Alright. Its been 16 days. Thats it, just 16 beer soaked days hanging heavy with cigarette smoke. A collective has been formed. 33rpm records have been spun at 45. Hunred of miles have dissapeared under 700c strips of rubber. Girls have gone missing and bromances have been solidified. There was a craft fair, and somewhere in those hungover days the blackened fetus called Bike Cult wormed its way into our brains and consumed the section that allowes logical thinking.
What is Bike Cult? Its DIY. Bikes and Beer. Comradie and creativity.
It is existing bicycle.
Bike Cult also wants you to come ride your bike with us. We, and you, play bike tag every Saturday night at 9pm in Smith Plaza. Thats at UNM. Its easy and everyone can play, on anykind of bike. Proof? Last game we had Fixed Gears, Comfort Bikes, Commuters, Cruisers and Stingrays. Diversity is key, Bike Tag is all inclusive. YOU can play. There are no fancy prizes or trendy schwag. Theres beer and bikes and fun. I sure dont need any thing else.
Keep your Aerospoke, give me friends who love to ride as much as me.
Maybe you've seen the Who Is Bike Cult? flyers. Maybe you havent, but you will. Anyone who rides bikes and wants to come promote bike tag, hit us up!
So there was this thing that happened at Dennys....
Anna and I decided after riding with Carbon Zack and Kervin that we wanted Dennys. More or less because of my hallucinations of golden pancakes, and Anna doing shots out of a rusty BMX peg (PUNK). 3am. We rolled down there and got seated after being stared at. Atleast 5 sober minuts (15 drunk) I got pissed. I stood behind an Amazon waiting for service. The manager finally realizes my presense and asks if I want to pay. No, I want coffee and menus. He is concerned. Where are you seated? Were going to be seated in a different resturant in three minuts if we dont get coffee an menus. So, we got coffee and menus. All the while someone in the stratosphere felt like Anna and I would be better off listening to the most obnoxious radio personality in the history of total shit. He was very proud of hhimself, and made sure to say so to his entourage of English Hookers. Our orders are taken by a very tall Boondock Saints quoting weirdo named Charles. The eggs come wrong, very wrong. Those eggs stay, and the right eggs come. Its a massacre. A fetal genocide. Chickens do not worry about over population. The manager comps our check for being an ass. The gangster leave, and we slaughter. Charles would like to join us for a smoke. We do, I do. Anna encounters strange friends of hers. 4am. The hessian bussboy materializes a joint, with myself Charles, Anna and the cancer patient. Shes fres outta chemo suckin down that cigarette because possibly its her last. It goes around and around, the world does too. We want to leave after the near drive by that went down, very very slowly. The cancer patient wants to know about our bike lights. A 2 minut conversation puts bike lights into "bike lights". (brackets? Apostrophes? I do no know) Bike Lights have become meth. This night is over. No, no it isnt. We listen to Russian Circles untill the sun beats us to the finish. 6am. We sleep.
And this other thing happened, and something else too. But I want another cigarette and am pretty sure I dont have one. Can I continue this thing without my addiction hacing been fed first?
No.
2 things:
ReplyDeleteI <3 denny's.
I'm buying you cigarettes tomorrow.