This past week brought about some disturbing revelations and reminds me that we are all mortal. Some fears were assuaged and some new ones crept up along with some lingering questions.
The riding has been going well for the trike man. I run through more tubes than an urologist giving free vasectomies in West Virginia. I keep patching them but then I hit some glass or someone will bean my melon with a full beer and the glass and brew will filtch down my shorts til it runs out my leg hole. I don't want to die of fatness nor diabetes. So I will keep riding. I used to have bad dreams about becoming Michael Jackson's love sponge and having him weedle his scarred, bleached gherkin into my port hole. Of course I had been immobilzed with chocolate and some large latex ball grabbers. When I screamed, his monkey pal Bubbles would come along and wack me with his monkey wiener which emitted an odd smeliing gooey liquid. When I'd awake after these dreams I would have to down a dozen or so doughnuts to get the monkey jizz taste out of my mouth....alas, MJ and Bubbles have both gone to wierdo heaven (where undoubtedly Liberace and Bozo the Clown are waiting to ass rape him and the monkey). So, I am now safe.
I learned also the top 5 ways I do not want to die. Listed in order of least preferable:
1. anal cancer
2. anal cancer
3. anal cancer
4. anal cancer
5. anal cancer
The high mark of my high school spanktometer, Farrah Fawcett, bit the dust. Too bad for her. Her disease was so horrifically vile that even the news media hated typing the words. Every article had the name of the disease once and only once. After that it became her condition or her disease.....for fucks sake!!!!! ANAL CANCER???? What does that mean, at the end tour ass looks like a Gibbon's swollen and protruding like you just got fucked by the Charles Manson of the Banana Tribe? No wonder Ryan O'Neal looked so bloated and putrid. He apparently got fucked by the same bloke. What causes anal cancer? Did Lee Majors ride the Hershey Highway at Mach 1? Absent industrial bearings, getting ass-fucked by the Six Million Dollar Man could cancerificate anyone (exclusive of Elton John whose ass hole is so stretched out that he can park vehicles in his lower colon).
Lastly Billy Mays died. Word has his wife paying for his funeral in three easy installments of $19.99.
Off to Trike...later pussies
Today the Fatman weighs 309............
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Need for Speed.... Aero?
As I have been triking along, I have thought about how to get faster. Obviously loose weight and gain muscle. But that prospect bores me. Does anyone know of a crazy non objective medical condition for which you can get a legal EPO prescription. Like night sweats or sudden male boner syndrome? Or one that I have going on that I think EPO does wonders for is excessive growth of the patch. I obtained a camera shot of the real estate between my frank and beans and the outhouse and man is there a patch of hair. Its like riding on a horse hair saddle or something. Problem is it makes my sac sweat like all get out and it also looks as though I am sporting an adult diaper; either that or my ass enveloped a beaver and it trying to get out. My arms are not long enough to wack my weeds so I was thinking of going in for a brazilian waxing. I have a friend who is a dog groomer. Should I get him to knock down the forest before we undercut? Any advise from Albanians would be appreciated.. I hear tell Albanians are pubically inclined. I am following a blog called www.mangosalon.blogspot.com I figure that mango refers to the male testes. I would probably only trust an outfit that specializes in waxing or shaving male testes before I let 'em wack my boys.
Today the fat man weighs 310....
Later pussies.
Today the fat man weighs 310....
Later pussies.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Come Monday.....It'll be alright
My favorite song by Jimmy Puff-it.
Fat attack on the rampage....
So I spent the weekend ridin' my trike, hydrating like a house on fire and eating queer things like arugula and puffed rice cakes. Rest assured I was not the ugliest thing on less than 4 wheels.
I saw numerous riders who had ridden straight out of Haight-Ashbury with their ancient Bell helmets and gyps and doodles all over their bikes. At least those fellas were personable. I found the worst is the pseudo punk girls with there various piercings, wierdo hair color and them skinny ass jeans only intended for skinny ass women. Invariably these ass hags have way to much skanky looking pale skinned cleavage (the butt variety) showing. They also seem to ride exclusively on underinflated tires on a rig that is set up for style points only.
The best are the dork walkers....men or women out walking like they have to hurry up and take a huge shit. Walking with both cheeks pressed firmly together just swinging them arms. The best part of these women is what I affectionately term the Ass Flag. In the hopes of hiding the generous copious amount of back porch hangin off the poop stoop, these men and women always....always have some sort of sweater or sweatshirt tied firmly around their waste with the torso portion curtain walling the monstrous ass that lives beneath. Its a flag ladies and gents...Might as well have a sign on your back with huge flashing lights that says "Beware: Giant Sized Super Duper Huge Ever Lovin' Pooper" or in traffic parlance "Wide Load".
The weekend rides were a success in that I was able to LSU the retard hat, did not defecate in any inappropriate place (I consider my own shorts to be an inappropriate place).
The wife for all her virtue is ridin the Fat Man hard....no this no that. She found my bag of pork cracklin's hidden in the commode tank. It was the only place i could think of where I could get some privacy. I'd just add an extra dump to the normally scheduled ones. When the commode kept runnin' she popped the back and found the goods.....
My next stop is to buy an Ipod. To keep it interesting, I am going to collect as much stripper music as possible. So, if at least I croak on the trike it will have been with a smile.....
Today the fat man weighs 314,,,,,,,
later pussies.
Fat attack on the rampage....
So I spent the weekend ridin' my trike, hydrating like a house on fire and eating queer things like arugula and puffed rice cakes. Rest assured I was not the ugliest thing on less than 4 wheels.
I saw numerous riders who had ridden straight out of Haight-Ashbury with their ancient Bell helmets and gyps and doodles all over their bikes. At least those fellas were personable. I found the worst is the pseudo punk girls with there various piercings, wierdo hair color and them skinny ass jeans only intended for skinny ass women. Invariably these ass hags have way to much skanky looking pale skinned cleavage (the butt variety) showing. They also seem to ride exclusively on underinflated tires on a rig that is set up for style points only.
The best are the dork walkers....men or women out walking like they have to hurry up and take a huge shit. Walking with both cheeks pressed firmly together just swinging them arms. The best part of these women is what I affectionately term the Ass Flag. In the hopes of hiding the generous copious amount of back porch hangin off the poop stoop, these men and women always....always have some sort of sweater or sweatshirt tied firmly around their waste with the torso portion curtain walling the monstrous ass that lives beneath. Its a flag ladies and gents...Might as well have a sign on your back with huge flashing lights that says "Beware: Giant Sized Super Duper Huge Ever Lovin' Pooper" or in traffic parlance "Wide Load".
The weekend rides were a success in that I was able to LSU the retard hat, did not defecate in any inappropriate place (I consider my own shorts to be an inappropriate place).
The wife for all her virtue is ridin the Fat Man hard....no this no that. She found my bag of pork cracklin's hidden in the commode tank. It was the only place i could think of where I could get some privacy. I'd just add an extra dump to the normally scheduled ones. When the commode kept runnin' she popped the back and found the goods.....
My next stop is to buy an Ipod. To keep it interesting, I am going to collect as much stripper music as possible. So, if at least I croak on the trike it will have been with a smile.....
Today the fat man weighs 314,,,,,,,
later pussies.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Original CR POST
On Wed, Jun 10, 2009 at 3:51 AM, Randy Dineer wrote:
New member alert:
Randall Dineer, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
ht: 6-4"
wt: 310 + or -. used to be 4 plus
age: 54
rigs: 1967 worksman trike, a late 1960's Bottecchia and a mid-70's drillium Paramount. Due to my size issues, I have not ridden the Bott or the Paramount for years.
sign: Capricorn
interests: rc planes, wood carving, old fans, old bicycles
why I joined: the wife says I am a boring l_y. She's encouraged me to get some hobbies and interests. I am looking to learn and possibly collect. Also looking to learn more about riding positioning so that I can go further longer and lose more lbs. I do not want to die of diabetes at age 53. I am also very interested in expanding my trike collection. I have seen Holdworth trikes before on UK Ebay but it was a whole month of stripper dollars to get them here. Anyone know of a good source for quality classic adult man trikes?
thanks for the vine guys.
Randall Dineer
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
New member alert:
Randall Dineer, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
ht: 6-4"
wt: 310 + or -. used to be 4 plus
age: 54
rigs: 1967 worksman trike, a late 1960's Bottecchia and a mid-70's drillium Paramount. Due to my size issues, I have not ridden the Bott or the Paramount for years.
sign: Capricorn
interests: rc planes, wood carving, old fans, old bicycles
why I joined: the wife says I am a boring l_y. She's encouraged me to get some hobbies and interests. I am looking to learn and possibly collect. Also looking to learn more about riding positioning so that I can go further longer and lose more lbs. I do not want to die of diabetes at age 53. I am also very interested in expanding my trike collection. I have seen Holdworth trikes before on UK Ebay but it was a whole month of stripper dollars to get them here. Anyone know of a good source for quality classic adult man trikes?
thanks for the vine guys.
Randall Dineer
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Cirque de Homoism.......
As I mentioned below. I briefly joined and then was promptly unjoined the CR list. All for the use of the term ASSCLOWN which I happen to think very appropriate in certain circumstances. After joining I was reading through the list about an admittedly french fairy bicyclle party that they have each year. From what I can tell the prime activities are the sniffing of each other's chamois, doling out awards for tightest ass cheeks and see how far certain Campagnolo seat posts can be inserted rectally. The winner of that particular contest receives a size 36 wool jersey and a kiss from an aging bike matron with pubic hair braided down to her knees stinking of petuli oil. They then have awards for (from what I can tell) bike that has never seen a minute on the road. Mind you these are the sportscars of the bicycle world. Many are owned by obese dysfunctionals who parade them around in lieu of their family members who ran screaming years ago..... I am sorry I digress.
One of these particular ASSCLOWNs actually posted on the list his own impressions of Cirque (french name for fag festival). You'd think a piece about old greasy bikes would be...old and greasy. The words whimsy, delicate, fluffy and ephemeral should not be part of the discussion. For your reading pleasure you can find this faggabond's (roving faggot) post at:
http://tinyurl.com/nqbexo
I have taken the liberty of rewriting it with the special RandyD touch. My adds are in italics and bold.....
It's Sunday, the 7th of June, 7:00 am as I swing a leg over the Bruce Gordon for one last ride my belly growns and I emit three intense ass bombs. The extra chili on my nachos at 1am was probably a little much . The smell is horrible and I move away in the wake of innocents coughing. They look at me and I flash a nostril flare like I get the stench but deny the origin. I am an avowed fart denier. I feel another rumble and am concerned that this time I might strike mud. I pull my dainty chunk of leg meat over the bar with help of both arms. I am careful not to pull too hard and release another gas bomb. I return to the hotel drop trow in an overly cramped stall and wait. Several geek bags walk in and I'd rather be alone. I begin to moan like I am birthing turdzilla. I know they will soon leave. What then runs out of my ass could only be described as black gold---filled with methane. I look up and the green cloud looks back at me and smiles. I am one with the cloud. I know I must exit soon or be labelled the horrid shitter by the Cirque. I take a quick wipe, store some TP in my shorts leg for when it sauces up again and I am off. Just then two fellas with sweet hair in headbands walk in. Am I now a Nazi? I just gassed two fags.
MJ gives a cherry toot on the the Black Market Bikes SUV horn as she pulls in to pick up Wayne and the fairground workers, and I wave as I pedal out of the lot. I can tell my ass will be juiced in about a mile. Good planning with the toilet paper. Except I noticed as I walked out that I look like I am hung like Johnny Wad Holmes. I can not imagine that such attributes with appeal to the few pubie braiders running around here. Fleecy banks of fog all the way down to the deck are all around as I cover the short distance to the W&O bike path. There's an organized ride at 9:00, sponsored by the local club, but I just want an hour on the path before I rub one out, shower, pack, load up the van, check out of the hotel and head for the big climax of the weekend, the Cirque du Cyclisme Sunday show. Rolling east on the path, the fog is turning golden as the sun comes up, the honeysuckle festooning (is that a real word?) the fences and trees lining the path are perfuming the air and larks (I need a man on man blow job at this point), thrushes and wrens are providing the grace notes to the Gordon's tires thrumming (I am now jacking off to the thought of George Michael) on the pavement. Ghostly riders materialize out of the fog and disappear behind me. My wool jersey is soon bedewed (I think he means spewed during the circle jerk that occurred after he wrote this) with droplets which makes me sparkley (Which teletubby was sparkley?) when the sun peaks through a break of the fog banks. Wasn't it just 20 minutes ago that I drove into Leesburg? And now it's Sunday already? Why do these Cirque weekends fly by so fast? And I realize, that jeeze, am I happy. Memories crowd in as I roll along: the Thursday night reception at Mel Pinto's old shop, where Wayne allows us to ferret (what no gerbils?) about in the back store rooms. It's an Alladin's cave (current hiding spot for Bin Laden I hear) of treasure for bike nuts, with laminated toe straps (nuts and straps....sounds like S&M) sitting next to scads of cotton bar tape, chrome fenders and stays rubbing shoulders (the manliest piece of this whole panty raid) with rare Stronglight cranks, really too much stuff to take in on a casual run through. MJ pats me down as I leave, to make sure the belly in my shirt (he meant skirt) is all me (and wow was she disappointed by my pencil dick...), not rare bike treasures. I'm tempted to go back so she can frisk me twice (it will still be a short thin pencil...give it up) Friday is rainy, so the fixed gear ride is rerouted to a non dirt route to avoid mud. We are urging each other to get in touch with our inner Belgian (is that like some gay God....) and brave the elements, but my outer wuss is dominant (now he is talking..my next CL ad; sub bottom seek outer dominant wuss), so I hang around the hotel. Bikes are everywhere, leaning against chairs, lining the hallway, a fairyland of cycles (the first realistic admission of anything).....blah blah blah blah .....butt pirate, blew this guy and that saw a small piece of wood all dewey so I cleaned it off and ate it....... All cirques are different, and yet all are the same: you see your good friends again and spend hours chatting, you admire new bikes and see old two wheeled friends, you get in some good riding and the whole thing flies by in the blink of an eye. I hope that those who couldn't come this year will be able to join us again in 2010. A big thanks to Wayne and MJ, and may the Cirque live forever. Support it, if you can.
May Cirque live forever and may a nice sweet spring birdie fly up my ass and entertain the ferret that has been residing there since Flashdance--the Movie. Seriously, who writes like this and does not expect a good solid beatdown? It's old bikes for chris's sake not the unveiling of Ted Williams frozen head
later pussies...........
One of these particular ASSCLOWNs actually posted on the list his own impressions of Cirque (french name for fag festival). You'd think a piece about old greasy bikes would be...old and greasy. The words whimsy, delicate, fluffy and ephemeral should not be part of the discussion. For your reading pleasure you can find this faggabond's (roving faggot) post at:
http://tinyurl.com/nqbexo
I have taken the liberty of rewriting it with the special RandyD touch. My adds are in italics and bold.....
It's Sunday, the 7th of June, 7:00 am as I swing a leg over the Bruce Gordon for one last ride my belly growns and I emit three intense ass bombs. The extra chili on my nachos at 1am was probably a little much . The smell is horrible and I move away in the wake of innocents coughing. They look at me and I flash a nostril flare like I get the stench but deny the origin. I am an avowed fart denier. I feel another rumble and am concerned that this time I might strike mud. I pull my dainty chunk of leg meat over the bar with help of both arms. I am careful not to pull too hard and release another gas bomb. I return to the hotel drop trow in an overly cramped stall and wait. Several geek bags walk in and I'd rather be alone. I begin to moan like I am birthing turdzilla. I know they will soon leave. What then runs out of my ass could only be described as black gold---filled with methane. I look up and the green cloud looks back at me and smiles. I am one with the cloud. I know I must exit soon or be labelled the horrid shitter by the Cirque. I take a quick wipe, store some TP in my shorts leg for when it sauces up again and I am off. Just then two fellas with sweet hair in headbands walk in. Am I now a Nazi? I just gassed two fags.
MJ gives a cherry toot on the the Black Market Bikes SUV horn as she pulls in to pick up Wayne and the fairground workers, and I wave as I pedal out of the lot. I can tell my ass will be juiced in about a mile. Good planning with the toilet paper. Except I noticed as I walked out that I look like I am hung like Johnny Wad Holmes. I can not imagine that such attributes with appeal to the few pubie braiders running around here. Fleecy banks of fog all the way down to the deck are all around as I cover the short distance to the W&O bike path. There's an organized ride at 9:00, sponsored by the local club, but I just want an hour on the path before I rub one out, shower, pack, load up the van, check out of the hotel and head for the big climax of the weekend, the Cirque du Cyclisme Sunday show. Rolling east on the path, the fog is turning golden as the sun comes up, the honeysuckle festooning (is that a real word?) the fences and trees lining the path are perfuming the air and larks (I need a man on man blow job at this point), thrushes and wrens are providing the grace notes to the Gordon's tires thrumming (I am now jacking off to the thought of George Michael) on the pavement. Ghostly riders materialize out of the fog and disappear behind me. My wool jersey is soon bedewed (I think he means spewed during the circle jerk that occurred after he wrote this) with droplets which makes me sparkley (Which teletubby was sparkley?) when the sun peaks through a break of the fog banks. Wasn't it just 20 minutes ago that I drove into Leesburg? And now it's Sunday already? Why do these Cirque weekends fly by so fast? And I realize, that jeeze, am I happy. Memories crowd in as I roll along: the Thursday night reception at Mel Pinto's old shop, where Wayne allows us to ferret (what no gerbils?) about in the back store rooms. It's an Alladin's cave (current hiding spot for Bin Laden I hear) of treasure for bike nuts, with laminated toe straps (nuts and straps....sounds like S&M) sitting next to scads of cotton bar tape, chrome fenders and stays rubbing shoulders (the manliest piece of this whole panty raid) with rare Stronglight cranks, really too much stuff to take in on a casual run through. MJ pats me down as I leave, to make sure the belly in my shirt (he meant skirt) is all me (and wow was she disappointed by my pencil dick...), not rare bike treasures. I'm tempted to go back so she can frisk me twice (it will still be a short thin pencil...give it up) Friday is rainy, so the fixed gear ride is rerouted to a non dirt route to avoid mud. We are urging each other to get in touch with our inner Belgian (is that like some gay God....) and brave the elements, but my outer wuss is dominant (now he is talking..my next CL ad; sub bottom seek outer dominant wuss), so I hang around the hotel. Bikes are everywhere, leaning against chairs, lining the hallway, a fairyland of cycles (the first realistic admission of anything).....blah blah blah blah .....butt pirate, blew this guy and that saw a small piece of wood all dewey so I cleaned it off and ate it....... All cirques are different, and yet all are the same: you see your good friends again and spend hours chatting, you admire new bikes and see old two wheeled friends, you get in some good riding and the whole thing flies by in the blink of an eye. I hope that those who couldn't come this year will be able to join us again in 2010. A big thanks to Wayne and MJ, and may the Cirque live forever. Support it, if you can.
May Cirque live forever and may a nice sweet spring birdie fly up my ass and entertain the ferret that has been residing there since Flashdance--the Movie. Seriously, who writes like this and does not expect a good solid beatdown? It's old bikes for chris's sake not the unveiling of Ted Williams frozen head
later pussies...........
Booted From CR---The Dickless Fish
So, I joined CR (http://www.classicrendezvous.com/) yesterday to meet some people and indulge my love of old bicycles and machine. I did nothing wrong. I read the rules and obeyed them. I went out on my retard ride which I reported below. When I got back some fatback queer had slandered me. And I quote:
I extend my warmest welcome to the troll Randy Dineer, sounding like Randonneur. We met the troll Ron Danner last year. He was overweight too. Ron Danner must have moved to Louisiana and changed his name. Here's Ron's introduction to CR on 6/11/08
Greetings fellow Bolsheviks:
My name is Ron Danner and I am new to this humble slice of the world. Ihave used the list archives as a source for bike thoughts for some time. Ihave been dealing with a host of health issues mostly spawned by exposure totoxic mold in the early 2000's. I have had systemic immuno-failure and myweight has ballooned to over 400 lbs from a somewhat svelte 245lbs in thelate 1990's. I have my health now in order and have decided upon biking asa way to regain my touch with health, vim and vigor.
Obviously I need a stout machine to support my girth so all the racing andsport tourers that you guys deal with are out of my reach for now. I havefound an older Schwinn frame that I am working on to create a touring frameof sort. I plan small short rides at first and then hope to progress tolonger more vigorous rides. I am trying to engineer a rear wheel that couldaccomodate more than just one rim as I am afraid that I will bottom out mostconventional wheel systems. Does anyone know of any classic multi-rimhubs? Pellisier used to make something like that. Any idea where I canscore something like that. I have a friend who owns a bus company that hasoffered to do some welding if necessary. I'll keep everyone updated as Icontinue my build.
One last question? Does anyone know where to acquire some size XXXLriding shorts? All the ones i have from before are way too small. When irode before i also experienced pouch problems since my hinter parts areembarrasingly large. I'd like to find shorts that allow some internal tuckso i don't look like i have a groin tumor. Any help would be mostappreciated.
Ron DannerHop Bottom TownshipSusquehanna PA USA
Peter
..........Peter BrueggemanLa Jolla California USA4peebee(at)peterbrueggeman.com
Greetings fellow Bolsheviks:
My name is Ron Danner and I am new to this humble slice of the world. Ihave used the list archives as a source for bike thoughts for some time. Ihave been dealing with a host of health issues mostly spawned by exposure totoxic mold in the early 2000's. I have had systemic immuno-failure and myweight has ballooned to over 400 lbs from a somewhat svelte 245lbs in thelate 1990's. I have my health now in order and have decided upon biking asa way to regain my touch with health, vim and vigor.
Obviously I need a stout machine to support my girth so all the racing andsport tourers that you guys deal with are out of my reach for now. I havefound an older Schwinn frame that I am working on to create a touring frameof sort. I plan small short rides at first and then hope to progress tolonger more vigorous rides. I am trying to engineer a rear wheel that couldaccomodate more than just one rim as I am afraid that I will bottom out mostconventional wheel systems. Does anyone know of any classic multi-rimhubs? Pellisier used to make something like that. Any idea where I canscore something like that. I have a friend who owns a bus company that hasoffered to do some welding if necessary. I'll keep everyone updated as Icontinue my build.
One last question? Does anyone know where to acquire some size XXXLriding shorts? All the ones i have from before are way too small. When irode before i also experienced pouch problems since my hinter parts areembarrasingly large. I'd like to find shorts that allow some internal tuckso i don't look like i have a groin tumor. Any help would be mostappreciated.
Ron DannerHop Bottom TownshipSusquehanna PA USA
Peter
..........Peter BrueggemanLa Jolla California USA4peebee(at)peterbrueggeman.com
So I looked up this pussy Brueggeman and it turns out he gets his jollies filming dickless fish off the California Coast. Talk about a damn prevert. So, another newbie to the list sends me a post to send back to Brueggeman. But he's Canadian and kind of a retard himself; so he ends up posting it to the whole list. I think the use of the term ASSCLOWN as a proper noun got both our asses tossed.
Seems like the skinny tire boys are sexually repressed, all equipped with thimble dicks and have as much humor as a 55 year old Mexican hooker with a yeast infection. Probably for the better any ways....I need some real men I can ride with, shoot the shit, fart (w/o saying excuse me or wiping).
I am sure Brueggeman weighs 130 pounds, pops his collar, shaves his balls and admits to loving tofu. For his wife's birthday she received a Mike Tyson strap-on (large, black and half the dick head is tatooed) with a Brueggeman wink. Ultimately I wouldn't fit in with that crowd...no how, no way
Today the Fatman weight 314...
later pussies........
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Retarded LSU Fan Alert
Just got back from my ride. What a stinker it turned out to be. I learned some serious lessons.
First, don't wear sports memorabilia while biking. Margine bless her heart, could not remember where she put mt ridin helmet. So not to be delayed, I went next door and borrowed one of my neighbors LSU Tiger football helmets. It is a huge mother of a bucket so it fit me pretty good. It an authentic one but for a member of the O line---so the face mask is huge and you can't really see a fellows face. I realized that a 300 pound man wearing a football helmet powering a tricycle makes you look like a complete retard. Like you are too stupid to even ride a moped much less drive a car. So I had people giving me the special wave and the "good for you retard smile". At one point I got my water bottle stuck in my facemask and the light turned green. So I took off like a complete moron with the bottle stuck in my mask oozing water at every pedal. That when it wen from bad to awful
The bottle squirted out and across the road. I parked my trike and went to fetch it. I could not see shit so I tripped and fell flat ass in the road. An old lady stopped and talked special to me and retrieved my bottle. That's when it happened.
I had taken a laxative earlier in the day to help with the weight loss. At that moment it decided to kick in. I turned to go back to my trike and i completely shit myself. It ran down my legs and into the street. The old lady turned and run.
I had to wheel my trike over to the dollar car wash trying to hide my identity with the retard helmet. Under the auspices of washing the trike i cleaned my soiled self which drew some eyes as I maneuvered the wand down my shorts. soon the manager was summoned who came out and addressed me as "SON" and told me to go on home and stop horsing around with the hose.
I am sure I dropped at least five pounds. Off to the girl salad.
Later pussies.....
First, don't wear sports memorabilia while biking. Margine bless her heart, could not remember where she put mt ridin helmet. So not to be delayed, I went next door and borrowed one of my neighbors LSU Tiger football helmets. It is a huge mother of a bucket so it fit me pretty good. It an authentic one but for a member of the O line---so the face mask is huge and you can't really see a fellows face. I realized that a 300 pound man wearing a football helmet powering a tricycle makes you look like a complete retard. Like you are too stupid to even ride a moped much less drive a car. So I had people giving me the special wave and the "good for you retard smile". At one point I got my water bottle stuck in my facemask and the light turned green. So I took off like a complete moron with the bottle stuck in my mask oozing water at every pedal. That when it wen from bad to awful
The bottle squirted out and across the road. I parked my trike and went to fetch it. I could not see shit so I tripped and fell flat ass in the road. An old lady stopped and talked special to me and retrieved my bottle. That's when it happened.
I had taken a laxative earlier in the day to help with the weight loss. At that moment it decided to kick in. I turned to go back to my trike and i completely shit myself. It ran down my legs and into the street. The old lady turned and run.
I had to wheel my trike over to the dollar car wash trying to hide my identity with the retard helmet. Under the auspices of washing the trike i cleaned my soiled self which drew some eyes as I maneuvered the wand down my shorts. soon the manager was summoned who came out and addressed me as "SON" and told me to go on home and stop horsing around with the hose.
I am sure I dropped at least five pounds. Off to the girl salad.
Later pussies.....
The Fat Man is Back
There is not doubt.....I am a huge fat man. I used to weigh almost 4 and a half bills. I had a flap of skin that would fall over little ricky and I did not see my own pecker for almost 5 years. I knew he was there but he was deep turtling. I began my campaign to drop some weight after my beloved wife Margine found a cocktail napkin from a local strip club stuck in the fold while she was hoovering little ricky. Needless to say she was not pleased and I had to jerk off alone to a Dillards catalog.
I was a high school track and field man and even did some discus during college. So, I have not always been a lard ass. My career as a seismic geologist for Chevron probably has something to do with the weight. I would spend 5 or 6 months on an acre of steel and concrete with nothing to do but eat drink and doink the zipper head hookers that got flowed in. Margine didn't mind as long as I didn't run off with any of them.
Sex with the zips probably had something to do with it. So long as you paid your tab it don't matter if your crotch smelled like yogurt or a crawfish bakey.
So I have vowed to lose weight. Margine says that effectively, little Ricky is smaller because the land around him has grown. The last thing i'd want is for her to run off with some black buck.
So, I am riding a gd tricycle. Its the only exercise I could do. Even so I had to tie a board down on the seat so my corpulent cheeks would not flow over. I joined the CR list today and am hoping them skinny guys can help lose it.
Today the Fat Man weighs 316 pounds.
I am going to wear a dress and shove a tampon up my bung hole for dinner; dawn a little eye shadow and lipstick and eat a girl salad for dinner.
See ya later pussies....
I was a high school track and field man and even did some discus during college. So, I have not always been a lard ass. My career as a seismic geologist for Chevron probably has something to do with the weight. I would spend 5 or 6 months on an acre of steel and concrete with nothing to do but eat drink and doink the zipper head hookers that got flowed in. Margine didn't mind as long as I didn't run off with any of them.
Sex with the zips probably had something to do with it. So long as you paid your tab it don't matter if your crotch smelled like yogurt or a crawfish bakey.
So I have vowed to lose weight. Margine says that effectively, little Ricky is smaller because the land around him has grown. The last thing i'd want is for her to run off with some black buck.
So, I am riding a gd tricycle. Its the only exercise I could do. Even so I had to tie a board down on the seat so my corpulent cheeks would not flow over. I joined the CR list today and am hoping them skinny guys can help lose it.
Today the Fat Man weighs 316 pounds.
I am going to wear a dress and shove a tampon up my bung hole for dinner; dawn a little eye shadow and lipstick and eat a girl salad for dinner.
See ya later pussies....
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