I got my anorak from the closet and wiped off my chaps with a baby wipe and raw prairie oysters that I almost threw up on because they were eight perky boobies bobbing up and speaking to me “What the fuheckargh aregh arrrrrrrgggggghhhhh-thud” crash, bang wallop. Ouch ooch oww!
Ouch my dingus isn’t that beef? Its like sausage but ladies don’t like chipolatas but they love my very large motorbike and my leather jeans which are skin tight and very snug around friends and relatives. The arse, very oh no I forgot to put them on myself! My skivvies are full of sauerkraut because I like sausage and kraut with baked beans. I’m nude now, no fairing whatsoever on my giant petrol minimoto that is struggling to get up in the morning. Cough sputter wheeze, goes my little oscar meyer winer mobile that only mike could digest with his huge pink indigestion tablet that he found under his bike by a bug covered in oil and on fire. Which VWs normally don’t do very much when they’re in a lake and then suddenly batman dropped in on a golden motorcycle and then blew up messily all the balloons flew into the sooty chimbey flue. Before they exploded scaring my neighbors tiny little dog that scampered off towards the pink ping pong ball I keep in my teal pants with my giant wrench. Then I got on my ’94 Vulcan 750 and rode to San Antonio Texas for the great fart blowing competition where Michael Moore blows up Michigan.
Then suddenly I ended the story. What a pooper. Before starting another about an old scrunch-faced curmudgeon and his old historic sausage factory which restored Triumphs to their former illustrious state of nuts and bolts. Then they were processed into sausages and stuffed into large stripey socks which tore because socks can’t hold damn things are not water proof. They should fix those damn socks are just like before somebody gets hungover – fuzzy and flummoxed from the rum and the small cider shandy runners gone mad like the girls who rode naked. Through my wonderful colorful flowerbed, get my camera its in the ladies bra. How did it feel to be reaching into there? Very nice indeed. “Keep your hands off my camera” She squealed breathlessly. I need it to take a picture of a hippopotamous on a very small tricycle with square wheels in my yard under Christmas tree. With a motorcycle disc brake assembly and three clowns painted on the wrinkled left nut. Triumphantly I rode into the dawn. “Ouch!” said Dawn. So I kissed the Blarney Stone after washing it it shriveled up. Just like a roasted Christmas chestnut in turkey stuffing and cranberry sauce. That reminds me, I forgot to brush my teeth with my special Swedish toothbrush enlarger.
Which I need to make up for my lack of large toothbrushes that I need to make up for my small underpants which were lost in a big fiery inferno caused by my natural gas booster that didn’t work. Hey watch this! My natural gas eliminated my seat. Works ok now I am glad mine does too but anyway my big smelly feet look real purty in pink socks even though I washed them with red wine vinegar. Then I drank too much coffee and now my bladder is full. I better stop. I feel relieved! Wow that is a lot of nonsense, so listen up and stop writing your name in the snow. Zips suck! Where’s the WD40? Let’s begin again by passing gas from the tank to the can we eliminate all painful rectal itch from our pets in the Funni Wakki Bakki will give Buzz buzzes until the cows are completely devoured.
For muchies sake, my occidental heritage was stolen yesterday. Will someone please return it to its rightful owner undamaged. Last seen right next to a metric cruiser and kitty litter out of which arose a large four point tool made of jelly so it wouldn’t really be obvious that it wasn’t jelly after all. It smelled like occidental swamp gas. Jeez, I don’t know. But in reality crabs can’t count instead they just ride real well but squids can’t read or ride. Or even write! Anyway my mo-sickle and I were cruising the strip naked again when along came a spider who turned into a tap dancer. I was eating an apple flavored edible pantie when along came a vivacious supermodel wearing nothing but a hat that was apple flvored too. Suddenly there was a giant arachnoid eating the hat. Little Miss Muffet sat o my busted "O Ring" hat! On the edge of the pillion passengers hat rack and whatta rack! What degenerates here can be blamed for deviating from the wonderful story about motorcycle riding. With their tales of midnight rides is almost ending but not before I tell you about the old route 66 highway full of ghosts and moonlit caravand and roadkill. There had to be a supernatural air surrounding my m-cycle as I thundered a smelly fart across the mountains clear over to the rock shop. Let’s not forget fallen brothers and sisters. We salute you. He said with a forked tongue go to hell. The rain started falling but we still ride on, from dawn til cows come home. It was udderly amazing we still had tons of money to burn and buzz had something else burning. He reluctantly shared his scabies rash. We were scratching our private parts, were pulsating violently. To the doctor, should I be concerned about my bike falling over. The doctor said, no. I replied as it tipped over the brink. Of hoover dam, twice it bounced spewing gas and parts flying everywhere into lake mead. Rider cant swim. Girls in houseboat complain about polluting and removed clothes as a lifeline. Woohoo1 I cried. Because this whole episodic adventure misleads me to believe that bikes are not good rafts due to the lack of buoyancy. Plus they don’t know what the water/fuel mix should be for extreme fouling sports and not for personal human consumption but can be injected directly in a cow brain.
Stop that cow! Before he twists his left utter around that person’s really blue finger becoming mad cow due to loss of other udder. What udder nonsense. Go go go, my butt hurts due to corrosion and uncontrollable flatulence, caused by a really bad burrito from Taco Bell. Made by the god dam Chihuahua that I shot because Geico gecko raised my rates. Finally…the end.
Not the end. A new beginning. A long long long long long way to Tipperary to see Mary and her lamb on my motorcycle doing many stoppies along the way. Only prolongs the inevitable resulting scenario of certain jumping the long queue to be first out of the plane into the drink. Now, grab your limiter and run in the limited fashion. What was that? I don’t know, or do you? Won’t let this die. Gone out riding in a sundress that flies up past my waist. Yet not today because I have my bulletproof underwear because I can! I feel like eating some grapes while I’m cruising. In the nude, damn seat’s hot. WTF! The end, eh. Not over fools! Bang crash wallop. What was that? It was a very loud noise produced by a falling hormone shoe. Who left that in my underpants? Now I need sixteen gorilla toe nails in order to go really fast into outer space. For pizza and pondka donk donks. Whatever happened to Jimmy Hoffa’s body and Noah’s ark?
Check this out! He exclaimed as he opened his throttle and let out a fart. Silent but deadly “gosh that smells”. Kitty gone poo? Riding thrills me, especially really slow. This must end! What? So soon? Once upon a time there was a motorcycle enthusiast who was riding in a rocket when the booster exploded. The end. Or is it? The magnificent machine disintegrated into dust. Stop it now! Hit the red leather clad biker. OJ was guilty the biker said. Vicious banana stabbing in broad daylight. Let’s do it on gummi’s Harley. Without his consent or any protection except a helmet and a rubber just in case it gets chilly or real sloppy. He went forth and back and feeling so good then did donuts, certainly not orings. Smoked a cigarette and then said “wheres my beer?” Nevermind I don’t ride drunk, just stupidly quickly, laughing while crashing into an inflatable purple dinosaur named Emporor George Bush. The merry fool. Can’t let die the potted plant because the ducati didn’t go slow. In fact it went so fast it time traveled like that movie with Michael J Fox. And then into the future it metamorphosized into a beautiful butterfly custom paint job that bled. Trippy!
Then doc said “Im your huckleberry”. Marty then replied “I like huckleberries in a pie with gravy and large flying squirrels”. With very large tails and eyes. After eating that gross looking object in my pants, was a surprise
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Nibblet99
- Site Supporter - Diamond
- Posts: 2096
- Joined: Sat Jul 24, 2004 4:46 pm
- Sex: Male
- Location: Back in Reading again
)of a lifetime
(
Shorts I never expected anyone to put it all together into one post. It makes for some funny reading, so thank you 
.... prehaps we should make a 3 word bikers recipe 
)
(
Shorts I never expected anyone to put it all together into one post. It makes for some funny reading, so thank you .... prehaps we should make a 3 word bikers recipe )Starting out responsibly? - [url=http://www.totalmotorcycle.com/BBS/viewtopic.php?t=24730]Clicky[/url]
looking for a forum that advocates race replica, 600cc supersports for learners on public roads? - [url=http://www.google.com]Clicky[/url]
looking for a forum that advocates race replica, 600cc supersports for learners on public roads? - [url=http://www.google.com]Clicky[/url]
. My toothbrush! That's
You're welcome. Yeah, I'm wild like that. Just trying to give back to my online community 
There were times that the content was moving and actually funny. Other times, it was just useless and I wanted to reach through and punch the members who replied in the least creative way possible. Though seeing the different members was interesting
You're welcome. Yeah, I'm wild like that. Just trying to give back to my online community There were times that the content was moving and actually funny. Other times, it was just useless and I wanted to reach through and punch the members who replied in the least creative way possible. Though seeing the different members was interesting
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Z (fka Sweet Tooth)
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blues2cruise
- Moderator
- Posts: 10182
- Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 4:28 pm
- Sex: Female
- Years Riding: 16
- My Motorcycle: 2000 Yamaha V-Star 1100
- Location: Vancouver, British Columbia
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Nibblet99
- Site Supporter - Diamond
- Posts: 2096
- Joined: Sat Jul 24, 2004 4:46 pm
- Sex: Male
- Location: Back in Reading again
Before using it
You'd be referring to the doughnut fixation prehaps?Shorts wrote:Other times, it was just useless and I wanted to reach through and punch the members who replied in the least creative way possible.
Starting out responsibly? - [url=http://www.totalmotorcycle.com/BBS/viewtopic.php?t=24730]Clicky[/url]
looking for a forum that advocates race replica, 600cc supersports for learners on public roads? - [url=http://www.google.com]Clicky[/url]
looking for a forum that advocates race replica, 600cc supersports for learners on public roads? - [url=http://www.google.com]Clicky[/url]