What-what? What. WHAT?
Those of you who have been reading this blog for greater than 12 months know exactly what what-what, what, WHAT means.
Time to pop some tags. The paranormal is coming. October 20th, 4 PM. E-Rallys-Ville.
Getcha' popcorn ready.
The first thing you do is sign up. That, of course, is the easy part.
Then, I guess you have a quick look at the course layout, acknowledge that you lack the fitness to even watch Keck ride around this thing for more than like 15 seconds, and then, the real work begins.
And no, I'm not talking about training. I'm talking about putting together the most fantastic, semi-safe-to-ride-your-bike-in costume you can muster in...gasp...1 month.
This requires some thought:
Macklemore vs T-Rex on an MTB.
Slutty Catgirl vs Hello Kitty.
Evel Knievel vs Dr. Octopus.
What kind of costume are you? This is not a game. It requires careful consideration, and a clear assessment of your motivation...do you want to actually race your bike without the risk of getting your costume-appendages caught in someone else's drivetrain? No. No you do not. Because what fun would that be?
To further complicate the annual costume conundrum, this year we finally have a verifiable account of what, precisely, Donald Trump's penis looks like. So you've got that to sort out, emotionally and otherwise, and then you have to figure out if it's something you'd want to race your bike in for 6+ hours.
Have we hit rock bottom of whatever this is yet?
No. No we have not.
Look, it was already hard to imagine a Paranormal where half of you derelicts were not a) drunk and b) dressed as something phallic and/or offensive anyway. So I don't guess a costumed Mario-Toad/Stormy Daniels team riding a tandem and sneaking off into the woods together should come as a real surprise to anyone at this point. It's sad, sure, but if the past is any indication, things can always get worse.
 |
| worse. |
And we'd still ride it anyway, wouldn't we?
Prove it to me, Toad.
Sign up, up, up.
