Bike riding is fun! Isn't it?

I used to live in L.A. I went from living with my father in Spain to living with my mother in Los Angeles at 17 years old. Hollywood to be exact. You wanna talk about culture shock? We went to Venice Beach the first weekend I was there. Holy shit. That chick was almost naked! It was the first time I'd ever seen a chick wearing a teeny-tiny bikini in person. Normally, you only saw that kind of shit on late-night "Skin-emax" soft porn movies. Don't act like you didn't watch those as a teen, we all did. Chicks included. Ahhh, memories!
I found out pretty quick that I was gonna enjoy life in L.A. It was February of 1988, and had to be the best time to be there.
I started to get acquainted with the a lot of the things the city had to offer. I'd walk up and down Hollywood Boulevard, go check out tapings of TV shows, and tried to bang every chick I laid eyes on. I had a cousin out there, and we hung out a lot. It was cool because she had a shit-load of hot friends! She lived all the way out in Inglewood, though, and like I said, I was living in Hollywood. For those of you that don't know, that's 10 miles one way. I used to ride a bike out there a lot, and when I look back on it, it's hard to believe that I was riding 20 miles a day 2 and 3 days in a row. Riding a bike in L.A. is fuckin' dangerous! Once, I was riding across Freemont Place at Wilshire Boulevard, and some asshole hit me. Now, I didn't end up on my back with a mangled bike laying next to me, but the idiot didn't wanna wait for me to ride by, so he cut me off. Hit my front tire. And kept going. I decided not to take that way home. Too many side streets to take, anyway. I told my cousin, "ThePrincess" about it after I got to her house, and she told me that I should've gotten the guy's license plate. We hung out for a while, but she couldn't get any of her friends to come over, and it was getting late, so I started pedaling home. LaBrea is pretty much a straight shot, so that's what I took home. Now, at some point, just past Slauson, LaBrea starts going through the western border of Baldwin Hills, so I had to work a little bit to get up the hill. I was getting a little pissed at the traffic, and the RTD bus that seemed to be stopping every 10 feet in front of me. Finally, the bus had no more stops, and made it's way up the hill. A little while after that, I crested the hill, as well. Now, it was all downhill! Coasting down a long hill on a bike is one of life's great pleasures. I love speed. The wind in your hair, things rushing by, it's great. Then, I saw that fuckin' bus again. Damnit! No problem. I'll just cruise around it. I looked behind me, and saw that there were too many cars coming to make that possible. I hit the brakes. Right. I may as well not have had any fuckin' brakes at the speed I was going, and the bus was stopped in front of me. Then I noticed that the guardrail on the side of the road curved in for the bus stop. Sweet. I pulled into the bus stop area with a sense of relief. That's when I noticed that the guardrail curved back out at the end of the bust stop. Shit. And what was worse, the bus had started moving again. I had slowed down a bit, but still not enough to completely stop. I ended up pulling out in front of the moving bus. The bus driver slammed on his brakes, honked his horn, and flipped me off while he was cussing at me. What the fuck did he want me to do? I couldn't stop. 30 feet beyond the bus stop, the sidewalk started again, so I thought that I'd ride on it for a while to regain my composure after almost getting run over by a fuckin' RTD. I cut loose with some nervous laughter as I pedaled on. It was dark, and I wasn't paying attention to my drifting to the wall on one side of the sidewalk. What I didn't realize was the 5 inch deep rut in between the sidewalk and the wall. My front tire rolled into it. Since I didn't know how deep it was, I tried to turn out of it. Big mistake. Over the handlebars I went, with the bike following me. I ended up on my back with a bike on top of me. The whole thing happened in slow motion. I saw the ground, the hill behind me, and the sky as I executed an Olympic level front flip. If only I could stick the landing! As my back made contact with the ground, I slid a good 4-6 feet. Then I saw the bike, tumbling through the air. It was coming right for me. "Fuck." I thought, "This is gonna hurt.". As I lay there in pain, locked in an embarrassing embrace with a Huffy 12 speed, I heard the laughter. People were stopping their cars to laugh at me. What heartless assholes......

Hangin' at The Woody Pt 3 The "Little" Indian Girl

Okay, we all get beer goggles when we drink. I don't care who you are. If you say "No, that's bullshit. Not me", then you're a fuckin' liar. It happens. You ain't special, fucker! The problem was, every time I saw this chick (Chunk?), I was completely out of my mind drunk. She'd smile and grin at me and shit, wink, and wave. I'm like most guys in that aspect, if a chick shows the least bit of interest, I'm down to fuck her 7 ways from Sunday. This gets at least 8 times worse when I'm drunk. You know what I'm talking about. So I started flirting with her. Aggressively. Well, at least as aggressive as you can be when you're damn near blackout-drunk.

Turtle saw me flirting with her and tried to stop me. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing? That chick's ugly as fuck!"

"No she's not", I managed to slur out. "She's my little Indian girl. That's my little Pocahontas!"

Now, The Woody was also a karaoke bar. I started serenading her with songs like Wild Thing, and Baby Got Back. You would have thought that I was madly in love with her. My friend Einstein doesn't talk much, mainly because he speaks in binary code, but I think he was silently speechless, if there is such a thing. I even went so far as to buy her roses from the little flower lady that walks around the bar. Oh yeah, I'd completely lost my mind over this chick. I'd sit down with her, we'd hold hands, have little conversations. We were quite the pair. Some time passed, at least what I considered time, anyway. Hard to tell time when you're near pissing yourself drunk! I got around to telling her that I wanted to play hide the salami with her. She was definitely into it, but said that she had people at her house and needed some time to clear them out. That's when I found out that she lived around the corner from the bar. Well! that was fucking great! Just a short walk, and I'd be pleasurably pounding the night away! Since Turtle's chick worked at the bar, we got to hang out there after it closed. I sober up pretty fuckin' quick once I stop drinking, and I was having a deep conversation about Jello Shots with GothChick while she wiped the bar down when my phone rang. The house was empty, and I could come by when I wanted! Since I didn't know how to get to her house, I told her that I'd meet her outside the bar. Keep in mind that I'm largely sober now. I'm standing outside in the dark, watching tweekers sketch by (Yup. It's fuckin' Springfield, for Christ's sake. What'd you expect?), when finally, I see her walking towards the bar. Now, don't get me wrong, I like women of all shapes and sizes. I believe that all women are beautiful in some way. And I'm a fat fucker, so what do I look like judging some woman by her size? But if you're as wide as you are tall, sex isn't really an option with a guy like me. She was a short chick, and looked like a mini-fridge walking across the street. Like I said, I'm a fat fucker. I instantly got images of large kitchen appliances slamming into each other, and creating offspring like toasters, food-processors, or maybe twin blenders. I couldn't take it. I bolted. I went barreling through the parking lot in the other direction, and headed down the sidewalk. I made it to a 7-11, and called Turtle to pick me up on the way home. I told him what happened, and he almost pissed himself laughing. "I fuckin' told you, dude!" he stuttered out between guffaws. Fuck him. He's an asshole.....