Last night, SB stuck her nearly new Italian racing bike out in front of the house with a 4-SALE sign on it. My ass is getting old, and I'm going to sell that motherfucker and buy a 1-speed cruiser beach bike, where to brake, my ass only has to reverse the BIG FAT pedals. The Italian racing bike has 15 goddamn speeds (who needs that shit?), and a seat that wedges in my fat fucking ass when I ride it and makes my damn butt bones as sore as hell the next day. I am talking SEVERE AGONY, motherfuckers. Again, who needs that shit?
The 4-SALE sign on the bike reads: Italian Racing Bike for Sale. $250.00 FIRM (underlined twice). If you are a cheap motherfucker, don't insult me by trying to bargain. THIS IS NOT A YARD SALE OR THE DAMN FLEA MARKET.
If anybody is not too afraid to approach me after reading the sign, I may actually sell the fucker.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
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8 comments:
Just sending some love SB. My world's been busy as hellinski and I've been out of touch. Many sorries.
May that damn bike get the hell off your lawn...and may you get your $250, as you so rightfully deserve.
~nan
Thanks, Nan. Glad to hear from you! I figured you were busy because you haven't been posting a lot.
LOVE YOU! Hope things calm down some.
SB
I would buy that bike. But not for that price. Email me when you get desperate.
PS Are you in Ohio? I thought you were in Savannah? I won't go all over the fucking place for that bike.
LMAO, I hope you sell your bike. Why is it that riding a bike never hurt the girl parts when we were little, but now if you ride for 20 minutes, it feels like you got fist f*cked for a few days (not that I ever have been, but that's what I imagine it would feel like)?
Lou,
Nah. Unfortunately I'm in Bumfuck, Ohio now. I wish everyday I was back in Savannah. Even 100 degree days!
I'll let you know when I get desperate about the damn bike.
Love you!
SB
Melanie,
Thank you for taking the time to comment. You're right. It didn't hurt when we were little. Weird.
Comment anytime, sister.
SB
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Ms. Moon,
I love you more than Jesus. I suppose that's blasphemy. Oh well. Fuck it. It's true!
SB
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