So I'll preface this post by saying that that when it comes down to it I really don't give a shit about scooters. They are just harmless little kids and the optimist in me always hopes that one day they'll be lured in and try a skateboard and learn how much better life is on the dark side. Unfortunately, what I have always hoped was a passing trend seems to be getting a lot worse. Year after year there are bigger packs of these little turds swirling around my beloved bowls. Go skate street you say? Well I do but a man needs some tranny in his life ya know?
Anyways, as fears of these swarms of Neff shirt wearing locusts overrunning the concrete that is my lifeblood have become more of a reality I decided that it was time to go looking for some answers. With a pouch full of peyote buttons, a wineskin full of water and a grocery bag full of "provisions" from the produce department I embarked on a journey into the desert. Just me, the desert, some high-grade mescaline and questions. Questions that needed answers.
After finding a desolate spot miles away from any roads or threats of encroachment, I spread out my Diamond Hardware beach towel and made quick work of the the peyote. It tasted like shit and wasn't easy to get down but I knew this was a necessary step as it would serve as my tour guide through the spirit world. The peyote kicked hard, like a mule, but in the sense of the mescaline was fucking me up really bad not a male donkey that physically struck me. I puked a few times and then farted and that's when I knew it was on. The fart kicked off the visuals and I could hear devil worshipping Christian monks chanting despite my isolation. I felt uncomfortable and began wandering, stumbling through the sand. I noticed a figure approaching. The figure had long wavy hair and walked like a bitch but was flat chested. As you probably guessed, it was Jim Morrison...so cliche. As we got closer he opened his mouth as if to start talking but, in order to not waste any time, I interrupted him and blurted out my question, "What the fuck is going on with all these scooterers, where are they all coming from and why...and why the fucking tail whips, Why?!?". He smirked and calmly explained in a drawn out mono tone voice, "Don't worry man, they're just a bunch of dildos" and with that he disappeared. My head started spinning and I fell to the ground overwhelmed by colors and sound.
I woke up, after what must have been hours, face down in the sand and balls deep in one the cantaloupe that I had brought with me. All I remembered was what Jimbo Morriso had to say and my lucid dreams that followed. Not much more to say, I'll just leave you with an artist depiction of my visuals and a reminder to stay strong brothers. Stay strong....
Topic: Skoot Er Die: Mini Vans and Can Cans (Read 1333 times)