27 Search Results for "cigarette"
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Bike gadgets
- From: AussieSteve
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Description:
I love my Gadgets!
1. Cardo bluetooth helmet headsets x 2
2. Nokia 6110 Navigator mobile phone
3. Heavily panelbeaten (to suit the bend in the bars) Kurykayn phone & mobile phone holder
4. Marine grade cigarette lighter socket and phone charger
RESULT!! = I can talk to my pillion wife, take phone calls, listen to the radio and listen to GPS instructions while riding 110kph down the M4 motorway....legally...with 2 hands on the controls...Sweeeeet....
- 2 days ago
- Views: 30
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Bike gadgets
- From: AussieSteve
-
Description:
I love my Gadgets!
1. Cardo bluetooth helmet headsets x 2
2. Nokia 6110 Navigator mobile phone
3. Heavily panelbeaten (to suit the bend in the bars) Kurykayn phone & mobile phone holder
4. Marine grade cigarette lighter socket and phone charger
RESULT!! = I can talk to my pillion wife, take phone calls, listen to the radio and listen to GPS instructions while riding 110kph down the M4 motorway....legally...with 2 hands on the controls...Sweeeeet....
- 2 days ago
- Views: 19
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Bike gadgets
- From: AussieSteve
-
Description:
I love my Gadgets!
1. Cardo bluetooth helmet headsets x 2
2. Nokia 6110 Navigator mobile phone
3. Heavily panelbeaten (to suit the bend in the bars) Kurykayn phone & mobile phone holder
4. Marine grade cigarette lighter socket and phone charger
RESULT!! = I can talk to my pillion wife, take phone calls, listen to the radio and listen to GPS instructions while riding 110kph down the M4 motorway....legally...with 2 hands on the controls...Sweeeeet....
- 2 days ago
- Views: 19
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Bike gadgets
- From: AussieSteve
-
Description:
I love my Gadgets!
1. Cardo bluetooth helmet headsets x 2
2. Nokia 6110 Navigator mobile phone
3. Heavily panelbeaten (to suit the bend in the bars) Kurykayn phone & mobile phone holder
4. Marine grade cigarette lighter socket and phone charger
RESULT!! = I can talk to my pillion wife, take phone calls, listen to the radio and listen to GPS instructions while riding 110kph down the M4 motorway....legally...with 2 hands on the controls...Sweeeeet....
- 2 days ago
- Views: 20
- Not yet rated
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Bike gadgets
- From: AussieSteve
-
Description:
I love my Gadgets!
1. Cardo bluetooth helmet headsets x 2
2. Nokia 6110 Navigator mobile phone
3. Heavily panelbeaten (to suit the bend in the bars) Kurykayn phone & mobile phone holder
4. Marine grade cigarette lighter socket and phone charger
RESULT!! = I can talk to my pillion wife, take phone calls, listen to the radio and listen to GPS instructions while riding 110kph down the M4 motorway....legally...with 2 hands on the controls...Sweeeeet....
- 2 days ago
- Views: 22
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Is someone trying to tell me s
- From: Shadow2357
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Description:
As anyone who read my first blog would know ... I was going to go to Sydney to be a marshall at the last ever motorbike race to be run at Oran Park. Because of a few unexpected bills I was sort of humming and harring about wether or not to go, but that decision has been taking out of my hands.
I was getting ready to go ... had the trailer all packed ... route planned out ... all needed to do was do a bit of food shopping and I would be on my way on Monday 16th Nov. Seeing as all was ready and I had a bit of time I decided to do a job I had been meaning to do for a while and that was wire up a cigarette lighter through the tralier plug wiring so that I could run a gps,charge a phone ...you know all those sort of things.
Well the wiring part went well but I couldn't find my soldering iron so I thought I would just plug it in and check to see if I had it right ... which I did untill I put it down on the groung to go get something. when I got back to the bike ... all within about 30 seconds ... there was smoke coming from the wiring loom on the bike. Seeing this I quikly pulled the plug out but it was too late. The whole thing was burnt out back up to the battery.
Had some fun trying to get the battery disconected .. a few sparks flying ...but once done .. started the bike and tested lights ect. and all seemed to be working ...lucky. The bike is now in having the trailer wiring redone and won't have it back till Wed so there is that trip gone.
As I said in the title .. I think someone was trying to tell me not to go.
Ray.
- Blog post
- 6 days ago
- Views: 76
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Just a Biker, So good!
- From: karmahappens
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Description:
JUST A BIKER
I saw you; hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.
I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local Mall.
I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant when you saw my bike parked out front. But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.
I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by. But you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.
I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. But you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.
I saw you stare at my long hair. But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off forLocks of Love.
I saw you roll your eyes at our Leather jacketsand gloves. But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none.
I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. But you didn't see me cry as my children where born or have their name written over and in my heart.
I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.
I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.
I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. But you didn't see me pat my child's hands knowing she was safe behind me.
I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.
I saw you race down the road in the rain. But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.
I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But you didn't see me trying to turn right.
I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But you didn't see me leave the road.
I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But you didn't see me. I wasn't there.
I saw you go home to your family. But you didn't see me. Because I died that day you cut me off.
I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But you didn't see me .
Repost this around in hopes that people will understand the biker community...
If you don't repost this, it sucks to be you. I hope you never lose someone that rides.
EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE US, RESPECT OUR RIGHTS TO RIDE WHAT WE CHOOSE AND TAKE A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO BE SURE WE ARE NOT IN 'YOUR' WAY - Blog post
- 4 weeks ago
- Views: 89
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This is something to think abo
- From: kw4tx
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Description:
I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday. I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local Mall. I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant when you saw my bike parked out front. But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief. I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by. But you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window. I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. But you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless. I saw you stare at my long hair. But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love. I saw you roll your eyes at our Leather jackets and gloves. But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none. I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. But you didn't see me cry as my children were born or have their name written over and in my heart. I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But you didn't see me going home to be with my family. I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane. I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. But you didn't see me pat my child's hands knowing she was safe behind me. I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn. I saw you race down the road in the rain. But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date. I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But you didn't see me trying to turn right. I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But you didn't see me leave the road. I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But you didn't see me. I wasn't there. I saw you go home to your family. But you didn't see me. Because I died that day you cut me off. I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But you didn't see me.
- Blog post
- 1 month ago
- Views: 60
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The Owl and the Corrections Of
- From: greyfalcon2112
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Description:
This is one of those stories that you almost have to be in the presence of the storyteller to really appreciate, but I’ll try to give it my best shot. I have a couple good reviews on a couple of my misadventures so what the heck, this to date has been the one everyone who ever works with me tells the new people to have me recall for them. Hope you like it.
To give some background for the story I will begin by telling you about my pretty wife, her mother, and their love of gardening. My mother-in-law, God rest her soul, was never a great gardener but she loved the smell of the earth and seeing the fruit of her labors being enjoyed by her family and of course, my wife followed suit, starting as a little girl who loved mud squishing between her toes and ending up as a beautiful woman who loves mud squishing between her toes.
My wife and I would frequent her mother’s often and throughout the temperate periods of the year, we would assist her with keeping her place up, tilling the garden when needed, mowing the lawn, trimming the weeds, raking the leaves and so forth and doing so is how this whole ordeal started.
It was in the spring, warm enough outside in the day to work up an honest sweat if you tried but still cool enough in the evening to require a light jacket. My wife, Renee, and I had taken our girls to visit grandma and had been sweet-talked into helping her outside, as things needed attention as they often did. I cannot remember whether I was refueling the lawnmower or attending to the gasoline trimmer that I had brought, “just-in-case” my mother-in-law needed the trimming done, (I hated her electric weed-whacker) while Renee and her Mom were working in her vegetable garden.
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on what they were talking about but they were several yards apart and they were speaking loudly mind you. I could blame them for the entire thing if I tried I guess, but my own silly... I’ll get to that later. For now, it’s only necessary to say that my wife and her mother were discussing the problems of having birds stealing from the garden. My wife’s garden was always a tangle of tomato stakes with small aluminum pie pans tied to them to flash and bang and make noise to frighten the birds away, or put simply, lots of mess, little success. Her mother, however, had gone high-tech and purchased a sure-fire method of scaring birds. Propped on a stake, actually an old bent two-by-four smack in the middle of her garden, was a plastic owl.
Now I’ve seen some pretty high-tech plastic owls at home and garden centers like Lowes, Tractor Supply or Home Depot, I mean some of these things would give little kids nightmares. Actual size, big glowing yellow glass eyes, some even have their owl heads mounted so that the slightest breeze will make them turn their heads all with the purpose of scaring the crap out of smaller birds. This thing in her Mom’s garden however, was the most God’s awful thing I had ever laid eyes on and still be considered a plastic owl. It looked for the world like someone asked a five year old to draw an owl and that’s what they used to make the mold, overly fat, far to short, painted eyes, no movement what so ever, and so obviously effective that the top of its head was covered with bird shit because that’s where most birds stopped to eat their ill-gotten gain.
So there I knelt in the fresh cut grass, soaked in sweat from creating the fresh cut grass, working on a hot piece of yard equipment, listening to my mother-in-law as she was extolling the endless virtue of the plastic owl and observing my wife as she listened intently, sucking up every word. After her mother had finished, my wife announced, “I guess we’ll have to get one of those for our garden.” I shot my wife a ’when hell freezes over’ look but said nothing and she shot one right back at me. Disgusted, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and fired up the machine, happy in the ensuing white noise of domestic yard work.
Later, on the way home, the ugly little owl came back into the conversation. I don’t remember who introduced it, but it became the center of a very vicious debate. I was adamant in my condemnation of the miserable thing and my wife was its champion.
“Well I think we need one.”
“You ARE NOT putting one of those ugly-ass things in my yard.”
“It’s MY garden.”
“That is in the middle of MY yard.”
“It scares the birds.”
“Yeah, I could tell. They were so terrified of it that when they landed on it, they shit themselves.”
Grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch, went the remainder of the argument until my wife finally let out a disgusted “FINE!” and stared out the window for the rest of the ride home. Satisfied that I had asserted myself as the dominant alpha male, I smirked and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the ride home. My satisfaction was to be relatively short, although I was blissfully unaware of it at the time.
As a week or so passed, payday rolled around and it was time for my wife to do the bi-weekly grocery shopping and general running around and taking care of things that she always does. I was busily engaged with work that day and had not given the whole ordeal at, or coming home from, her mother’s a second thought until I arrived home from work at about 12:45am after a decidedly unpleasant evening at the State Penitentiary.
Now I had stopped and gathered the mail on my way home to our little place overlooking the lake, and when I stopped in the drive, shut the car off and proceeded to skim through the letters, bills and general junk mail, for some odd reason I paused and looked toward the house. Sitting on the rail of the deck, right up next to the house in the shadow created by the overhang of the roof, was the silhouette of an owl. I knew what had happened in an instant, she bought that God-damned owl. She bought the piece of shit when I told her not to! Damnit!
I got out of the car and stood beside it, trying to calm down, so I leaned against the car and lit a cigarette. This did not work as the more I looked at that miserable outline in the shadows, the more aggravated I got. Actually, aggravated isn’t the correct work for what I was. I was mad. For once in my life, the cigarette wasn’t having the calming effect and that was adding to my frustration at this damned plastic abomination gracing my deck. Right then and there I made my decision. I hope she bought it at Wal-Mart. That ugly thing’s going back tonight! Not in the morning, tonight! I don’t give one red damn if she goes in her night-gown trailing two crying upset little girls who had to be pulled out of bed, she’s going to know I mean business! I may not get laid for six months, but I’m putting my foot down! I scrubbed out the cigarette in the gravel of the drive and headed for the house.
As I closed toward the stairs and the rail where the outline set in the shadow, I began to realize that this was not a copy of the ugly thing that sat in her mother’s garden, this thing was at least twenty-two inches tall and about ten inches wide and was actually shaped like..., well, an owl. The closer I got the more I thought to my self. “Huh. That might actually scare a bird or two.” I got about four feet away when I stopped and took a hard look at it and I remember thinking, “Right shape, right size, painted to look the part, holy crap, she must‘ve spent a fortune on this thing.” and I reached out to take it and examine it better in the moonlight.
Now I’m sure that somewhere, deep, deep in the recesses of my brain, for about a millisecond, some little part of me went, “Oh oh, that’s soft.” But far before it registered with the rest of my body, the very un-plastic owl woke up and was not at all happy with the human hands around it.
Giant yellow eyes flashed open, wings at least five feet wide flew apart and the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard in my entire life emanated from the owl at a volume I never would have thought possible. The only thing even close to the sound was me. I let out a scream that sounded like a five year old girl who just woke up to find Freddie Kruger in bed with her. I really don’t know which one of us was more scared, it or me, but I think it was me.
Now for anyone who has never seen them up close, owl’s feet are armed with claws that really, really deserve the title of talon, maybe even something more diabolical than that, and they were going everywhere. The only thing that comes close to a good physical description would be having a little Mantis Roto-Tiller held up to your face while it runs full throttle. Anyway, the owl kept screaming, I kept screaming, and I was being beat around the head and face with really wide wings while shanks were flailing at me about a hundred miles an hour and I started back pedaling, somehow not realizing that I should let go of the owl.
Somewhere in the eternity of backing up, my jacket from my corrections uniform got shredded, my badge went flying off of my shirt and I got shanked, really, really well. Damn bird tore my chest like it was tissue paper, enough for nine stitches on the outside and three more underneath. At any rate, you can’t back up forever and I ran smack into the deck rail, backward, at a full head of steam and over I went, crashing onto one of my wife’s prized rose bushes which snapped off at the ground. The only good thing was that the owl and I disjointed somewhere between the rail and the ground. I can only assume this of course, since when I hit the ground it was nowhere to be seen.
Now I was off the deck, flat of my back in the yard with an ass full of rose thorns, terrified that the damn bird would come back for a second round so I started quickly backing up, reverse crab walking, sliding through the wet grass until I crashed into the side of my car where I let out another yell simply from pure terror. About this time, my loving wife comes crashing through the door onto the deck from inside the house, .357 revolver in one hand, Mag-Light in the other hand, bathrobe flying open in the breeze, naked as a jay-bird underneath, finds me in the beam of the light with my chest slashed, my ass perforated, my clothes shredded to pieces and I’m bleeding everywhere and she yells out, “What the HELL are you doing!?”
All I could do was sit there shaking in fear with my arms out the side trying to flap as a demonstration of my now unseen tormentor and all I could say was, “Uh... Uh... Uh... Uhh Uhhh. OWL!”
All of this led up to the inevitable trip to the emergency room where of course the attending physician and nurse assumed that I was at work when I received my injuries and the doc asked me how I managed to get cut so badly, so I told him. He started laughing so hysterically that he couldn’t finish sewing me up and had a new nurse come finish since the nurse who was with him wasn‘t much good anymore either, but only after giving me orders not to tell the new nurse how I got injured. Explaining why I need a new coat, shirt and badge was a lot of fun too, let me tell you. A lot of people had a good laugh at my expense I can tell you that.
The final piece of the story has to do with the missing badge. We never found it. Not in the yard, not in the remains of the rose bush or the ground cover it was planted in, not under the deck, not on the deck, just gone. I can only vision, as a friend I work with who enjoys the story more than I do so vividly describes, “There’s a great horned owl somewhere see, strutting around his nest wearing a Corrections Officer’s badge looking at the other birds with a ‘Yeah. That’s right, mess with me again.’ look in those big yellow eyes.”
At least someday I can pass on the hard gained knowledge, “Never hug birds of prey.”
- Blog post
- 2 months ago
- Views: 47
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Just a Biker
- From: Dimitra
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Description:
I saw you; hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But you didn't see me put an extra $20 in the collection plate last Sunday.
I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the footpath. But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local shopping centre.
I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant when you saw my bike parked out front. But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the bushfire relief.
I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by. But you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.
I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. But you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to do the Christmas Toy Run for under-privileged kids.
I saw you stare at my long hair. But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Be Brave & Shave.
I saw you roll your eyes at our Leather jackets and gloves. But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none.
I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. But you didn't see me cry as my children where born or have their name written over and in my heart.
I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.
I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.
I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. But you didn't see me pat my child's hands knowing she was safe behind me.I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.
I saw you race down the road in the rain. But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.
I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But you didn't see me trying to turn right.
I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But you didn't see me leave the road.
I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But you didn't see me. I wasn't there.
I saw you go home to your family. But you didn't see me. Because I died that day you cut me off.I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But you didn’t see me.
Author unknown
- Blog post
- 2 months ago
- Views: 65
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The Test
- From: greyfalcon2112
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Description:
I wish that I had the writing talent of my friend who wrote this... It's priceless... He rides too and he works with me in a State Prison. Really warped individual live most of us there.
The Test
When I decided to apply for a job as a Corrections Officer I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I suppose I had the vision of swaggering around in a uniform being mean to people and getting paid for it. All of my experience with prison life was limited to television, movies and books.
Applying for the job was easy enough. I just went online and found the DOC website, filled out a form and clicked the mouse. It took a week or so to receive a response with the date of the video test. I made another trip or two in the truck as I waited for the test date, trying to imagine what a video test would consist of.
The day of the test arrived and of course, I got lost trying to find the testing site. This raised my anxiety level to a fever pitch so that when I finally made it to the testing room on the second floor I was out of breath and badly in need of a cigarette. The test was actually quite interesting in that the video showed different scenarios involving CO’s and offenders and asked how you would handle each one. I almost over-thought it though, by trying to guess which answer they were looking for instead of just marking the answer as I would handle it with no training.
Apparently, though, I did well enough to be called back for the physical evaluation. This was the part that I had been dreading. I had no idea what to expect but I knew that I had sat in a truck for 25 plus years and smoked 3 to 4 packs of cigarettes a day. I was in shape alright, the shape of the Pillsbury doughboy. Anyway, at last I knew what I was up against: go up two steps, across a platform, down two steps, bend and retrieve an object under the platform , set it on the platform, run 300 yards, drag a dummy weighing 150 pounds 18 feet. No problem, until I read the part about doing it in two minutes and sixteen seconds! Have they lost their collective minds????? I am a fat old truckdriver, this is gonna kill me!!!!
300 yards works out to 3 football fields or 5.77 times around my tractor/trailer. Ok, now that isn’t so bad. Wait…5.77 times around the truck? I have to take a smoke break after walking around it once to thump the tires. This is not good. I sat down and had a cigarette.
When I finished that pack, I crawled into the car and headed to Wal-mart to buy a pair of tennis shoes since the test would take place in a gymnasium. I circled the parking lot, puffing on a Camel, waiting for one of the handicapped parking spots to open up. I drummed my fingers impatiently on the dash as an old man struggled to get his oxygen bottle on its little dolly into the car with him. I could tell he wasn’t really handicapped because he wasn’t using a wheelchair, so I honked the horn at him to get things moving. He finally backed out of the spot but before I could slide in some woman in a van took it. Those cripples get all the good parking spots. I gave up and took a spot further down the row. I wanted to kick the leg out from under her walker as I passed her near the front door.
It had been over 20 years since I had worn anything but cowboy boots so the choices in tennis shoes was simply astonishing to me. There were shoes for basketball, running, soccer, shoes with little airshocks in them, shoes with headlights and taillights and the ones that really worried me, crosstrainers. Who knew they made special shoes for transvestites. Anyway, I bought the cheapest shoes I could find and headed home.
I got home and decided, by the time I bent over far enough to tie the damned shoes, that I should have bought the ones with Velcro instead of laces. I leaned back and lit a smoke as I rested from the stretching. I had 9 days to get ready for this marathon.
The next thing I had to do was measure out 300 yards on the street in front of the house. I finished my smoke and wandered out to the truck to get my tape measure. I grabbed the 50 foot tape measure and my calculator, since the tape was in feet and I needed to convert that to yards, I knew the math would probably trip me up.
I strung out the tape behind me as I walked down the street, using pebbles to mark each 50 foot section. My back was beginning to ache from all that bending over and my hamstrings were tightening from the walking so after I got 100 feet measured out, I sat down on the curb and rested. I realized that I had left my cigarettes on the porch. Well, I needed to cut back a bit.
An hour or so later I awoke from my nap, stiff and sore from all the exercise and sleeping on the concrete curb. Thankfully it grew dark before I finished so the game was called due to darkness. I made a pledge to myself, as I shuffled back to the house, that I would do this. I would get up early the next morning and get this distance measured and I would run that 300 yards or die trying.
True to my word I arose at the crack of 11:30ish the next morning and sat on the porch in my boxers and brand new tennis shoes, smoking and drinking coffee. I was very aware, from some of my reading, that long distance running is a mental game, and that all I had to do was visualize and it would be so. I leaned back, closed my eyes and pictured myself bounding down the street, strong and determined, elbows close to my side, my sleek athletic body in perfect rhythm. I awoke when the Camel between my fingers burnt them.
I began my stretching by bending down and tying my shoes. It took a bit of time but I finally found a way to sort of lean around the belly lying in my lap to reach the laces. At last I was ready. I stood at the start line, filling my lungs with the cool, fresh Missouri air, saturating my blood with oxygen. After the coughing fit I got all that cellulite headed in the same general direction and sort of waddle/jogged my way down the track.
At the 50 foot mark I had built up a head of steam like a locomotive. Oh, it felt so good, this was it, I was on my way. Somewhere around the 55 foot mark, my belly began to outpace my feet. I lost the rhythm. I would push off with the trailing foot, but could get no really altitude because at the point my belly was on the downward stroke. Then, disaster struck. I tried to stop to get back in sync but my caboose overran the locomotive and I went down in a heap. My neighbor gave me a ride home.
I sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette and pondering the situation. I realized that I had tried to do too much too soon. After lunch and a short 2 hour nap, I was back out there, walking down the street. I made it to the halfway point before the calves of my legs began to cramp and I had to use the cellphone to call Barb and have her come get me. She helped me into the house as I wondered aloud if I could go to Wal-mart and find the old man with his oxygen bottle. I lay gasping on the couch until she left for Bingo and then I duct taped her electric mixer to the side of the bathtub and made myself a sort of mini-whirlpool to sooth my aching muscles.
As I lay back in the warm water, smoking, I bumped the mixer and it fell into the bath. The electricity shot through my body, I bounced from the tub and out the front door, screaming like a banshee, stark naked, and ran that 300 yards in 15 seconds flat. Somewhere around the 290 yard mark I had an epiphany. Motivation is the key to success. I knew now that I would pass this test.
The day of the test I arrived early, having reconnoitered the location the previous day to avoid any confusion or undue stress that might in anyway hamper my performance. I watched with the utmost patience as others huffed and puffed their way around the cones placed on the gymnasium floor. The tiny button concealed in my hand assured me that I would not, could not, fail this test.
Finally, I stood at the start line. The tester gave me the instructions, I surveyed the platform, the steps, the object to be retrieved and the dummy lying there in wait. The whistle blew and I glided the first few steps to the platform, ascended it with ease, flowed down the opposite side, bend and retrieved the object and placed it on the platform. I then turned to the cones and began my journey, blasting down the straights and slowing slightly for the turns at each end.
At the halfway mark, I felt my body begin to tire, my legs to feel like rubber, my breath was wheezing, I was dying. With grim determination I pressed the tiny button in my hand, just a quick push and release. The business end of the stockprod that was duct taped between my ass cheeks sparked and I shifted gears as though my tailfeathers were on fire.
I was bounding around the track now, strides lengthened, a high pitched scream on my lip as I pressed the button each time a foot hit the floor. The cones were a blur as I flew past. I made the final turn, slid to a stop before the dummy, grabbed the rope, leaned into it and hit the button in a long sustained burst. As the stockprod shot fire between my butt cheeks I farted. Like a well shot rocket, I slammed into the wall fifty feet from where the dummy had laid.
As I lay in a heap, sobbing, the tester walked over and said, “You passed and , ummm, your tennis shoes are smoldering”.
Curt Patterson
May, 2009
- Blog post
- 4 months ago
- Views: 180
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12 Volt Accessory Power Tip of
- From: manybikes
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Description:
Kyle Bradshaw (manybikes) of Cruiser Customizing shows three great ways to access the power from your battery by the use of a 12 volt accessory socket.
See the 12 Volt Accessory Power Tip of the Week Video here!
All 5 of the accessory sockets below attach to the positive lead on the battery for power. Please see the features and benefits of each displayed above the photos!
Here are some of our favorites:
BBP-52-748 Show Chrome Accessories (Big Bike Parts) Accessory Socket- Positive & Negative to the Battery
- Inexpensive
- Accessory Socket Only - no lighter capabilities
FOR-PW-20000 Formotion Products The Power Pod™ 2.0 - Chrome Finish- This unit will power just about anything! (See border of the photo!!!)
- Positive lead to the battery - self grounding
- Mounts to just about any accessible bolt
- Big difference between this unit and the Kuryakyn Unit: The power lead for the Kuryakyn unit is a Battery Tender Lead - the Formotion unit requires direct battery connection or a T-tap.
- Please see features in photo below:
KY-1423 Kuryakyn Universal Handlebar Electrical Power Point - 1 inch bars- Battery Tender Quick Disconnect! (positive / negative to the battery)
- Powers just about any electrical device!
- Cigarette Lighter
- 1" bar clamp
- Stylish Silver Bullet Housing
MC-940 MC Enterprises Cigarette Lighter - Universal Fit
- Positive / Negative to the battery
- Mounts to just about any bolt
- Chrome beauty!
MC-942 MC Enterprises Cigarette Lighter - Water Resistant - Universal Fit- Positive / Negative to the battery
- Mounts best behind side covers, etc...
Thank you for watching this weeks Cruiser Customizing Tip of the Week!Tune In Next Week for discussion about Motorcycle Audio Options!Take Care,Kyle - Blog post
- 5 months ago
- Views: 2440
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12 Volt Accessory Power Tip of
- From: manybikes
-
Description:
Kyle Bradshaw (manybikes) of Cruiser Customizing shows three great ways to access the power from your battery by the use of a 12 volt accessory socket.
Read the Story 12 Volt Accessory Power Here
Here are some of our favorites:
BBP-52-748 Show Chrome Accessories (Big Bike Parts) Accessory SocketFOR-PW-20000 Formotion Products The Power Pod™ 2.0 - Chrome FinishKY-1423 Kuryakyn Universal Handlebar Electrical Power Point - 1 inch barsMC-940 MC Enterprises Cigarette Lighter - Universal FitMC-942 MC Enterprises Cigarette Lighter - Water Resistant - Universal FitThank you for watching this weeks Cruiser Customizing Tip of the Week!Tune In Next Week for discussion about Motorcycle Audio Options!Take Care,Kyle - 5 months ago
- Views: 7885
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Smoking Nun
- From: RMFIII
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Description:
Smoking
Two nuns were in the back of the convent smoking a cigarette, when one said, "It's bad enough that we have to sneak out here to smoke, but it really is a problem getting rid of the butts so that Mother Superior doesn't find them."
The second nun said, "I've found a marvelous invention called a condom which works really well for this problem. You just open the packet up, take out the condom, and put the cigarette butt in, roll it up, and dispose of it all later."
The first nun was quite impressed and asked where she could find them. "You get them at a drug store, sister. Just go and ask the pharmacist for them."
The next day the good sister went to the drugs store and walked up to the counter."Good morning, sister," the pharmacist said, "what can I do for you today?" "I'd like some condoms please," said the nun.
The druggist was a little taken aback, but recovered soon enough and asked, "How many boxes would you like? There are 12 to a box." "I'll take six boxes. That should last about a week," said the nun.
The pharmacist was truly flabbergasted by this time and was almost afraid to ask any more questions. But his professionalism prevailed and he asked in a clear voice. "Sister, what size condoms would you like? We have large, extra large, and the big liar size."
The sister thought for a minute and finally said: "I'm not certain, perhaps you could recommend a good size for a Camel?" - Blog post
- 5 months ago
- Views: 123
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Pass this post. It's just ven
- From: TheTopTron
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Description:
This post is nothing more than me pissin' and moanin' about the little bumps in life's road. So, if your looking for laughs, you won't find them here. This is just something I decided to get off my chest. However, should you want to read this dismal crap anyway, consider yourself privledged as you are the only one that knows about it other than my wife, and she has strict instructions to keep it quiet. My daughter doesn't know about it nor do my band mates. Be forwarned: This may be a bit too graphic for some. Before I begin, though, I must tell you that there is a whole lot of baggage associated with what will come. It's my baggage. I won't explain further, but understand that it influenced my behavior tremendously and I ask that you just accept it for what it is. I did the best I could. No doubt that anyone else would fare much better. This is about my cancer and how badly I dealt with it. My priorities weren't in the right place which made it rough. But this is the story.
Around the end of March, my morning leak took on a whole new look. The usually mundane yellow stream was replaced by a red stream and the contents of the bowl was now crimson in color. "That's nice." was all that I felt about it at that moment. My wife, a Registered Nurse, came in as I finished.
"Your time of the month?" she quipped. But she had a look on her face that said she already knew what was going on. Knowing that I am so very guilty of the "guy thing", she asked, "How long has this been going on?"
"It just started this morning. Honest."
"You had better call the doc this morning as soon as they open up.", she said in a firm tone.
"Nawww", I replied. "Lets see if it quits. If it doesn't stop, I promise I will call."
My loving wife was not happy with that answer, but she didn't push it. For the next five days, it didn't stop. On the fifth day, I passed a bladder full of puss that floated on top of the crimson pool. I was becoming concerned enough at this point to contact the doc. Oddly enough, I got in that morning. That was not a good sign.
The nurse at the doctor's office greeted me with a plastic cup to fill. Oh joy. That was the first of many fill-em'-ups. The initial diagnosis was hemoturea which in English means blood in the urine. Damn! It cost me $70 to have someone tell me what I damn well already knew! The duh-tor referred me to a urologist. That was okay until the doc made the mistake of telling me what a cyctoscopy was. My life went to hell in a hand basket that morning. I just wish that were the worst part of it all.
It takes a whole lot to scare me. After being a volunteer firefighter and on the Swiftwater Rescue Team for years, and being a biker, I have had more close calls and done crazier things than the majority of folks and I've smiled about it all the way through. Hell, I have been the parent of a teenager! That's scary! But this time around, the thought of someone sticking a tube up my wiener scared me more than I have ever been scared before. Long story short, that was just wrong. I let the doc make the appointment, but I didn't think I would keep it no matter what it was. The doc said there is a strong possibility that it was bladder cancer and I should keep the appointment.
I fretted about the procedure something awful. Not the cancer, but the procedure. Half the time I thought I would just do it, the other half of the time I thought I would end up curled in a corner crying like a schoolgirl if they tried to drag me to it. Needless to say, the wife was pushing hard for this. The doc called me back to the office to push me to this. I said I would keep the consult appointment, but I would not committ to having the procedure done. At this time, it had been 10 days that I have been urinating blood. It had finally slowed down some, but it was still very much there.
I went to the consult with the urologist. The first thing he did was to get to know me extremely well! Up close and personal doesn't even begin to cover this event! The package was thoroughly examined as was my prostate. During thie exam, I bled from where I dug my nails into my arm so hard that there was flesh gouged up under my fingernails. Not what I would call a fun day at the park. Then the doc tells me he is going to take a look inside right here in the office, but that he would use a local. Let's see... You are going to ram a pipe up me after you ram a needle in my dick? "I DON'T THINK SO!"
The doc said there would be no needle, but he would use a syringe with a tube to deposit the local inside the urethura. Then he would insert a flexible scope inside to see what was going on. I had vivid flashbacks of the time my appendix blew (yep, I waited for three days after that pain started before I finally went to the ER. It's that guy thing). When I woke up from that operation, I had to take a leak. So I got up, went to the restroom, and started to piss FIRE! That was about the worst pain I ever felt! The nurse heard the yelp and came in. She checked the records and found that a foley catheter was used on me. I pissed fire for days after that! With that and the thought of this doc waltzing up there to play with even bigger toys I turned into that little schoolgirl and almost pissed myself. "Sorry doc. There is no way that it will ever happen in the office. If you put my lights right out, you may have a chance, but not if I know anything about it."
"But I do it all the time!", he said.
"Not to me, you don't!"
"Alright." He relented with an air of disgust. "I'll make arrangements with the hospital. That way I can take a look and take care of anything I find then and there."
As it turned out, that was indeed the way to go. If I let him do it in the office and he found something, I would still have to do it again to take care of it. Even so, I was still undecided about going through with it. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think straight. The bleeding had finally stopped, so what was the issue? Then, after being pummled with this from every dierection, in one moment of absolute insanity, I gave my word to my wife that I would go through with it. "WHAT THE FU*K WERE YOU THINKING, DUMBASS!", was the scream that tore through my mind within an instant of making that promise.
There is one thing that you should know about me that may or may not set me slightly apart from others. That is the fact that my word is my bond and that I would die before ever breaking any promise I've made. I have always been that way and it has always been without compromise. It's just the way I am. But this time, I was wondering which would be stronger, my word or my fear. It was truly an epic battle that ensued. When my fear was on top, I felt like a coward and still worried about it. When my word gained the upper hand and knowing something about what the aftermath would be, I had the worst headaches. I vomited every time I pictured what was going to happen. You see, it was the procedure that messed me up far more than what might be found. I wouldn't know how the war was going to turn out until I hit the hospital parking lot. If I could get out of the car, I would just do it. Damn if I didn't get out of the car. My mood turned somber. I walked across the lot like I was going to face the executioner. As a matter of fact, I would have preferred that scenario.
It was now June 1st and I was on my way. There is definitely something about this that made the package try to crawl back inside and hide. Hell, the morning of the procedure, I could hardly see the damn thing! The last time I saw it so shriveled up was 12 years ago when I fell through the ice into frigid water up to my chest.
I was told that someone had contacted a social worker at the hospital to see if I could get some sedation as soon as I arrived. I thought that would be a great idea. But it didn't happen. I had a 90 minute drive to the hospital to think about it. I laid on a gurney for almost three hours before the doc then the anestheiologist came in to take me in to the OR. "It's about damn time, Doctor Feelgood! Where the hell have you been?"
"I just put something into your IV to relax you. You be just fine in a moment.", he said in his best calming voice.
I was wheeled out of my staging room and we started down the hallway toward the OR. "Ummmmm.... Did you put something in that IV or not? I am just about ready to pull up my pants and go home!" I never heard the response.
***
"This must be the recovery room.", I said when I first opened my eyes. "Or, did I die?"
A gentle voice from nowhere said, "Yes it is and no, you didn't die. How is your pain?"
"I have some." I deadpanned. "Be a pal and kill me now, will ya?"
"I am giving you something for pain now.", the voice said. And then consiousness left me once again.
I awoke once again to find myself in yet different surroundings. I was looking up at a bag of fluid the size of a bowling bag. My eyes followed the tubing down to my penis where it disappeared inside me. There was yet another tube coming out of me there that led to another bag hung from side of the bed below me. I got a quick explaination of what was going on. Clear fluid was going in and red fluid was coming out into the catch bag. I was being flushed out after surgery. It made me feel like I had to piss worse than I ever did, but I couldn't. When I tried to relax the muscles to let it out faster, I was met with extreme discomfort. It wasn't pain, it was...discomfort. Very intense discomfort.
Nurses were still hovering over me. Still goofy from the anesthesia, I said, "Gee... I haven't had so many young women oogling my male member since I won a "Wet Underware" contest 30 years ago." It got a couple of giggles, but when I actually looked at, and then realized what was going on, a little bit of me died right then and there.
There were three tubes coming out of a place where there wasn't room for even one. One was the line to input the saline, the other to take it out, and the third was the foley tube used to inflate a baloon inside of my bladder to keep it all in place. It hurt. It hurt a lot. In the process of shoving this all inside me, they managed to tear my urethura from the tip to about halfway up my penis. They gave me stuff for pain that nauseated me. They gave me stuff for the nausea. They gave me stuff to sleep. I was only half aware of where I was and I suppose that was a good thing. I was woke up the next morning at 4am to be given more drugs to make me sleep. That was a genuine "WTF? Moment", but I didn't argue.
The next morning rolled around quite late and I was trying to shake off all the drugs I was fed. I hate having my head messed up. My wife was there, bless her heart. When she saw me begin to stir, she left and came back with a tray with four cups of coffee on it. They were all for me. The doc came in shortly thereafter while I was slurping away.
The doc looked things over and asked me how I was feeling. "Not ready to do cartwheels across the parking lot just yet. Give me an hour, though, and I'll be out there."
The doc didn't even acknowledge my answer. "You have cancer, but you're a lucky man.", he said. "I removed a malignant tumor this big." He put he put his forfingers and thumbs together in a circle about the size of a baseball. "I was surprised," he said, "because when I got inside your bladder, the tumor was much bigger than what we saw on the CT. I was able to remove all of it and the biopsy showed that it hasn't spread. It was a slow growing cancer. But, you have a 40% to 70% of reoccurrance, so we have to check it regularly and you need to stop smoking. We can do the cyctoscopies right in the office."
I was just told I have cancer and it didn't mean shit to me. It still doesn't. I looked the doc straight in the eye and told him, "You still don't get it do ya?" It was the worst time possible to tell me that this might happen again. I could not possibly care less about the cancer. It's the procedure that gets me. Do I look happy? I wanted a cigarette so much.
Finally, the lights went on in the docs head. "I am so sorry. I do get it now." We'll try checking it in the office, okay?" If there are problems, I have no problem at all with doing it in the hospital with you under a general." With that, I was discharged and sent home with the fu*king monster cateter still in place.
I had to leave that damn catheter in until Friday. Thank God my loving wife the RN was there to swap from a leg bag worn during the day to a night bag hung on the bed, all without spilling a drop. The day bag was strapped to my calf and I had to drain it using the valve at the bottom of the bag at my ankle. Of course, I was able to say truthfully that If I need to take a leak, I just lift my pantleg up a bit and let it rip. How many guys can say that and back it up?
Friday came and I was back at the urologist's office to get the catheter removed. I laid back on the table and stared at the ceiling. I felt him removing the bag and related tubing. Then, without warning, he pulled the catheter out. It felt like everything else was being yanked out with it. I admit it. I let out a muffled growl when he did it. What a wuss I am.
Damn it all the hell! Just freakin' wonderful. I feel like such a fu*king idiot. I have never walked away from risking all to help another as a volunteer firefighter. I have faced and flipped off the Grim Reaper more than once. But there are no words to describe the feeling of cowardice I have from all of this. It really sux.
I have kept very busy puttering since getting home. I have been working on the PA rack for an upcoming gig. I have repaired this and that. But I have been bleeding continuously since the ordeal, though. It is now Sunday, almost a week since the operation. I have finally decided to rest like I am supposed to and guess what? Not bleeding today! I am healing but still hurting. I wait until the last moment to take a leak to get it all out at once. I am taking a pill that really does help with urinary tract pain (where the hell was this stuff after the appendix fiasco?). It dulls the pain but an extremely intense feeling still remains everytime I let it go. My dick is still stinging badly after the tear. And still, I don't give a shit about the cancer. I am trying to quit the smokes, but I don't know if it will work cuz I am not really motivated enough to quit even though smoking is the culprit that allegedly caused my cancer. It's hard to believe after hearing some "expert" on tv stating that smoking is responsible for global warming. Sorta puts a bit of doubt in the credibility of all those folks, doesn't ya think?
Yep. I have cancer, and I honestly don't care. I just wanna get on my bike and ride off into the sunset to places unknown. It sounds good, but the unfortunate part is that no matter how far or how fast you try to run away, no matter where you go, there you are, still stuck with your reality even though your 500 miles from where it began. Maybe one day I will get my head straightened out and learn to appreciate the fact that my life has been extended considerably. But before I can appreciate it, I need to find the meaning to it after being disability retired against my wishes and forced to leave the fire service. I don't know. Maybe I'll try to get a job as a "Quality Control Specialist" in a Neveda brothel. Yeah... That's a job to love! Uh-oh.... It might be a while before I can take that one on...
Well, you've read this much so I believe you're expecting some words of wisdom or an answer to the Celestial Equation. Okay... Here goes: If you smoke, quit. If you piss blood, see the doc immediately. Your life DOES depend on it. You've read my story so you know what will happen if cancer is found. But you certainly do not have to deal with it in the same cluster fu*ked way I have. Be a man and just do it. Yes, it is alright to be afraid. I am quite sure that you will appreciate the extra years to come and hopefully share them with those you love because, had you chickened out of the procedure, they would have lost you and been left weeping at your funeral. Finally, I have cancer. But cancer does not have me. That is the correct answer.
That's all I have to say at the moment. I've spit it out all over the place. Now go away. I'll be back when I am feeling better. Hmmm... How about that. I will live long enough to feel better... and get that job in Reno. But, if I find that this entry ends up embarrassing me way too much, I will just fade into oblivion, never to be seen or heard from again. I am just that way. Git checked, git it done, live.
- Blog post
- 5 months ago
- Views: 249
