more wacky (hate that word) adventures (hate that word) fromt the (hate that word) road
Currently I would like to register my dislike for the word road also. GOD I'm angry, and kind of depressed, but on the PLUS SIDE YEY, I think I picked the right ism. NOT by the way that I'm an ismist. I don't just jump on an ism bandwagon because it looks cool and the hay bales on the back look like they might be comfortable and the guy who's driving seems nice enough, NO I sometimes think about these things. A LOT.
Why dislike for road, and why communism?
WELL, I just got a puncture right? and usually I don't let things like that get me down, I ride along on the rim whitling my theme tune, and thinking, it's cool, I'm Chesney, but for some reaason, MOSTLY because i was riding up horrendously large and arduous and frightening mountainous things, for some reason the puncture got to me a little. I didn't kill, not today, today was not the day for it, only EXTREME political force justifies such things, no TODAY I decided to stop at the nearest wal-mart, which unfortunately, being several thousand miles away would have been quite a chore. As LUKE would have it, I just happening to be roling passed an bycicling repaire shoppe. In I walk, "Oh Mr bycicle repaire man, I am famous diarist and political figure Chesney Guerilla and my bycicle tire seems to hjave developed some kind of hemmorage of air. " .... "OH!" exclaimed he, "I'm SO sorry to HEAR THAT, that will cost you £15 or $30 my good gentleman." ...and here's where the politics comes in- "OH says I, well my good man, I'm sure you'll be MORE than happy to accept a page from my diary in exchange for your reparation services." ... "What do you think this is?" asks he, " A communist coo or something? NO it's a bycicle repaire shoppe"..... confusion creapt across my face like a baby across the tongue of a snake on a motorway... "Communist coo? what hath coos got to do with anything, or any other animal for that matter/ ALl I was implying is that surely my diary entries are worth their weight in gold.".....
then he kicks me out of his shop saying that MY diary entries wont be worth their weight in paper if I don't get off his premisses. Now there's a moral to this story, and one that I will tried my best not to hamper or pickernick basket with mixed metaphors. COMMUNISSM WOULD BE NICE IF EVERYONE WERE WORTH SOMETHING....... BUT... and it's a rather large but.... or in ebonics.... baby got back........ NOT EVERYONE HAS INTRINSIC WORTH. and that bycicle repaire shop owner can EAT ME.
Anyway, I am going to attempt to do a front wheel wheelie for the next 300 miles or until the next bycicle repaire shop, although lack of funds may force me to committ political insurection at the nearest gas station.
Why dislike for road, and why communism?
WELL, I just got a puncture right? and usually I don't let things like that get me down, I ride along on the rim whitling my theme tune, and thinking, it's cool, I'm Chesney, but for some reaason, MOSTLY because i was riding up horrendously large and arduous and frightening mountainous things, for some reason the puncture got to me a little. I didn't kill, not today, today was not the day for it, only EXTREME political force justifies such things, no TODAY I decided to stop at the nearest wal-mart, which unfortunately, being several thousand miles away would have been quite a chore. As LUKE would have it, I just happening to be roling passed an bycicling repaire shoppe. In I walk, "Oh Mr bycicle repaire man, I am famous diarist and political figure Chesney Guerilla and my bycicle tire seems to hjave developed some kind of hemmorage of air. " .... "OH!" exclaimed he, "I'm SO sorry to HEAR THAT, that will cost you £15 or $30 my good gentleman." ...and here's where the politics comes in- "OH says I, well my good man, I'm sure you'll be MORE than happy to accept a page from my diary in exchange for your reparation services." ... "What do you think this is?" asks he, " A communist coo or something? NO it's a bycicle repaire shoppe"..... confusion creapt across my face like a baby across the tongue of a snake on a motorway... "Communist coo? what hath coos got to do with anything, or any other animal for that matter/ ALl I was implying is that surely my diary entries are worth their weight in gold.".....
then he kicks me out of his shop saying that MY diary entries wont be worth their weight in paper if I don't get off his premisses. Now there's a moral to this story, and one that I will tried my best not to hamper or pickernick basket with mixed metaphors. COMMUNISSM WOULD BE NICE IF EVERYONE WERE WORTH SOMETHING....... BUT... and it's a rather large but.... or in ebonics.... baby got back........ NOT EVERYONE HAS INTRINSIC WORTH. and that bycicle repaire shop owner can EAT ME.
Anyway, I am going to attempt to do a front wheel wheelie for the next 300 miles or until the next bycicle repaire shop, although lack of funds may force me to committ political insurection at the nearest gas station.