Avoiding Flesh Stuffing

The past few days I have continued my ongoing silent protest of the relentless Michigan winter by refusing to stuff myself—and the 50 extra pounds of human flesh I haul around on my frame—into various layers of form-fitting gear in the name of a crap bike ride. Those 15 minutes of flesh stuffing can be used better by doing things like Googling an old Judas Priest song that popped up in a recent dream, watching pasta water boil, reheating leftover chili (so good!), staring blankly at the wall, taking photos of Jake (the dog), or waiting for beer to rapidly cool in the freezer while playing EA Sports FIFA 18.

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Not Half Good

The ass end of February/dick tip of March was semi-kind to me as far as getting outside to ride my bike. Sure, there was the minor schedule alteration due to an armed suspect at large in the area, a nice helping of psycho winds, and various dad duties to complete but as I’ve said before; at this time of year I am grateful for 1 ride a week and last I got 3! As a chubby, food loving, beer drinking, ex-crap amateur racer that only occasionally gives a shit about anything at all—let alone riding his bike—I’ll take that all day long! But then that ended.

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Going Bald

My dad is bald, he’s been bald my entire life. He’ll always be bald. I am not bald. I have been bracing for baldness since puberty yet at 46 years old all I’m contending with are minor problems in Sectors 1 and 31, but I am not bald2 My tires, on the other hand, are quite bald.

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