Dorsland
Bachelor Dog
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2012
- Messages
- 11,191
- Reaction score
- 1,680
- Location
- Van Daar
- Bike
- Honda CRF-1000L Africa Twin
Vermin has a few outstanding RRs on Advrider I've worked my way through over the past week or so.
Warning: they are addictive :biggrin:
https://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=362853&page=6
Here's a teaser:
Bad Dad
It is still hotter than blazes but I don’t really care. Dollbaby, never one to complain, seems fairly happy and excited. Cack is thirsty for more Dinosaur squeezins. As I cruised through suburban Fresno all the gas stations where on the wrong side of the road or I didn’t see them till too late or I was in the wrong lane. One thing led to another and I ended up in the ghetto/barrio and still not found either a big fat north/south freeway or a gas station. We finally lurch into a real seedy bullet proof plexiglass petrol station as the soundtrack to Armeggedon approaches from behind me. An espanik feller on an absolutely tricked out bagger hog rolls in with twin 6x9 speakers blasting (mounted in the bags) that deep ghetto bass that makes soccer moms lock their doors. Every time the beat hits bottom my poindexter crime victim style glasses vibrate and make me sneeze. A bunch of African American fellers ridin on DUBs in a 1995 Chevy Blazer pull over to the Harley guy and have a brief confab about how they are gonna tie ropes to my legs and pull me into two separate pieces (while somehow magicly conversing over 149,237.5 decible music) and then take my atm card and spend my money imprudently. Never mind my daughter. I know all this for a fact because I watch COPS and I have seen movies about this type of thing. In the meantime a wino comes over and starts blabbering absolute gibberish and really anxiously wanting a response. My paranometer was flashing MAX. My excel spreadsheet threat matrix had nothing but red blinking squares. I am eyeing the bear mace as the heavily gang tattooed rolling beatbox guy sauntered toward me fumbling in his drawers for his 9mm. As he got into point blank range his right hand shot out of his pocket and he handed me his business card and said “yo if you ever need any custom paint or fiberglass work give me a call” he looked at my bike, smiled and left with his homeys in tow.
Warning: they are addictive :biggrin:
https://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=362853&page=6
Here's a teaser:
Bad Dad
It is still hotter than blazes but I don’t really care. Dollbaby, never one to complain, seems fairly happy and excited. Cack is thirsty for more Dinosaur squeezins. As I cruised through suburban Fresno all the gas stations where on the wrong side of the road or I didn’t see them till too late or I was in the wrong lane. One thing led to another and I ended up in the ghetto/barrio and still not found either a big fat north/south freeway or a gas station. We finally lurch into a real seedy bullet proof plexiglass petrol station as the soundtrack to Armeggedon approaches from behind me. An espanik feller on an absolutely tricked out bagger hog rolls in with twin 6x9 speakers blasting (mounted in the bags) that deep ghetto bass that makes soccer moms lock their doors. Every time the beat hits bottom my poindexter crime victim style glasses vibrate and make me sneeze. A bunch of African American fellers ridin on DUBs in a 1995 Chevy Blazer pull over to the Harley guy and have a brief confab about how they are gonna tie ropes to my legs and pull me into two separate pieces (while somehow magicly conversing over 149,237.5 decible music) and then take my atm card and spend my money imprudently. Never mind my daughter. I know all this for a fact because I watch COPS and I have seen movies about this type of thing. In the meantime a wino comes over and starts blabbering absolute gibberish and really anxiously wanting a response. My paranometer was flashing MAX. My excel spreadsheet threat matrix had nothing but red blinking squares. I am eyeing the bear mace as the heavily gang tattooed rolling beatbox guy sauntered toward me fumbling in his drawers for his 9mm. As he got into point blank range his right hand shot out of his pocket and he handed me his business card and said “yo if you ever need any custom paint or fiberglass work give me a call” he looked at my bike, smiled and left with his homeys in tow.
