The Delivery

All right, Hamachi. You wanna roll? I trust you're not forgetting about the little red book that lives on my nightstand? The one you've never read?
I thought so, Hamachi. Don't you worry about my game. Worry about YOUR game, Jonny Hamachi!



First I'm gonna do a little bit of this:



And then I'm gonna do some of this:



And ten frames later, you might see one of these:




All in all, I'd say you'd better watch your back.

Apparently, the senator from Illinois can't roll for shit. Too much to ask for, I guess.



Not like this guy. Sure, he was a criminal. Paranoid and strung out. Should have spent the rest of his life in a concrete hole somewhere.

But the fucker had game.

The Pok, The Little Red Pill, and a Story of Homecoming.

You wish you were me right now. See that orange grease? That right there's the grease of the gods. This is what was waiting for me when I got home from work today.

No I can't go ride my bike because it's hailing, and then sunny, and then snowing, and then hailing sideways and the Lads are sick and wifey's at work and I desperately need to take a shower and go to bed but first I have to make dinner for the sons and wash some bottles and do some laundry and finish this beer and then open another. I gotta put some bag balm on my ruined hands and send my Grandma a card and I might as well call my mom.
My feet stink, my hair stinks, I have hemmorhoids and I can't sleep.
I need to buy new shoes, but gas is $3.40 a gallon and I can't eat fucking gasoline. My lips are cracked, my knees hurt and my head is pounding. Just let me open another beer and I'm sure I'll feel better.

You wish you were me, bitches.

This has been looong overdue. http://www.pdxfixed.com/
Finally, a place to argue about brakeless bikes, fakengers, and which $400 track bike will look best with an arrospok.

Actually, the good folks over there seem like they are into hanging on to a positive groove, and it looks good for making fast, fun, drunk things happen this summer. We here at the Pleasurefucker wish them all the best.

The weather has been dericulous the last couple of days. Nothing like a little snow at the end of march to cool down your springiness. It's alright, really, since I haven't been on the bike all week, and am feeling like all of the gains I've made recently have been drowned in a fucking gallon of pissy beer.

I'll bounce back.



No, really.

Just got off the phone with my old pal 43. Big changes a brewing over his way.
Not to get all into talking about his personal life, trouble, and strife, but he's taking a leap into a new venture and I for one am mighty proud of him. Nothing like shaking off the shackles of the workaday world and putting on the much larger, more painful shackles of the un-gainfully self-employed.
I've been there a few times, and I hope to go back soon. As nice as a regular paycheck and health insurance can be, sleeping until 11 and starting the short workday with a bong rip is just so much sweeter.

Anyway, best of luck to you friends. I wanted to get you a card, but nothing could possibly convey the feelings I have for you right now like this picture I found on the internet:

I keep forgetting that there are kids just killing it on track bikes. Backward circles were like, a really big deal a couple of years ago. There's something both irritating and pleasing about the misuse of bicycles...


council of doom: official full-length trailer from wolfgang on Vimeo.

Bless those dirty, dirty, bmx kids.

Once you go tarck, you never go barck. (Which has nothing to do , at all, with the man who would be prez.)

See this before it's gone.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarck_bike

I'm so frickin stoked. Hopworks Urban Brewery is finally getting their shit together and getting the doors open. Initially, I was just stoked because bicycle-themed (themed is not the right word. Oriented? Centric?) brewpubs
only come along every once in a great while (like, never), and the IPA they have been sending out, although not utterly fantastical, is pretty damn good. Now I'm REALLY stoked because I just found out that the HUB's new pizza chef used to run Lanesplitters down in the Oakland/Berkeley interface. Again, not the most fantastical pizza in the world (although, a lot of people swear it's the best), but pretty frickin goddammned good. I guess it's less about the pizza, and more about the great memories that I have of Lanesplitters. Anyway, I'm happy that dude's here, and will be proving it by wheeling The Lads in for a pint and a slice someday very soon.

So, the worst part was really the not eating for 24 hours. Man, I get hungry.

The other worst part was drinking what amounted to 2 pint-glasses of of lemony-flavored dishsoap, and promptly shitting my pajamas.

The bestest part was when the nurse was like "you might feel a little dizzy, but you won't care" as she pumped a bunch of dope into my I.V.

No shit, lady. It's been a long time since I was that high. So high, it was kinda scary. Stomach clenching, lids fluttering, a little prodding up the keester, and then a five hour nod.

No Smurfs. No half a sandwich lodged up there. Actually even got on the bike for a minute this afternoon. My problem persists, but that's a disgusting tale for another day.

CAESAR. I could be well moved, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks;
They are all fire, and every one doth shine;
But there's but one in all that doth hold his place:
So in the world; 'tis furnished well with men,
An men are flesh and blood, and appreshensive;
Yet in the number I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshaked of motion: and that I am he,
Let me a little show it, even in this;
That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
And constant do remain to keep him so.

CINNA. Oh Caesar,-
CAESAR. Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?
DECIUS. Great Caesar,-
CAESAR. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
CASCA. Speak, hands, for me!

(First Casca, then the other conspirators, and Marcus Brutus,
stab Caesar.)

CAESAR. Et tu, Brute? Then fall Caesar! (dies)




Beware the Ides of March, bitches.



My compatriots are out in Boise racing around just as I type this. I hope you made it hard on the soft bastards. I expect a full update once the hangovers wear off.

The River Potudan

Russia has been eating at me since I was a little kid.



Once I started reading, it was all over. I've been in love for a long time.



Platanov did it the very best. Before they sent his son to the camps.



I was in Havana 8 years ago, and the desperate smell of the Soviet was all over it. That's as close as I ever want to get.



I can't really comprehend what's happening over there now. But I think it's always been a confusing place.



All of these photos were straight-up robbed from englishrussia.com.

Farrar, Hydroplane, F-Bomb.

Chute Paris Nice 2008 FARRAR Tyler
Uploaded by Maxio

I Never Understood My Failings Then, and I Hide My Humble Hopes Now.

I was just sitting here, sucking on a big red pill and listening to Billy Bragg, and, you know, really enjoying the shit out of it. And I realized that I've had the lyrics of most of his best songs memorized for over 20 years. They still stoke me.

She Don't Look too Good.

moonwalking bear looks out for cyclists, while popo is asleep at the wheel.

http://www.dothetest.co.uk/

I don't know how to hotlink shit. Cut and paste, yo.

Hearts out to the friends and families of Kristy Gough and Matt Peterson. There but for the grace, go any of us.

http://cbs5.com/local/bicyclists.crash.sheriff.2.673306.html

Another Portland Sunday

Jeezus, the weather has been perfect. I never expected to be clocking miles and feeling this fit so early. I feel pretty damn good, and every day the Ankeny hill gets a little better. I did the 20th to 32nd hustle at a steady 14 mph this morning and didn't puke in my mouth. Two weeks ago just looking up at that slight incline made my stomach do flip-flops.

Made it up to The Know to see my favorite cute/uppity bartender this afternoon. I don't know how they do it, but pint bottles of Iron City are $1 during happy hour(s). I had three, left a good tip, and was still out a whopping 7 bones. I got to watch most of "Meet the Parents" in Espanol, too. That is one boring, smelly bar, but it has it's charms. Mainly, that it reminds me of Treat St. during one of the funnest, substance fueled, cash-money times of my life.

Except now I'm broke, stoked on dollar beers, and basically just as lonesome and dull as all the other bargoyle rejects lining the stools next to me. Sigh.

Wifey and the Lads are at Grandma's house. I'm fixin to crack a couple of little red pills, make some pasta, and call it another wasted sunday.

Cheers.

Kilt Lifter, and the Upcoming Colonoscopy

I finally bought a six of Pike Brewing Co. Kilt Lifter last night. I've been looking at it for like, ever. But it's ten bucks, and ten bucks buys a piss-ton of Oly tallboys. It was friday, the weather has been continuously killer for some weeks, and I've been feeling a bit springy. Plus, Wifey has been pulling some high-dollar wait shifts at the 2-Pok, and though we're still, financially speaking, totally fucked, I figured it was time to take the plunge.

I had The Lads with me, which makes a simple run to the Beer Store a little bit complicated. It goes like this: Feed, change, dress, and load pissed-off little guys into trailer. Ride to store. Realize I forgot lock. And wallet. Ride back home and then back to store. Lock Colnago kid hauler to railing, undo trailer and try to push it into store. Get too-wide wheels stuck in doorway. Nice Chinese Beer Store man in filthy coat helps get trailer/lads inside.
Look at Oly. Figure, fuck it, I'ma buy that beer I been looking at. Reverse process.

Kilt lifter tastes pretty good. Real malty. I drank four of them and fell asleep at 8:15. Woke up lousy. All dry-mouthed and shaky. Avoid.

Fuck all the "hints of tobacco, citrus, and earth". From now on I'm rating beers by hangover factor-- And they get a pass or fail.


I'm gonna get roto-rootered next week. I fully expect them to find Smurfs living up in my gut.

Two grand to let some jerk in a smock rape me with 6 feet of fiber optic cable. Getting old fucking sucks.

This is a Promise, With a Catch.

true love will find you in the end

you'll find out just who was your friend

don't be sad, I know you will

but don't give up until

true love will find you in the end



this is a promise, with a catch

only if you're looking, can it find you

cause true love is searching, too

but how can it recognise you unless

you step out into the light, the light


don't be sad, I know you will

but don't give up until

true love will find you in the end

Olde timey chicks turn me on.

Sam Adams

This guy is going to be Portland's next mayor. He raises chickens in his backyard, rides his bike to work every day- rain or shine, and has an uncommon vision of what this city is, and can be.

"Motherfucking Pizza Tonight!"

I'll never forget my drunk wife in her black satin prom dress, screaming "I got erection!" at the top of her lungs for 45 minutes while we waited for Turbonegro to take the stage.

Meanwhile, I drank a bottle of Don Julio, and did enough blow to kill a horse.

It took me weeks to recover from that show.

Tubulars

I'm gonna start talking about bicycles again.

This is from back when men were men who shot amphetamines into their neck veins.

No, YOU wrap YOUR bars all the way to the top.

PRO is motherfucking GO.





(Borat voice) "I Liiiike".

Creepy Shit

I haven't checked in for a bit. My photo host is giving me a deep dicking, and I can't say as I like it too much. I'll try to come up with something to look at soon.

It seems like the Laurelhurst park has sort of become part of my scope. I go thru to get to the beer store, I take the Lads every couple of days to look at the ducks, and the dogs, and the fucking time-warp dude with the guaged-out ears and the Utili-Kilt (and wallet-chain!).
When the four-treys were here, we did the full walk with the kids, and wee Viv even got her finger bit by a duck.

The poor girl that's been missing turned up face down in the duck pond on monday. Fucking shit freaks me right out. I'm not averse to dead people, mind you. I've seen a bunch of them, but just thinking about all the families spending parts of the last few weeks down there at the pond while that poor girl was there makes me feel really lonesome. I don't think I'll be going over there for a bit.

Good news is, the sun's been on us for the last few weeks, and I've been out on the bike nearly every afternoon. My mighty legs are starting to come back, and a little wind, too. The fuckin Lads weigh a ton, and with pulling the trailer up Salmon from the river, I'm starting to feel pretty good again. Everything I do from here on in is just training for 'cross.

It just occurred to me that I'm all stoked for the weather to turn shitty again so I can race around in the mud. Fucking sickness.

I bought a new vacuum cleaner today, and I get to install $7000 worth of locksets tomorrow. I really hate rich people. I hate being in their houses and I hate talking to them. My wife works every double shift she can get so we dont slip beneath the waves, and I'm sweating just trying to buy her a fucking vacuum as a gift.
Maybe some of it's jealousy, but I really don't think so. I'm just amazed at what these crazy assholes spend money on. I guess I just have a different idea about things.

When I'm Dictator, anyone who thinks that they need a rotating plasma in every room of the house, will be taken out and fed to the dogs.

You have my word.

Portland Sunday

We've been so busy lately just being a regular family. Wifey and I rarely cross paths anymore, and between trying to keep the kids alive and trying not to work ourselves to death, we don't get much time to just chill.

So we took a zero-dollar day yesterday. Spend nothing, do much. It invoved a long bike ride, a walk in the park, many shots of tequila, some pasta and a bottle of wine, and waking up this morning hung-over as shit, but totally re-energized.

Onward.

God, I really want a cargo bike.

And an old-timey bike.




Goddamn, I sneaked past yet another Valentines day unscathed. Wifey and I decided long ago that since her birthday is right before Christmas, and mine is on February 16 (happy birthday to me, bitches), that we'd just sorta ignore all those bullshit hearts and flowers. Imagine my combined feelings of joy and smugness as I stood in line at Fred's last night while the doofus in front of me dropped like, $36 on some crappy flowers, a card, and a bottle of Cook's, while in my basket resided nothing but a six of Oly tall boys, a loaf of bread, and some baby wipes. All the essentials, yo.

The weather has been sweet the last couple of days. Frosty in the mornings, but precious little of the wet stuff for a change. Portlanders call this a false spring. You'll get some 60 degree days in February, and everybody goes apeshit. It's hard not to. There are bulbs coming up in the yard, and the quince looks like it's about to bloom. It won't last. I know were gonna pay for this. It's gonna fucking rain until June.

This is the fucked-up handrail/staircase I just finished building. Two months of very difficult work. It's beautiful.



I'm gonna sleep in until 7 tomorrow, do the paycheck loop, go out for a birthday breakfast, and then go lay some tile (it ain't as sexy as it sounds).
There are far too many things in this world that need my attention, but I'm just gonna try to take it a little bit easy this weekend. Do the same, friends.

nahbs part III

This was my third nahbs. It was less than epic, but still a damn good time.
The 43's were here, and we ate and drank and made beasts of ourselves.

Mr. Chris likes the color red.


Dario makes the best bikes.


Fish is fresh and good.


Many hands eat and hail the mighty PokPok.


Mr. Chris also likes brown bagging it, cute bartenders, and free tamales.


Crabs are food.



Yes, I took more pictures of food than I did of bikes.

Sheldon Rides With the Angels.

Go, man.




Trying like hell to pull it together for this weekend. No time, no money, shitty weather.

Pok Pok and Lagunitas will make it all better, guarans ballbearans.