“Do Whatever You Feel Like Doing” Thanksgiving is finally over, and it took more stamina than a frat boy at Mardi Gras to make it to this wonderful, work-filled Monday. Finally, a day with some expectations, a bottom line of some sort. I kicked the holiday off with a trip to Lloyd, FL to meet our online compatriots Ms. Moon www.blessourhearts.blogspot.com and the Downtown Guy www.tallyhassle.blogspot.com. I was all set to tell you that story this morning, but I froze up. I’ll work it out eventually, or maybe I’ll just keep it to myself. Either way, it feels good to know you ain’t too set in your ways to make new friends, or become a part of new families. I’ll tell you all about it, but you have to give me some time to sort it out in my mind first. We had us some fun, I can tell you that much.
I hope you all had a good long break as well. For the record, we rode bikes a lot, in between spoonfuls of Ms. Paula Deen’s famous conrbread stuffing recipe.
The saltines are the secret ingredient.
I’m a little concerned about the Wreckin’ Ball, word has it he is sick, but to not see or hear from him for over a week? What’s he got? Probably another dose of the clap, huh?
Ole Sasquatch is skinnying right up these days and it is just about insufferable. The man trims down to 230 lbs and now he’s all Diva all the time. I’m telling you, I know why those supermodels are bitchy. It’s because they’re hungry. I can guarantee that this comment alone will be enough to spur him towards some haughty, finger-snapping, zig zaggin’ tirade. I miss his Bernie Mac routine, and laying waste to the Bamboo House buffet.
Those were the days.
Okay. Now I must meet Sasquatch. We’ll fatten him right up! In fact, there must be at least ten thousand calories hanging out in my refrigerator AS WE SPEAK, just waiting for some poor skinny 230-pounder to come and ingest them.
So now you know where we live, just bring him on.
Miss you already, Juancho.
I can eat me some Bamboo House and still keep my girlish figure, even with a third of Sasquatch’s miles. It’s in the genes. Slightly embarrassed at BH last week when Mrs. HT went to bat for me and complained about the lack of chocolate pudding as were leaving. A Mandarin yell back to the kitchen yielded a vat of gooey deliciousness. I followed orders to get some, but wasn’t offered a takeout cup, so I wolfed it down at the register under disapproving gazes. I don’t think they want us back soon.
Did some road intervals Weds. and Sunday, and made room for dinner by riding Munson Thanksgiving morning. Lonely affairs. Sorry I missed the group ride Sunday.
The runway still sways and moans when I saunter down and back, and the bike still creaks and clanks when I unleash the power. I’m just down to George Foreman in his prime, so you still gotta beware.
I got your insufferable.
Why did the model snort Sweet n’ Low?
(She thought it was diet coke.)
Hell of a time Wednesday night, huh?
Ha! That took me a minute, better have another cup of coffee.
Well if 230lbs is skinny then Juanco is a bone bag at 220!
Just sayin’.
W.B. (back in the saddle)
220! That’s crazy talk.
whats 220 in metric?
Fat Lad
(179 if we’re all talking pounds…)
You guys sound like a bunch of girls. For Christ sake! Be men! Accept your weight and consider yourself gods. Isn’t that what men are supposed to do?
Do these spandex make me look fat?
MUST
RESIST
EASY
JOKE
Fat Lad
Wrecking Ball is a long way from his deathbed. He and I, were together for 4.25 hours of offroad bliss sunday.
As for all of you dainty little muckabouts, whenever you feel like stepping up to “Clydesdale and a quarter”, let me know. I was still 244 after sunday’s haul.
And that my friends is the final word on that, because Bigworm will kick your asses on the bike or in the PL.
Hey, leave us out of it!