Route 666

Hooked up with the MRT yesterday for another Granite City run, this ride is starting to feel just like groundhog day. Glided along the muddy mighty effortlessly for miles as a gusty south-bred wind launched me forward. Turkeys and middle-aged women on hybrids littered the trail and all took their time getting out of my lane. On autopilot, I arrived at the Stop-n-Go for another life sustaining powerade and a bag of TGI Fridays cheese quesadilla flavored chips. This is the fuel of corporate devils. Upon exiting this mini-mart of pleasure I decided today I would Stop-n-sit. Sprawled upon the sidewalk with a powerade and processed cheese mustache I began to soak it all in. Observing my environment I noticed the Hardee's accossed the street had "Welcome Route 66 people" on the marquee, or something to that affect acknowledging the local tourism. What could these visitors possibly be thinking? Due east of the stop-n-go is a closed up building that used to be Catfish Kelley's, no more fresh mississsippi catch of the day there. East of that is the "Anal Motel". I beleive the sign used to read Canal. This is the only hotel I know of in existince that has a Busch sign located directly below its' own, proving yet again A-B has left no corner of the earth unadvertised. You may get ass-raped during the night but at least you can head for the mountains first. Scattered about are various truck-stop bars and a very interesting massage parlor/dui center duoplex, covering that small demographic looking for legal representation and a rub-n-tug in one convienient location. I know, at first it seems ridiculous but then it makes sense. Almost everytime I have visited my lawyer I could really use a good rub down and seminal storage cleansing afterword. The other strange and mysterious buildings, all with the appearance of facilities geared for an underground sex slave operation, pepper the remaider of prime real estate. Location, location, location. As I arose from my sidewalk day dream I remounted my steed and pumped full of devil juice began to spin toward the metal deck bridge. As I crested the top I could see in the distance a geo storm(the car), oh yes, a rare citing indeed. This monument of automotive engineering and cost-cutting productivity was whipping fast and furious 180's on the gravel levee road. Pulling on the E-brake and a fast heel toe. My first response was, "what a bunch of stupid faggots." However, as I started my descent I noticed the car was headed toward the entrance of the bridge and I decided to stop to see where they were going. What a pussy I was, one minute I am laughing at the contents of this aqua colored gas-powered turd. The next, I am fearing that the sight of me in spandex will trigger their deepest homoerotic fantasies and they will rectify their mutual awkwardness by beating me senseless with a lead pipe. Luckily the car turned away and stormed off in the distance. I must stop here and apologize for using the word "faggot." The gays are a good clean people and they never did nothin' to me. Actually, come to think of it, my neighbors are gay and they are filthy people. These guys look like people truck drivers would scoff at for lacking proper hygeine. What I am saying is don't buy into their sterotype of cleanliness, gays are really filthy. Well, the creativity tank was running low on fumes to begin with and I am now stalled. Rode bike rest of way to city. Got home. Very tired. Ate and slept, bed was warm. Artist Formerly Known as Midnight Rider out..