Recent chopology exploits have exploded the delicate instruments by which freaking is generally measured. Last weekend's reach around fest resulted in numerous completions and a couple half baked pies that will have to go back into the oven at a later date. Here's some proof.
Well, this happened - there are so many subplots to this saga that I'm not going to bother. Suffice to say that "KIDS - DON"T DO SKIDS!" (or something responsible like that) Here's a gentle taco outcome achieved by applying 200 kilosish of man child in sideways motion to a trike mobile pedal cart thing.
That didn't stop the boys getting all tizzied up to ride it off to a German sparkle party extravaganza. The special silvery foil top matched their dancing leggings.
Old Uncle Les reached fever point telling us the story of rolling Georgie Costanza for his cumfy Goretex puffer jacket. Suffice to say he worked up quite a thirst. Red can fever, you might say.
He proceeded to ride his freshly squeezed steed at high speed into the night screaming various profanities, jibberish and goat noises.
The german sparkle party boys returned with their taco machine and rode to Mexico - pictured here with a local Zapitista represantative who agreed that freak cycles would definitely be invaluable as a component of the revolution against cultural tyranny and general complacency. Oh, and somewhere along the way their machine began wearing another bicycle as a hat.
