Arse humping butt freaks

Yeah I know, but those porno junkies might goolge that and stumble in here by mistake and sup from the teat of my wisdom.

So what has been happening with me I hear you wail? My absence from the bloggerphere has been keenly felt and I can tell. Remember that angry person on the ride in today? Not getting the good stuff from Papa Banana. Time to fix the drought my thirsty lambs.

I had a house warming during one of Melbourne's classically shitty freezing winter days. Rained all day then the skies cleared for the evening and dropped 20 degrees. I know this foul winter bitch well and stocked up on coal and gas bottles and fought back the cold with heat and many happy people eating spicy food and drinking silly drinks called "aftershock" and tequila. Papa Banana - 1, winter bitch - 0. I rock.

During the same night a friend of mine finally succumbed to the mind rays and agreed to sell me one of his motorcycles. Best for both of us really. He will no longer get brain cancer from continuous subliminal brain tuning and I get an SR500 to tinker with. Although the actual transaction is yet to take place he said it in front of witnesses and even repeated the agreement when sober a few days later. Technically he is now my new bike's caretaker as I am the caretaker of his new cash. We will both be very happy I'm sure.

I have bought new sexy bits for the Betty the viffer, soon to be fitted. She has a new set of swanky Italian wave disks, a new one-tooth-smaller-just-so-I-can-finally-do-wheelies-sprocket, and soon to arrive ......a set of ultra-studmuffin steel-braided brake lines that look like carbon fibre and have gold fittings. My pants are suddenly tight with joy. My bike will cause women to swoon and make men want to be me... or just wonder why I spend so mucho peso on a bike. Simple answer, I like hotrods, I like bikes, this will be my bike hotrod if I can ever afford to do all the good and expensive and ludicruous things I want to do to it. Plus, every fucking wanker squid knob jocky has a GSXR, R1, CBR1000r, ZX10 penis extension and might as well buy there personality from Kmart and be done with it. If you don't race don't fucking pose in front of me you utter bastard on your ultra-bike you can never hope to ride properly. They think neons and a loud exhaust make them special and cool and unique. It makes them common and fucked.

I'm off to Tassie next year with a good crowd of some of my favourite people. We're all heading over on the boat then visiting my Dear Mother for coffee and a fry up the next morning before risking licence and limb as we navigate arguably Australia's best riding roads. My mum is a quiet soul so God only knows what she will make of me and my 15 mates, all aboard noisy bikes, rocking into her cul-da-sac at some early hour to say "hi, we need coffee and a bbq breakfast". I hope she will still speak to me afterwards. It's going to be a cracker of a trip and I'm already planning my kit, spares and tools. I expect I will forget or leave all such things at home and make do with a swiss army knife, 1oomph tape and WD40. Works every time.

Well then, I don't want to wear out my welcome in your frontal lobe so will do my usual.

Catch you later...

Still lazy, not dead, news at nine

óla folks,

So much to say and so little voosh. I'm having my house warming at last, should be good and if all goes to plan I will end up drunk, naked and running down my street followed by like-minded souls. That's the sign of a good party. There is a roundabout near by which I hope to incorporate. I'm thinking tequila shots with a dash of tabasco and a bear chaser. I might have enforced a "no pants" rule but I know some people I'd never want to see naked are coming so that's out. Have to do with a mad naked dash and hope we don't attract the cops.

Catch you later