A Complete List of the Membership of the IOMC

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on July 21, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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This is a list I happened upon that I thought may interest some of my readers… Just in case you want to, ya know, call or stop in and tell them how much you respect them and all. I have no knowledge of the occupations of anyone on this list so thereby am not intentionally posting any information about any law enforcement personnel, especially since the IOMC is emphatic about they are not a cop club.

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Cj Allan.. A Cut Above The Rest

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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One of the greatest influences and mentors of my biker opinions is a man known, respected, loved and feared by many. His lifetime is a rich tapestry of motorcycle lore that I am woefully unskilled to attempt to weave into words. To hear him tell a story about the old days is akin to having a glass of good bourbon next to a fire on a chilly rainy night while reading a horror story. His knowledge amuses you, terrifies you, and fascinates you all in one breath. He is to bikers what Johnny Cash is to music… a living, breathing legend of what it means to be a true biker. His bountiful street creds encompass every aspect of the biker world, from being a former international Hessian president to rubbing elbows with the elite of the builders, Cj has been there, done that. He is in fact the esteemed individual who engraved the tattoos of the late Indian Larry on his urn… they were great friends and worked on many projects together. When Cj engraves something on your bike, he etches a piece of himself onto your soul. Even carrying one of his specialty Mag lights, you feel like you have a tiny piece of Cj there with you everywhere that you go. Personally, I find that much more comforting than any little bells you buy at a swap meet.

From the May '92 issue of Supercycle, a great photo of CJ's fully engraved monster SU carburetor.

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Cj doesn’t let any of this go to his head, however. He is always the most level headed, down to earth man you ever spoke to. He serves as uncle, dad, brother to all of us who are ensconced deep in biker culture. He is offering something that I believe would be a once in a lifetime experience worth every penny for anyone who wants to learn what he wants to teach. See Cj, he is one hell of an engraver. I mean, to the point that you can bet you have seen his work on something at pretty much any real hardcore bike show or museum you ever went to… His work is even exhibited in the Art of the Chopper by Tom Zimberoff. Well, Cj holds exclusive classes to teach his trade to younger guys to carry on the tradition… only twelve students a year, or about one a month. He will teach you how to be an engraver like he is for only $1,250 dollars. This price includes lodging and meals as well as your class. I personally believe this to be a great price, since the knowledge he offers is priceless beyond measure.

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From Cj’s blog… “For several years now CJ has offered workshop classes to individuals wishing to learn the trade. Students learn engraving from A to Z in this fine art class. They are taught how to set up their work area, prepare the piece that is to be engraved, choose, obtain and transfer patterns, make and sharpen gravers and all the tricks or the trade that CJ has learned and developed in his lifetime that make his work very unique.”

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A message from Cj himself….

I’m Only Going to Take on 12 Students this Year.
& These may well be my Last……….
I teach One-on-One, here at my home studio….
In Hazel KY ….On KY/TN State Line,-Just West of the MISS River
I call it “Grub & a Bunk”, I provide 3 days of intense instruction,
A good bed, and food…..so ya don’t have to find a hotel, or resteraunt………..
I make it to fit YOUR schedule…………
When you can get the time…..I Make the time………….
I keep telling myself I need to raise the price of this..But Ta hell with it….|
…It WILL Go Up in Jan 2015…….fer sure this time..!!!!!! ….
I’ll give ya the old price of $1250……….
with a $250 deposit, & that will be good till ya get here, anytime in 2014, or so.
Give me a call if ya like… 270-492-6209…Leave a message
Or message me here on FB
Thanks….
lookin forward to hearin from ya……..
…….cj
Henry Ford said:
“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at 20 or 80. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.

https://www.facebook.com/cj.allan.3/photos

http://cjsengraving.blogspot.com/

http://cjs-engraving.com/

Email
cj.allan.3@facebook.com

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Bikers Participate in National Day of Protest, 2MBTDC, AR

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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This Saturday Arkansas bikers will be heading out to protest the ridiculous immigration shenanigans being orchestrated by our government. Headed up by 2MBTDC State Coordinator Colin Wetherelt and assisted by National Administrator of of 2 Million Bike Ride to DC Amy Irene White, all factions of Arkansas patriots plan to turn out in full peaceful showing of protest. They will be meeting at 10 a.m. at War Memorial Stadium and have an entire day planned, including a short ride, visiting the Mexican consulate where Colin wants to “rattle the pillars,’ lunch by Black Dog Bar-B-Que, speeches on the capitol steps, and an after ride to Rodney’s Cycle House.

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This effort is in collusion with The National Day of Protesting Against Immigration Reform, Amnesty, and Border Surge. People all over the country are gathering at their state capitols this Saturday…

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Click here for more details: https://www.facebook.com/events/1476471035921641/

Colin has already garnered state media attention with his efforts…

LITTLE ROCK, AR – As one of the hottest debates continues in Washington D.C., a local man is hosting a motorcycle rally to protest immigration reform.

Saturday riders will meet at War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock for the “Riding in Little Rock” rally. They will ride to the Mexican Consulate before wrapping up at the Arkansas State Capital Building. It’s all about of the National Day of Protest Against Immigration Reform.

Colin Wetherelt, the rally organizer said, “Nothing gets your attention like a low rumble heading your way, getting louder all the time.”

“People are responding; people are upset; people want an answer to a question.
The question is what is our state government doing to protect our children, our grand children, from the growing threat posed by the failure of the federal government to secure our southern borders.”

When asked why protest at the consulate, he said, “So we are going with a simple statement, shut your borders, that’s all.”

The Mexican Consulate issued a statement saying:

“We do not approve nor promote illegal immigration which in our opinion, is the direct consequence of the inaction of Congress to approve a Comprehensive Immigration Reform as way out of the actual dysfunctional immigration system and to better serve the present and future needs of the United States in terms of labor, economy expansion, and population growth, among other. Immigration enforcement without immigration reform is an economic dead-end.”

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Amy has garnered massive social media attention with her efforts on the radio, writing and facebook under the title “Bikers vs. Muslims”.. She was in Washington DC last September 11th to stand against the so called Million Muslim March and plans to return this year as well.

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Special thanks to Black Dog Bar-B-Que and Rodney’s Cycle House for their support in our endeavors. Come on out Arkansas and tell them what we think about their Amnesty Programs and Immigration loopholes. Let’s make more than the thunder roll in the natural state. Be sure and remember the good food and free entertainment of Roger Hale at Rodney’s Saturday night, as well. Let’s work together, folks, and show them we ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie!

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Dave Mann Wearable Art

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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In 2004 Easyriders magazine lost one of the greatest artists in biker history. Dave Mann died of complications of paint fumes. About the same time, I had to quit chasing stories because I was diagnosed with lupus, also from painting cars. I have always had a great love for and felt a connection to Dave Mann for this reason.

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Dave Mann’s dad was a lifelong illustrator and active member of the Society of Scribes in London. The younger Mann was born in Kansas City, Missouri. In 1957 he first drew pencil sketches of hot rods while feigning attention in high school. His crude sketches opened the door for Dave’s first job, pinstriping cars for Doug Thompson and Ray Hetrick’s custom car shop in Kansas City.  The wild allure of the West Coast drew Dave and buddy Al Burnett to Santa Monica, California. While cruising the seaside community he stumbled across Bay Area Muffler, an area custom car house, and there discovered completely insane chopped Harleys. The bikes drove him wild. They projected freedom, power and mobility with every chromed curve. He was immediately hooked. Dave Mann returned to Kansas City and bought his first new bike, a ’48 Panhead, for $350. At the same time he created his first painting, “Hollywood Run.” It represented the wild, unleashed, Hollywood outlaw lifestyle. Riding his customized Harley with his painting tucked under his arm, Dave entered the ’63 Kansas City Custom Car Show. That car show launched his artistic & biker career. Dave Mann had the only custom-bike entry in the show, so for his creative efforts the judges initiated a new class and trophy specifically for him.

 

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Dave Mann painted several posters for Big Daddy Roth, the California custom car creator and publisher of the first chopper magazine.  In ’65, he went to work in the mailroom at Scheffer Studios in Kansas city, where he met an architectural renderer, Dave Poole, who taught him technical drawing.  By ’67, Mann developed into an architectural renderer, having studied at the Kansas City Art Institute.

Then in 1971, Dave discovered a new magazine— Easyriders.  And the rest as they say, is history– the two are now forever inseparable in any hardcore biker’s heart and mind.Easyriders was the first full-fledged, lifestyle-related bike rag.  Since Easyriders third issue, Dave Mann has led the biker magazine industry by capturing the essence of a changing lifestyle in the epic center-spreads.

Due to his failing health, Dave Mann was forced to retire from Easyriders in 2003 — the years of paint fumes had deteriorated his lungs to the point where surgeons had to remove them both and put him on a breathing machine.  Sadly, Dave died about a day after his 64th birthday, Sept. 11 2004.

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Mann has always been known as a visionary who could tell a story with paint. He immortalized the lifestyle that is so quickly dying these days… the old school biker. His paintings are now an amazing piece of history that will ensure that stories are forever commemorated long after they are but secrets kept by ghosts around a million campfires across a billion miles through time.

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I am tickled to death to announce that Affliction Clothing is teaming up with Easyriders and introducing a new line of clothing using Dave Mann paintings as wearable art at Sturgis this year… I plan on buying at least one!

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Affliction Clothing has announced a collaboration with Easyriders Magazine to create an exclusive, limited edition collection featuring the artwork of David Mann from the Easyriders archives. The collection will capture the essence of the biker lifestyle and will maintain the design and manufacturing quality Affliction is known for.
David “Dave” Mann was a California graphic artist whose paintings celebrated biker culture, and choppers. Called “the biker world’s artist-in-residence,” his images are ubiquitous in biker clubhouses and garages, on motorcycle gas tanks, tattoos, and on t-shirts and other memorabilia associated with biker culture.
Choppers have been built based on the bikes first imagined in a David Mann painting
In 2004 Mann was inducted into the motorcycle Hall of Fame by artist Billy Lane.
Mann died a day after his 64th birthday. Just before his death a custom motorcycle was commissioned in his honor from Orange County Choppers, to be featured in an episode of the reality television series American Chopper. The “David Mann Bike” featured custom artwork in Mann’s style, but Mann died before it was completed. The vehicle served as a posthumous tribute to the artist, and his work was featured on the show.
The episode was dedicated to Mann as well as Indian Larry, who had died a month earlier.
The vintage motorcycle imagery of David Mann is widely considered as capturing the essence of the biker lifestyle and has been featured in the magazine for over 30 years. Easyriders Magazine was the first in the industry to capture the ever-changing hardcore biker lifestyle. Each graphic in the Affliction Easyriders Archive Collection is reinterpreted for printing by Affliction’s team of artists and is a distinctive work of art.
The intricate paintings of David Mann have been meticulously re-mastered ensuring the most authentic vintage biker tee possible. The garments are hand distressed and softened with various exclusive wash techniques that offer Affliction’s signature vintage fit and feel.
The Affliction Easyriders Archive Collection will debut at the Sturgis Bike Rally in August and will be available in stores where Affliction is sold.
– See more at: http://www.clutchandchrome.com/20140716112/News/Motorcycle-artist-David-Mann-honored-in-clothing-line.html#sthash.6y79eAtp.dpuf

Fuck Eric Holder

Posted in Uncategorized on July 16, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

If Eric Holder was in front of me right now I would fuck him in the neck with a rusty crowbar. I despise this idiotic motherfucker. Somebody needs to tell him there was no Internet for ‘homegrown’ terrorists in the past.. There was only Paul Fucking Revere. And if you want to cite Boston happenings that were done by actual Americans you probably should say Tea Party and not Bombing, you cunt faced mutton fuck. Our government is bussing in grown ass men with no proof of who they are all over our country and giving them free homes and you wanna stand your bony little ass up there in DC and point your finger that smells of Obama’s anal secretions at the entire country. Go fuck yourself, Eric Holder, you idiotic little twat. Let me tell you what ‘homegrown’ means. It means me.. My great great great grandfather shot in the leg in Mississippi in the Civil War. It means the Sisters of the Confederacy and The Daughters of the Revolution and people who have family members who are ghosts floating in the sea at Pearl Harbor or in the swamps of Vietnam. It does NOT mean some rag headed fucks who came in with a green card or that Kenyan buffoon whose dick you suck.

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Article From Constitution Rising

Eric Holder Announces New “Domestic Terrorist” Program Targeting Americans
Posted on July 14, 2014 by Rick Wells

We have learned over the passage of the last few years that those who hold positions within the Obama regime exhibit behavior consistent with that of despotic tyrants of the past and present.

One of the chief offenders, Eric Holder, has just announced that he is coming after everyday American patriots, especially those who use the Internet. Apparently Holder believes the most dangerous kind of “lone wolf” is one who communicates with other lone wolves. That makes sense.

On Monday, he announced the creation of a special task force within the “Justice” Department to combat what he characterized as an “escalating danger” from “homegrown” terrorists within the U.S.

In an internal video presentation, Holder pointed to the questionable Boston Marathon bombing and the Fort Hood incidents as examples of homegrown threats.

While Nidal Hassan was born in the U.S. to Palestinian parents, the Tsarnaev brothers were born in the Kalmyk Autonomous region of the Soviet Union and Kyrgyzstan. The second Fort Hood shooter, Ivan Lopez, was originally from Puerto Rico, a U.S. territory.

Maybe that whole “homegrown” persona needs a qualifier attached to it. No matter, Holder’s using it as the premise to target both Americans and our right to freely communicate over the Internet.

The special task force will be composed of members of the FBI and the “Justice” Department’s National Security Division. There will be a wealth of attorneys as well, to prepare and process the paperwork and court documents.

The original incarnation of the task force came under Janet Reno as a result of another dubious incident, the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing. After the Department of Homeland Security came into existence, it was abandoned. Now, with DHS pre-occupied with flooding America with illegal aliens, Holder gets his opportunity to go after American citizens.

Using the IRS targeting of conservatives as well as the obvious agenda that the regime and Holder are pushing as a guide, we can easily glean the likely focus of this task force. One can expect that the domestic group comprised of those evil racist heterosexual redneck Christian veteran gun-owning crackas will be occupying most of the top positions and garnering most of the attention.

Under Janet Reno, the original task force targeted the poorly defined “right-wing zealots,” aka non-Democrats. Holder identifies the modern-day targets of his new and improved special group as U.S. citizens or visitors which have become “radicalized” via the Internet. He said the reincarnation of the task force doesn’t signal a departure from existing programs. The specific targeting of Americans is a complement to other efforts already in place.

Holder said, “We also must concern ourselves with a different type of threat. We face an escalating danger from self-radicalized individuals within our own borders.” Maybe he should question the wisdom of having open borders in light of his stumbling onto a domestic threat the next time he meets with the boys in the White House.

Still showing obvious confusion over the meaning of the term “homegrown,” Holder said, “Horrific terror incidents like the tragic shootings at Fort Hood and last year’s Boston Marathon bombing demonstrate the danger we face from these homegrown threats.”

He continued, “Now – as the nature of the threat we face evolves to include the possibility of individual radicalization via the Internet – it is critical that we return our focus to potential extremists here at home.”

Free speech, Americans and the Internet, that’s what’s wrong with America in Holder’s world and he’s determined to fix it.

Rick Wells is a conservative author who believes an adherence the U.S. Constitution would solve many of today’s problems. “Like” him on Facebook and “Follow” him on Twitter.

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Mongols MC Fighting to Keep Their Cuts

Posted in Uncategorized on July 13, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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Many of you know I been raising hell lately about clubs not fighting between each other right now. THIS is why. It matters not whether you are an actual Mongol supporter or not, this pertains to you. The government is out to TAKE your patches. If they get by with it now with the Mongols, who’s next? Bandidos? Angels? Pagans? The Christian Motorcycle Association? They are talking national helmet laws. Your cuts are already banned from many events, such as Sturgis. They are shutting down bike nights using zoning laws… Little by little the government is chipping away at our way of life. How far are you guys willing to let this go? The Rebel has written a good deal about this particular case over the past several months. I strongly suggest EVERYONE involved in the bike world keep up with where this goes, especially in light of the two unrelated but highly charged shooting incidents in Florida and California.

Where to read the Rebel’s coverage:

I am also attaching a story by a Michael Doyle, courtesy of M.D.

NATIONAL HEADLINES
Mongols biker club, accused of criminality, tries to shield its trademark
BY MICHAEL DOYLE, MCCLATCHY WASHINGTON BUREAU
July 11, 2014
Story
Comments
WASHINGTON — Federal prosecutors are revving up efforts to seize the Mongols Nation Motorcycle Club trademark, taking with it associated patches and logos.

But even before the scheduled Sept. 30 start of an unusual trial in Southern California, this ride has been far from easy.

Prosecutors’ initial trademark-snatching effort failed and cost the Justice Department $253,206 in attorneys fees. When prosecutors tried again, the motorcyclists sued Attorney General Eric Holder. Then, the club tried to get the trial judge disqualified. One attorney left, replaced by another whose past clients included the likes of the Grateful Dead.

“This case is extremely unique,” Los Angeles-area attorney Joseph A. Yanny said in an interview, “and it’s very, very important.”

Yanny represents the Mongols Nation, an organization centered in Southern California with chapters in other states including Florida, Pennsylvania and Washington. The group founded in 1969 bills itself on its website as “the baddest 1 percenter motorcycle club in the world.”

A 1991 California Department of Justice study of outlaw motorcycle gangs reported that “the outlaw motorcycle gang members coined this (1 percenter) phrase _ using it to differentiate themselves from the law-abiding social motorcycling clubs.”

Yanny says that’s not the case at all. “It’s not a gang,” he said. “It’s a club.”

Justice Department officials call it a criminal enterprise. In a 44-page indictment last year, prosecutors said the organization has a “history of large-scale violence and riots, as a means to threaten and intimidate the victims and witnesses to their crimes.”

It’s not often that an organization is criminally indicted. It’s even more rare for the government to try to seize a trademark through the tool of asset forfeiture.

Typically, seized assets are ill-gotten gains from drug trafficking, financial fraud and other criminal activities.

While trademarks may seem different, they, too, are property.

“The property we seek to forfeit is intellectual property, the trademarks, but that property was used in direct relation to a wide range of illegal activity,” said Thom Mrozek, spokesman for the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Central District of California. “If we prevail in the current case, no member of the gang would be allowed to wear the trademark that we believe is synonymous with the group.”

Assistant U.S. Attorney Steven Welk, head of the Central District of California’s asset forfeiture branch, is leading the prosecution.

The trademarked Mongols Nation logo now being targeted shows a ponytailed man riding a chopper.

Prosecutors first sought the Mongols’ trademark in October 2008, when 79 individual club members were indicted following an extended undercover operation. Most, if not all, pleaded guilty to assorted criminal charges.

A judge, though, ultimately said the accompanying trademark forfeiture effort violated the free-speech rights of unindicted club members who wanted to wear their club patches. The Consumer Law Group of California and the American Civil Liberties Union of San Diego and Imperial Counties subsequently received attorneys fees for their successful challenge to the trademark seizure.

“The government never had any reasonable basis to pursue forfeiture of the (trademarks), much less defend this abuse of its forfeiture powers,” U.S. District Judge David O. Carter said in his 2012 decision awarding attorneys fees.

Prosecutors followed up by indicting the organization. The indictment declared, among other allegations, that “the Mongols Gang actively engaged in drug trafficking, especially the distribution of methamphetamine and cocaine,” as well as “acts of violence, ranging from battery to murder.”

Yanny countered that any criminal acts were committed by “rogue actors” who have since departed the organization. “Most of the guys,” he said, are now “clean and sober.”

The subsequent pretrial maneuvering has taken some sharp turns, including the Mongols’ unsuccessful effort to disqualify U.S. District Judge Otis Wright II.

A former Los Angeles County deputy sheriff, Wright was appointed to the federal bench by President George W. Bush. Motorcycle club members believe he’s biased against them, citing episodes including the judge’s 2011 statement that he was “regrettably” vacating a preliminary asset forfeiture decision.

“This is a criminal enterprise, as evidenced by the admission of same by no fewer than 40 people who appeared before me,” Wright said at an October 2013 hearing, a transcript shows. “This is a dangerous enterprise.”

Last February, one of Wright’s Central District of California judicial colleagues rejected the club’s effort to disqualify him.

The Mongols similarly failed in their lawsuit against Holder, in which they claimed the asset forfeiture would “unconstitutionally infringe on the club’s First Amendment rights.” Four months after the suit was filed, Wright dismissed it.

“They are operating under the banner of the Mongols,” Wright said at the October 2013 hearing. “It is that name, that reputation, that intimidation factor which enables them to do what they do, isn’t it?”

Email: mdoyle@mcclatchydc.com; Twitter: @MichaelDoyle10.

Read more here: http://www.star-telegram.com/2014/07/11/5964838/mongols-biker-club-accused-of.html#storylink=cpy

Sweet Euphoria

Posted in Uncategorized on July 12, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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Today my body is weary.. My mind is slow and there is drama brewing around me that makes me ill at ease. I am however in a place that none of those things can touch me. I am sitting at my sewing machine. I am making an outfit for one of my closest friends, Jasmine. She will be doing several shows in her hometown of Sturgis this year and I am making her costumes that she may want to wear there. I love Jasmine… I am so excited to be going to Sturgis with her and I hate Sturgis.. But I don’t care because I will stand and watch her sing night after night. I would be excited to be going to Antartica with her just to be with her. Our friendship is ironic because you see, Jasmine is a singer.. And I am ninety percent deaf. I play her songs all the time just to hear her voice but I don’t actually know any of them because I can’t hear well enough to learn them. I love her for herself.. Not for her music.. Because her music is a part of her I cannot reach. I love to watch her in concert to see her red hair flying and her pretty smile and her tiny body wielding a bass with deadly precision. I mostly love the glint in her eyes of her doing what she loves most. So, I will sit here at my sewing machine and try to give her a tiny piece of happy in return for all the joy she brings into my life. Her voice is in my ears from an iPod as I carefully work intricate stitches into tiny little clothes… And I am at peace. I am with her in my mind. Nothing can touch the wonderland that is my friendship with Jasmine, and it’s one of my favorite places to retreat. I think of her when I hear Axle Rose sing ‘Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place where as a child I’d hide..’
Sweet Euphoria by Jasmine Cain

The hairy crotch conundrum

Posted in Uncategorized on July 12, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

the Wicked Bitch:

I too have been rather fascinated with pubic hair fashion for awhile. I want to know when it became en vogue for men to shave their under yonders to the point women make fun of those who still go retro.. And who exactly decides the latest in pube couture anyway? I have attempted to conduct surveys to find out how many men really do this but they shy away from answering much like they did during my circumcision survey. I’ve found women will tell you readily ‘yes, I wear a Brazilian’ or ‘well I have a landing strip shaved in a shamrock.’ Men are much more reserved.. I myself tend to wear a bit of a buzz cut with one pretty red curl. A naked vagina just looks weird to me. Plus, in the words of the great Jerry lee Lewis, ‘it’s so pretty, I just can’t stand to cut it.’

Originally posted on My buxom wench:

Alright, now this might seem a bit queer to some of you but this is undoubtedly a subject of interest to me. For quite some time I had been pondering over this enigma. Keeping your crotch shaven or hairy is simply a matter that is up to you or your decision to choose any of the options might be influenced by your partner’s fascination with either of the two options. Now if you’re much into historical fiction as I am, you are bound to come across Ken Follett. Yes, that very Follett who wrote masterpieces such as ‘The pillars of the earth’ and ‘Fall of Giants’. If you’ve read either of these books, the leading characters are headstrong, intelligent and beautiful females. But there’s another striking similarity between these awe-inspiring women portrayed in Follett’s novels: these women have thick dark hair on their mounds and surely, Follett does not shy…

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Pubeophobia

Posted in Uncategorized on July 12, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

the Wicked Bitch:

I agree wholeheartedly with this post… Heaven forbid someone post a painting showing a few pubes. Meanwhile, let’s watch Miley dry hump a midget in rubber chicken butt panties. I am of the belief that the canvas is undefiled except by bad painters. Next thing you know someone will be painting drawers on all the cherubim at the Sistine Chapel.

Originally posted on My SEETHINGS:

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Well there it is, that offensive bit of lady fluff is the reason why this piece of art was yanked from an art exhibition in London’s Mall Galleries. Just in case you can’t find the offending element, I’ve provided direction by way of a yellow arrow. It’s horrible.

Of course it needs to be taken.

We should pull this shit off. It’s not real. Women don’t look like this! It’s an outright lie. Every woman I’ve seen in the last ten years has shaved herself down to a five year old little girl. My head wouldn’t know what to do with this hairy beast. I’m so used to the image of ploughing my way into someone’s baby daughter that I don’t think I could do this unless I had a toddler beside me! What is she, part fucking gorilla?

Bloody abomination!

We can’t survive with this kind of smut leering over the shoulders…

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Bikers Shooting Bikers

Posted in Uncategorized on July 11, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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I try to in one way or another always tell the truth to my fans and readers and listeners about what is going on with the bikers. I am heartbroken and disgusted that I am having to read and try to write news stories about bikers shooting bikers. Do you fellas not see that the government is already trying to take your guns, trying to take your patches, trying to take your freedom? Don’t think they will try to take your patches? Ask the Mongols. Why are you adding fuel to the fire? Stop watching the Sons of Anarchy, Put the fucking guns away, and go back to using your fists like real men. This is getting ridiculous. I cannot believe what is happening in our world. Its bad enough that people are shooting up schools and movie theaters. Now you bikers, you people who are the modern day knights of the world, have decided to start shooting at each other again? Didn’t ya’ll out grow this about oh, twenty or thirty years ago? Are you going to start trafficking women and drugs again to live up to a stereotype, too? All you are doing is handing the government ammunition to start taking away every right we have as bikers. And don’t get me started on the fucking Iron Order. Those holster sniffing son of a bitches exist solely to instigate all of the real bikers into fighting or pulling guns. All of you need to go and find every last one of them and stomp the ever loving shit out of them and piss on their rags before you set them on fire and feed them to a dog. Fuck the Iron Order and I cannot believe no one is doing anything to stop the bastards from spreading faster than Muslims and cockroaches. I tell ya, I will support every one of you to the death. I LOVE one percenters. I love all bikers period. I am a 1%er friendly journalist in every sense of the word. But I tell ya what, you fuckers are making it real damned hard for me to defend you when you are going off getting in all sorts of trouble. Seriously, the Boozefighters are getting shot at Hollister? Didn’t you people learn anything the FIRST damned time? No. Now here you are in the national news seventy damned years later being labeled as dangerous threats to society. Just flushed all that hard work down the shitter like a vending machine burrito. I still love all of you bikers, but I gotta tell you, I don’t LIKE some of you right about now. Goddamn it, when you shoot one another, we all bleed. You are all my BROTHERS. Whether you wear the same patch or not, we are all on the same side in the end… bikers versus the fucking universe. It’s not always about what’s on your back, sometimes its about what’s on your bike. Grow the fuck up, fellas, before you ruin everybody’s lives.

Bike Night Shut Down Makes a Comeback in Arkansas

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on July 11, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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There has been a recent bout of various governments and law enforcement shutting down bike nights using zoning laws as the reason. Arkansas is not an exception. A-State Boys MC, a sport club that is ran by strict protocol and intermingles heavily with the heavy in our state had this happen to them. We have many different bike nights in Central Arkansas but 501 is by far the best one around. A-State State President Travis Lemmons is a consummate entertainer and event planner, and when combined with DJ Petey, they ensure a fantastic time at every event. The entertainment is never raunchy or rowdy beyond a bikini bike wash or a rap song. I have seen everyone from Bandidos to Boozefighters to CMAs at their events. The activities they host include things like tough man contests doing push ups, cold water challenges, a Jackyl concert, a wrestling match.. Their bike night was held on Thursday Nights at Twin Peaks bar and restaurant, a huge two story Hooters type establishment with rustic lumberjack decor. I never witnessed anyone popping wheelies or doing burnouts or any other erratic or dangerous behavior there.

In April, a devastating tornado wiped out a large portion of central Arkansas and I had the privilege of working with A-State and the 501 bike night gathering relief for the victims of the storm. We had an unprecedented turn out and filled our trailers and had to send out for more. While we were moving bikes and trailers around trying to gather all the stuff we collected, there were vice cops milling through the crowds.

We were even on Channel 11 News taking help to Mayflower… While the cops were picking on us we were doing this:

LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (KTHV) – Arkansans are doing everything they can to help disaster victims regroup after the storm.

At the Verizon Arena, the motorcycle community gathered to drop off donation items and stuff a tractor-trailer full of supplies. Once they got the truck loaded, the bikers gave it a free escort to the damage sites.

“As a motorcycle community whether you’re with a club or not, it’s ingrained in us to support our state, and anytime Arkansas goes through a tragedy like this, the motorcycle community is going to come together to support it,” said one of the club leaders.

Different motorcycle groups had drop-boxes set up across the state. As an incentive to donate, a local tattoo shop gave out free Arkansas tattoos to anyone who dropped something off.
here is the news story…
http://www.thv11.com/story/news/local/2014/05/04/arkansans-doing-everything-they-can-to-help-disaster-victims-regroup/8682237/
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That night they wrote tickets to Twin Peaks bar for the bikes being parked in the wrong place and the city of Little Rock completely shut down bike night using zoning laws.. Or at least they tried to. We are Arkansans, we don’t give up easily.

Our tried and true bike shop and home of the Abate District 1 Toy Run and the legendary ride to Toy Hill, Rodney’s Cycle House has once again stood and delivered. Proprietor and long time Hamster Rodney Roberts has recently opened a new fabulous location.. It includes a huge store, the Handle Bar bar and grill, and of course his bike shop… He was hosting a bike night on Thursdays as well. We all know bikers don’t leave other bikers behind.. A-State and Rodney joined forces and now we have a super badass bike night of epic proportions. I don’t really think you can zone bikers out of a bike shop either.

Congratulations, Arkansas bikers, for your continued teamwork, unity, and tenacity. I am proud to be one of you.
A-State Boys MC

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Rodney’s Cycle House

What’s Happening at Rodney’s this Week

The Pussification of Harley Davidson

Posted in Uncategorized on June 20, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

So I see Harley has released an electric Harley…  “There are milestones that change history – those pivotal moments where the future is defined. This is one of them. Just like this country, Harley-Davidson has reinvented itself many times in our 111 years. This is the next chapter of our journey. Whether you’re a rider or not, we’re inviting you to take part in the experience, and be there for this historic ride forward.” Yea, that’s basically the same song and dance we got with the “New Flavored Coca Colas” and Two and a Half Men without Charlie Sheen. A Harley without, you know, GAS, is like fuckin’ without kissin’. Who the hell wants an ELECTRIC HARLEY? And this isn’t even a NEW concept… There were electric Harleys in the past.. they were called GOLF CARTS. Here is the video for this extreme pussification of Harley Davidsons as we know them….

I also like how all the big boys are tip toeing through the handlebars carefully describing its looks. Well. EYE am not going to do so. That is one ugly motherfucker. It looks like a V-Rod being butt fucked by a Hybusa.. And what the hell is with those mirrors? It looks like something on Clark Griswald’s station wagon. The headlight also closely resembles a certain nether regions haircut known as a “landing strip.”

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Photos courtesy of Cyril Huze…

Of course, not all biker bloggers are as critical as me… This is what Cyril Huze had to say about it…

http://cyrilhuzeblog.com/2014/06/19/harley-davidson-reveals-project-livewire-the-first-electric-bike-you-will-like/#comments

 

 

 

 

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My friend The Rebel chimed in on this, um, “harley” as well.. This part of his article made me want to shit in my hand and rub it in my hair…. Seriously. whomever this Olin guy is makes my ass want a dip of snuff. What a prick.

Fatten The Tails

John Olin, Chief  Financial Officer explains, “The development of Project LiveWire supports our Fatten The Tails Strategy…. The Fatten The Tails Strategy is our balanced approach to investing in products across the customer spectrum of core riders, outreach and international.”

In case you are lost already, “Fatten the Tails” has nothing to do with swingarms or rear tires or fenders. It is the insincere and sanctimonious story the Harley suits have made up about how their motorcycle company is going to outlive the guys who are stuck with Harley tattoos. “Fatten the Tails” describes a perfectly symmetrical Bell Curve with the Harley tattoo guys at its apex. They are labeled as Harley’s “core” customers. The two tails of the Bell Curve comprise the “outreach” and “international” markets. In case you are still lost, “Outreach means “young adults,” “women,” “Hispanics,” and “African-Americans.”

Really. We aren’t making that up to make Harley look stupid. The “tails” of Harley’s corporate marketing strategy refer to the theoretical tails of a Bell Curve. “Tails” does not refer to anything tangible or real. The term refers entirely to a statistical abstraction.”

http://www.agingrebel.com/10289

What I want to know is what the fuck makes them think because I am a woman I want to ride some horse shit looking crap like this? And what the hell do “women, blacks and hispanics” have to do with building ugly ass motorcycles? I am extremely offended by this stereotypical lumping together of genders and races in some boardroom clap trap dreamed up by some mutton fuck in an ill fitting suit sitting on HIS fattened tail. They may have some people lining up to ride one but you can bet your sweet ass I won’t be one of them. What do you do? Wear an extension cord around your neck like a lasso? Harley can kiss my Bell Curve tail with this one. And I am PROUD of my Harley tattoo… and my gas guzzling Heritage Nostalgia. What the hell is this world coming to? This is like trying to replace my Ford Mustang with one of those little kid plug in Barbie Jeeps. Epic fail, Harley. Epic. Huge. Ridiculous. And did I mention ugly as Hillary Clinton’s vagina? I think they should have named this bike the “Astro-Glide”..

 

 

 

peeking through the windows of my soul…

Posted in Uncategorized on June 14, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

To heights one may never dream of, I strive to ascend… but tripping the surly bonds of earth on laughter silvered wings has such dire consequences, for alas when I fall, its not a stumble, but a drastic crashing of life and limb into the depths of bitter surliness that leaves me heartsore and weary. I am a conglomerate of idiotic and idyllic idiosyncrasies, patched together like an ancient quilt, barely held together by feeble stitches in time of a long begotten hand. My vernacular is a ghost of yesteryear. My physique, I revel in it in all my narcissistic glory… Yea, I vomit my guts out and kill myself at the gym to look the way I do.. This coupled with the emancipation of disease gives me a much longed for appearance.. by strangers, who have no comprehensible understanding of the price I pay for my long lithe body.. They can’t see the death that is ever present within my eyes, my skin color. I MUST flaunt my beauty now because I do not have long to do so. I feel the wings of my lupus butterfly tightening around me all the time, wrapping me in a golden chain of misunderstood torture, slowly choking the life out of me.. a gilded dungeon in a private palace erected in my mind. As one explores the cavernous spaces of my ponderous mental dwelling, One may encounter a room of the highest end fashion, a steady and serious expedition to stay abreast of the latest in couture. in another room, one may find Willie Nelson and the lingering aroma of marijuana whispering through in skunky sweet bliss, a bittersweet conglomeration of a honky tonk angel’s memories and wicked sweet delta nights. Yet another chamber unveils America in her former glory.. the stars and stripes of yesteryear that flew over Normandy, not the floundering fucktards we call our government these days… within this room I fight a ceaseless tireless battle to save a country who couldn’t care less if I live or die.. whose very citizens spit upon my efforts to save their very way of life.  IF we wander on, we find another room is a vast library.. and endless collection of unprecedented eclectic literary bounty never before imagined, both read and  imagined and written upon my very soul, branded within my memories… there is a room of stilettos and fishnets and low lamps and breath ratcheting in the dance as old as time, the conjecture of one’s most private sanctuaries by, strangely enough, poking parts of one’s body into another person’s.. Here, in this delightfully carnal abyss, men bury themselves in the wet heat into which they delve as deep as their manhood allows, and their thoughts are lost to skitter down their spines and gather in a throbbing heartbeat within their testicles in anticipation of a volcanic eruption of wet, sticky, spurting proportions. A woman will impale herself upon the velvet iron rod and squirm until she can feel the rhythm of the womb, the throbbing, aching accumulation of spasms that leave her breathless on a floating cloud as he grunts and moans and thrusts his way to oblivion inside her very cavern of secrets and secretions while she daydreams of a wedding ring or a new designer bag or picking up her kids from school in an hour because her husband is at work. There is also a dark and scary cavern, perhaps beneath the stairwell that I trudge forth, ever upwards, day by day, like Sisyphus and his ceaseless moving of a rock up a mountain.. for no more futile exertion on earth exists than fighting the same almost unbearable battle with yourself, day after day after endless fucking day. Within this cavern, I store my fears of “What if this my last Christmas?”.. I store the tears of pain and the gnashing of teeth and growling in agony when tortured by the demons of ceaseless suffering. Yes, sometimes I go to this room to bathe in the salty warm tears of my sorrowful solitude, so carefully entrapped within the hidden cavern behind lock and mental key… There is a room of art and color and beauty.. I want to write every word, paint every surface on earth, drive every highway, ride every harley, hear every song, read every book and smell every fresh wind that breathes upon my world. This is a room of hope.. It is where most people like to imagine I spend most my time… a skylit fresh beautiful space within which i can conquer or create anything on earth. There is a sanctuary which is filled with the love and gifts of God… sanctified by my belief.. concreted with my knowledge.. bathed in the blood that dripped from Jesus’s dying hand upon a cross. I will fight to the death to defend this innermost safe room of my soul, and it is where i retreat to when the world holds too much ugly even for me. Sometimes my world seems vast and endless.. sometimes its a cramped cell that I long to break free from and flee into the freedom of never thinking again. An overactive mind is not a blessing.. it is a curse, a treacherous entity that teases and taunts the intellect of the adept at the most inopportune moments. And so onward I go, chasing highways in an endless rambling incoherence of what exactly it is that I seek to find written between the lines of the road and searching for the answers to the fathomless secrets of life in the swirling smoke of one more cigarette at 3 a.m. ride

The Truth About Sex

Posted in Uncategorized on June 14, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

There is a mighty chasm between the beliefs of most men and most women about copulation. I have a very definitive logic that sensibly explains why. Women, now they get their ideas for sex from romance novels and movies. Well, these are taken way too seriously. I mean, yea, a Fabio look alike with rippling abs and melting blue eyes is a nice thought.. but have you gals ever REALLY thought about the stories you read? Now, while I have seen a few who referenced the more truthful details to a point, most of the sex in books is utterly ridiculous. The majority of those books are set in medieval times or out in the old west or in parlors in gentried England. Well, how often do you hear mention of body odor.or of women whose legs or underarms aren’t shaved? them women didn’t have silky smooth skin.. they would feel like Cocodog in the dark.Those people back then bathed once a month… maybe. they didn’t shave. They probably smelled like a boy’s high school locker room. You never hear mention of a woman’s menses unless there happens to be a pregnancy on the way… never does the red sea flow over the waves of lovemaking in their scenarios. There is never tell of the cleaning of the stickiness of combined body fluids… there is always oral sex after regular intercourse… umm, gross? You never hear tell of leg cramps, hair getting caught under someone’s elbow, who goes to sleep in the wet spot, or heaven, forbid, “the accidental slip.”

Now men, on the other hand are exposed to, basically, porn. They get to a point where they don’t understand why a pizza isn’t delivered by a buxom blonde in knee socks and roller skates who just happens to drop to her knees and give him a blow job. They are programmed to think its just straight up down n dirty nookie, whereas women expect a bed of rose petals and somebody stroking her silky honeypot.

I have ranted for months about fifty shades of shit, and I will not even start on that crap at this time. Suffice it to say, I find it the utmost level of hypocrisy by the female race to read, basically, badly written smut, while chastising her husband for watching youporn. What’s good for the goose is good for the pecker, my dears. I shudder to think how many poor unsuspecting husbands have come home from work to find their slightly obese pale wife hogtied to a bedpost spread eagle… poor men. I don’t know why they tolerate women at all.. I truly don’t.

The fact is, the actual act of fucking has been written to DEATH and nobody has actually achieved the explicit explanation of what is truly experienced… it’s not possible. A human body cannot describe the feelings within another. I do not know what the tightening behind a man’s balls feels like before he comes. I cannot put into words the slight twinge of almost pain that I feel when I know my body is beginning to lubricate itself, I can’t explain how it feels like there is a direct circuit that runs from my nipples to pretty much every nerve in my body. I can’t even explain the exquisite torturous pain of orgasm, because I have bad hips. I am quite certain that there are women for whom sex doesn’t contain the same mindset as getting a new tattoo… pleasure worth the pain. Its not even the same every time for the same person or with the same person. sometimes its biting, hair pulling straight out sweaty, grinding fucking. sometimes its sweet tender kisses and love talk. Sometimes an orgasm makes you feel floaty and high.. sometimes it makes you feral… sometimes it makes you sleepy.. sometimes it makes you energetic.

I find it monotonous to read five million different descriptions of the same act, especially when no two acts are the same. The duplicity of reading it begins to feel much the same as eating bologna every single day. Oh, but for books that explored the relationships of minds instead of genitals.

 

 

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I Kissed a Girl and I Didn’t Like It

Posted in Uncategorized on June 14, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

I Kissed a Girl and I Didn't Like It

The men in our lives don’t worry overly much when Libby and I set out on a hair brained scheme, regardless of where we are heading. They know we take care of each other. Whether we have to fight our way out of a situation or run for our lives, they know we can handle ourselves. We are delta girls. Usually all I have to do is pretend Libby is my ol lady. Quite often when Libby and I travel, this is a cover that we use.. because no matter how politically correct the world pretends to be, if you want to be left alone, pretend to be a carpet muncher. I don’t have a problem with lesbians, or someone thinking I am one. My step daughter is married to a woman and I love them both to death. I just never ate pussy or anything. There was this one chick years ago, I met her about the same time I met ol Bo… 14 years ago or something…Hardcore rough biker chick, belonged to this old crippled biker.. Her name was Spider. She was probly 35 or 40, I was in my mid twenties. She was a little bitty thing, her tits were small and hard, you could see the muscles in her stomach. She was tan and fit and wore blonde dreadlocks.. Had a husky whiskey voice like liquid gravel and honey. I didnt really even like her but i wanted to fuck her and she wanted to fuck me from the minute i met her. I don’t know why I was attracted to this woman, I just was. We hugged too long, kissed a second too long when we said goodbye, you know? I only saw her a couple times a year at rallies.. Our friendship seemed to be borne of a sexual desperation. We were inseparable when we were in the same place. She would ride on the back of my sportster with her legs around my waist and I would remember the feel of the heat of her pussy in leather pants in the small of my back for weeks. This went on for several years. While I lived with Bo, he went somewhere with Horace during the Crawdad Festival.. It was dark and late and Spider had done a line of speed and we both had drank a lot.. I was wearing this long denim dress made like overalls with no shirt or bra. We went in her camper to pee and it was pitch black and we were giggling and them she undid the strap on my dress and touched my nipple and I touched hers. It was strange, such a soft hand on mine, and her tiny hard nipple between my fingers. She smelled like chocolate and pot and whiskey. I woulda ate her pussy.. I woulda fucked her right there. Someone started up a bike, and, just like that, we stopped what we were doing. I wasn’t even sure how her lips wound up on mine, her hands on my body in the first place. When we walked out of the camper she says, “I wish this guy I know was here.. He woulda paid good money to see that!” I was disgusted that I almost fucked a whore. Oh well, drinking one beer does not make you an alcoholic, and Spider cured me of all tendencies to fuck a female, at least up to this point in my life. I am pretty sure I am old enough now to say with assurance that it was but a fling, a test, an experiment. These days I tend to adhere to a strict “You can’t lick it if you can’t stick it” policy. But I DID think about it… once upon a sordid time.

Real Women MUST HAVES

Posted in Uncategorized on February 4, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

I just read a stupid article from InStyle magazine on twitter. It involves the ten must have items for a woman’s closet. I agree with basically nothing in the article. Why the hell do I need a ‘statement necklace’ that looks like a logging chain with wooden beads on it? In what world would I ever wear red flats? I own 29 pair of red shoes… None lower than a three inch heel except one pair of Chanel sandals. So, I have decided to write a list of ten things a REAL woman needs in her closet.

1. A good leather jacket.. Not one of those stupid cheap pleather things, either.

2. Jeans that don’t cut off the blood circulation to your vagina when you straddle a motorcycle.

3. A 1911A, 9mm, Lady Smith or whatever weapon you are efficient with. Not efficient with a weapon? Go fix THAT then come back and read some more.

4. A good, sturdy, preferably designer, bag that effectively conceals number three. Your gun needs to be carried in a pocket in your vest or purse where you carry NOTHING else. It’s hard to be badass if you pull out a gun with a pair of panties, one earring, a Tj maxx receipt and a fruit loop hanging off of it.

5. A Louisville Slugger.

6. Fuck me heels that you actually know how to walk in. Practice until you don’t look like a hog on ice.

7. Good foundation garments. Nobody wants to look at your muffin top, moose foot, or pendulous boobs that look like two oranges in a pair of pantyhose with nipples that look like shriveled prunes.

8. Tweezers. It doesn’t matter how beautiful your clothes are. A cluster of pube-like hairs on your face blowing in the wind or a Neanderthal unibrow or a Ron Jeremy pornstache kinda ruins the overall effect.

9. Clothes that FIT. Just because it zips does not mean it fits. You have a mirror.. Utilize it. If YOU can see belly rolls, bunching material and straining seams, so can everyone else.

10. Clothes YOU feel comfortable in. If you don’t have the body for this years crop tops and skinny jeans, don’t wear them. Your style belongs to you and only you.

Mr. Assbag Goes to Washington

Posted in Uncategorized on December 20, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

I have read reports that one in five Americans believe Obama is a Muslim… I am one of them. 

During his much publicized march to the Oval Office, President Barack Obama claimed to be a Christian.The evangelical lobby embraced this new charismatic hopeful with open arms. But at the very same time, on national television, Mr. Obama made the statement that it is his opinion that what’s written in the Bible is obscure and irrelevant for today. SO what is he saying here? He is a Christian who believes the Bible is irrelevant? Yea, that makes about as much sense as most of the other fecal matter that has spewed from his lying puppeteer lips.

He spouted just enough Bible rhetoric to garner the support of the religious right, and got it, while at the same time pretending to be sympathetic to special interest lobby groups. He avoided taking a hard stand on any issue considered to be divisive, but has many times over stated that he stands on Islamic ground. His promise to fundamentally transform America is fastly proving to be accurate, all right. Towards socialism and Islam. The dirty bastard could keep his change as far as I am concerned.

President Obama’s speech to the Congressional Hispanic Caucus on September 15, 2010, is evidence of just how anti-Christian he really is. Any person who has ever studied America’s true history, unmolested by academia and the judiciary, knows that our founding fathers were greatly influenced by Judeo-Christian values. The evidence is undebatable.. this is one nation under God, not one nation under Barrack Obama or Allah. Thomas Jefferson, penned his moral values clearly and distinctly, “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” This statement has become, throughout American history, the moral standard by which many citizens of the United States have strived to uphold. Our creator it says. My Bible says “In the beginning God created..” The God referenced here is quite plainly God Jehovah… not some trumped up apparition named Allah imagined during postcoital bliss with a six year old Aisha pedophilic stupor of a blind madman named Mohammed. Its so perfectly easy to look at the two books, the Bible and the Quran, side by side and see that the Quran is in fact nothing but a cheap rip off of the real thing.. It is equivalent to the comparison of Dog Patch to Disneyland… a mudhole to the Grand Canyon. How can anyone be so stupid as to believe that these two books say the same thing? To me, this is proof of the breakdown of mental discourse in reference to spirituality and God in our country… THIS is why you are all broke and sick and sad and hungry and watching your government fall apart… because you turned your back on God. Watching Duck Dynasty and posting pictures of Phil on your page does not make you a Christian. Believing in Jesus does. It’s this kind of blind idiocy that has allowed people like that snake in the grass Obama to take over this once great nation.Too many people have their heads up their asses.

The ideal mentioned by Thomas Jefferson are not shared by Obama. In his speech, he quoted this famous historical statement in its entirety, minus a few very important words, saying “That they are endowed by their Creator” to the erupting applause of the predominately Hispanic audience who probably had no idea what he was saying anyway. Every time President Obama opens his mouth, the evidence of his world-view incriminates many statements he has previously made, and wobble headed drooling idiots gush in near orgasmic stupor if he so much as burps. And don;t even get me started on the fake fainting scenes where he rushes to the rescue.

I question his sincerity of the faith he proclaims because he straddles the fence of Christianity and Islam. Either you believe the Bible is the inspired Word of God or you do not. If you really think about the context which he was referring to, that Scripture is irrelevant, his comment is the epitome of ignorance. The passage of scripture he referred to in Romans 1, is a very real and definitive description of what the American culture has become. And this man is heralded by the advocates of change to be their Messiah who knows what is best for you and me, and trudge along behind him like blind slugs because he utters some line from the Bible now and then, conveniently ignoring the fact that he has stated repeatedly that he will stand with the Muslims, and has sent so much of our nations money to Muslim terrorists that we are broke as a welfare mom on the last day of the month. This picture should keep Americans lying awake at night shuddering in fear and revulsion.

What the American people haven’t taken the time to do, then or even now, is find out what this man really stands for. Based upon my research and to the best of my understanding, Mr. Obama adheres to ideals much like that of the Fabian Communitarian socialist agenda, and has strong Muslim beliefs as well. Individuals who adhere to Fabian doctrine plan to implement world socialism incrementally through legislation. They believe individualism has no relevance, and private ownership of business and lands should be relinquished for the good of the state and the welfare of other people. This works in quite nicely with the Muslim agenda to basically take over the earth and make everyone pay taxes to live in their society. We all remember the now famous “Joe the Plumber” question and what Mr. Obama’s response was. He wants to spread the wealth around. How much wealth have YOU received thus far? All I see Americans getting is a shitty healthcare plan forced upon them under threat of a fine labeled as a “tax.” If he is the man you have based your hope of change upon, and if this is the kind of change you actually want, you are exactly what the ruling class has created. A people unaware of the reality that awaits. President Obama is not, nor has he ever been a true Christian. Is he a Muslim? I believe so..We will probably never really know. I honestly don’t think Mr. Obama knows who he truly is. He is a well groomed monkey for the placement in the Oval Office. IF he did at any point possess thoughts and intelligence of his own, long since have those who were his mentors, clouded his reason and this is evidenced by the utter chaos of his and his administrations actions.

The real purpose for Mr. Obama’s placement in the Oval Office by those who are truly in power is being witnessed by the great influx of governmental control over the financial and business industries, and the promotion of every ideal that opposes what the true Christian world-view stands for. Through the control of money through credit and lending, the government will eventually control the people. With leaders like these making decisions affecting every person’s life, it’s very clear why America’s foundation has been ruptured and is sinking faster than the Titanic. Truth has been banished from the scales of justice only to allow lies for the intent of deceiving the masses. There is no such thing as unbiased media and it has nearly reached the point of the propaganda spread in Nazi Germany.. This doesn’t bother anybody, though, as long as they get to see who is visiting Kim Kardashian’s vagina or what Miley is licking today. There has been so much neglect and abuse to the needs of humanity that God’s judgment could very well be to allow His people to be led by men and women with no moral ethics. I believe God has given the American people not only what we want, but also what we deserve.

The Bible commands the Christian to pray for those in authority, and my prayer for Mr. Obama is to come to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ… right before he jumps off a cliff. His stand alone on politics proves he has no knowledge of the life transforming power of the Gospel.

And to those of you who were, and are, the proponents of his hope and change platform, the fools you were played to be…

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Softail Showdown… FLSTN Grudge Match.. Mooglide vs. Deluxe

Posted in Uncategorized on December 17, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

 

The 1993 model year was the ONLY time Harley would strictly limit a very low production for any bike. They would call it the “Nostalgia” and give it a “numbered plate” – in this case  2700 units. Now for reasons unknown, but probably the original’s popularity and quick sellout, Harley decided to continue the model line. This created a problem, however, since the original Nostalgia owners believe their bikes to be what they truly are: one year, limited and numbered examples. Harley tried to appease the original owners by changing the name of the 1994 model to “Special” and by dropping the limited-edition numbering. BUT THEY KEPT the model line designation as FLSTN. This thinly-guised continuation of a promised “one-year-only” model should have annoyed all of us owners of the one and only true Nostalgia. Hey, they even kept using the cow-fur seat and bag accents on the 1994s but this time in all-black vs the original brown-and-white: the genesis for the nickname “Moo Glide”(only to drop fur use for 95 and 96 in favor of a 2-tone leather seat with “laser inscribed” H-D logo). For 1994 Silver/Birch White FLSTN Heritage Softail Special, which really had nothing special about it other than the name stolen from the year before. The true Moo-Glide, a Nostalgia, or a numbered limited production bike – all that stuff was only for the 1993 owners. Many still call ANY of the FLSTNs the “Nostalgia” but Harley never did. The 1993 is THE Nostalgia, the 94-96 is the Special, and the newer ones are the Deluxe…all FLSTN but three different animals! The 94-96 production was not numbered, but was limited in the sense that Harley built a certain number of them and not as many as the public wanted. Lastly, the Specials, unlike most other bikes in the lineup, came in only ONE two-tone color choice for each year. 93:Black on White with red pinstriping 94:Silver on White with red pinstriping, 95:Black on Charcoal with plum pinstriping 96:Silver on Dark Green with gold pinstriping. ONLY the 93s were limited to 2,700 units. The others were produced in low numbers, probably more than the original, but certainly around 5,000 for each model year, as Harley tried to cash in on the new model’s popularity. The rareness on the 94-96 bikes depend on how many examples remain today in good condition..This Harley Softail Heritage is a real head turner wherever it goes… the one i own has NEVER entered a show and not won a trophy.  The 1993 Heritage Softail is the ONLY YEAR NUMBERED FOR THE FLSTN MODELS , LIMITED EDITION motorcycle that Harley Davidson ever produced to date. 2000 of these Harleys were originally distributed in the USA and the other 700 were distributed to bikers throughout the rest of the world. It is believed there are less than 1000 of the 1993 Harley Davidson Softail Heritage FLSTN Nostalgia “Moo-Glide” motorcycles left. I own number 1829.She has been through 2 totals, one deer wreck and the largest hail storm in Sturgis history. I have had her 11 years this past Halloween and been to Sturgis on her twice. her name is Irene. She has also been displayed in the Full Throttle Saloon during the first year’s filming of the television show.

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This is a true mooglide with $27,000 worth of extras. She has been published in four books all over the world. I got her at Chicago Harley Davidson. This is what she looked like factory….

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Now.. I been pissed off ever since they came out with that damned black and white Deluxe and it’s even named an FLSTN. This newer version, while a beautiful, perfectly gorgeous bike, takes away from the uniqueness of the Mooglide. It should not have been released in the same paint scheme as the limited edition models. Now EVERY DAMNED TIME I ride or post a picture of facebook, someone says “Is that a Deluxe?” or “Your bike is just like mine,” No.. it isn’t. Mine is an extremely rare antique limited edition with handmade one of a kind pieces. yours are one of thousands upon thousands. This pisses me off ALMOST as much as someone saying their Honda 450 “sounds just like a Harley.” I am usually polite and just say, “no, my bike is the grandmother to yours.” Unless its an asshole of course… then I revel in teaching him a little Harley history.

Here is an article about the new FLSTN. What do ya’ll think? Irene or this new imitation?

http://www.totalmotorcycle.com/motorcycles/2014models/2014-Harley-Davidson-FLSTN-SoftailDeluxe.htm

But i Didn’t Say Fudge…

Posted in Uncategorized on December 17, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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I get fussed at a lot about the way I talk. I even get told I am not a Christian. You show me where the Hebrew translated Bible says I can’t say twatwaffle or mutton fuck or i will go to hell and i will be sure to adhere to it. See, I was pretty much BORN with a potty mouth. I been in trouble for dirty words as long as I can remember. When I first started talking, my octogenarian, very southern racist grandmother babysat me. Well. There was also a very nice old black lady who worked at Safeway. As I have said, my family is mostly deaf. my mom did not yet wear hearing aids, she just knew I was handing the groceries in the buggy to the cashier and jabbering in the talk of a small child. When she finally noticed the stricken look on the ladies face and realized what i was saying, it was, ” Here, nigger… Here, nigger… Here, nigger.” I got a spanking.

A short time later, I was once again in Safeway handing the same cashier the groceries, saying things like “This is the peas i eat for supper. These are the Cheerios I eat for breakfast…” I was doing fine until I said, “This is the toilet paper I wipe my ass with.” I got a spanking.

My grandma had a favorite saying.. it was “You make my ass want a dip of snuff.” Well, we were taught to refer to our vaginas as our “moody”… One day my dad was aggravating me about something… i KNEW i wasn’t supposed to say ass, and i KNEW i wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with my Grandmother’s semi secret snuff dipping… so. I said to my Dad, “You make my moody want a drink of water.” I got a spanking when my mom got home.

Right after my sister was born, they posed us on a tree trunk for a picture in matching overalls… i was around four. they told me “hold jayme until we take your picture.” So i did. after the camera flashed I quit holding her and she sorta rolled to the bottom of the tree trunk, right into an ant bed. Well, I got a spanking. Then i tried to explain by saying, “i didn’t MEAN to drop Jayme in the piss ants!”. So i got another spanking.

One day we left church and were going to lunch in town… I was just at the age where I sounded out words on signs. In front of the Mad Butcher someone had rearranged the letters in the middle of the night, I guess, because I sounded out “Let-us FUCK!” on the lighted sign by the road. i got a spanking.

I learned a poem in Kindergarten and came home and told it to my Grandmother… It goes like “I love little pussy, her coat is so warm… and if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm.” I got a spanking.

No wonder my ass is flatter than Miley Cyrus’s voice.

 

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A Soldier’s Christmas

Posted in Uncategorized on December 15, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
then he sighed and he said “It’s really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night”

“Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘Pearl on a day in December,”
then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue… an American flag.

“I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

The poem “A Soldier’s Christmas” was written by Michael Marks and was part of a collection of works drafted on Pearl Harbor Day 2000

The Toe Suck Fairy

Posted in Uncategorized on December 14, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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The toe Suck Fairy first appeared in North Arkansas when I was in high school down in the Monticello delta. His name is Michael Wyatt. He has fascinated me and terrified me ever since the very first time I heard about him. He reappeared in 1999.. He has been to jail for offering to amputate women’s feet or suck their toes. he even pulled house shoes off an old lady and sucked her toes. You know this creep has a collection of feets somewhere. They keep sending him to jail for a year or so then releasing him back on the unsuspecting feets of Arkansas women with a court order to basically not do it again… yea, that’s worked REALLY well for the last 25 years or so, stupid cops. Well… it just so happens, every time he appears, it’s a little bit closer to where I am. It’s now at the point that he is in the same stores I shop at. He got caught at a tj Maxx and a Petsmart that I frequent… (I don’t even wanna know what was up with the Petsmart.) As you all know, I have a collection of shoes that could fill a warehouse. my dog Honey wears long french manicured nails… We should be prime bait. So. I have decided that instead of being afraid of him, I am gonna HUNT for him. When he isn’t locked up, I wear a perfect manicure and scrumptious expensive heels when I go to that area HOPING to run across him. I have become the toe sucker vigilante. i WANT him to attack me. because I am pretty sure i can stomp his little fetish right out of him. I relish the though of him jumping out from under my Mustang and me just stomping on him with a six inch steel rod stiletto until I get tired of it… mainly in the genital area. My sister is always worried that some old guy is gonna fall at my feet or compliment my shoes and I am gonna attack an innocent victim. The Toe Sucker is currently in jail, again, until July so I am now on break. I have considered writing the cops and offering to come up there and help with his court ordered “therapy.”

 

http://thecabin.net/2013-07-18#.UqwpMPRDuSo

 

http://www.nbcbayarea.com/news/weird/Serial-Toe-Sucker-Hunted-in-Arkansas-129943148.html#comments

What Happens in Vegas….

Posted in Uncategorized on December 11, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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Libby and I, on our road trip this summer, spent a night in the Stratosphere in Vegas. We had driven hard to get there, and while we were amped up with excitement at seeing the strip, exhaustion creeped in as we dragged our way into the massive casino. The property’s signature attraction is the 1,149 ft Stratosphere Tower, the tallest freestanding observation tower in the United States, and the second tallest in the Western Hemisphere, surpassed only by the CN Tower in Toronto, Ontario. The hotel is a separate building with 24 stories, 2,427 rooms and an 80,000 sq ft casino. It is also the tallest structure in Las Vegas. Needless to say, it felt like we had traversed this entire property by the time we made it to our rooms. I made a comment to Libby about how there was no safety chain on the door as we stashed our bags and sprawled on the giant beds, and broke out our pot boxes and various paraphernalia. We had gotten comfortable and lit up bowls of ganja when a maid just WALKED IN. I mean no knock, no nothing. She looks right over the pot and says, “Just doin’ a room check.” She looked between our beds, in the bathroom and then left. Libby and I stared at each other in horror and shock. I finally stammered, “but, what if we had been fuckin’?” I mean, we DON’T, but what if we did? Isn’t that what people DO in hotel rooms? (I was to find out later she was doing a hooker check on our room… Do people really reserve rooms with credit cards from Arkansas to go to Vegas and be a hooker? I guess there’s better odds?) This creeped us out so we decided to get outta the room and go find food. We didn’t have to go far to do that… there was a huge buffet right there, so we decided to just eat that. Libby decided to try to eat everything on the buffet.. I didn’t go quite the far but I did have a magnificent meal. We went back to our room and Libby crashed for a couple hours, and then we decided to go exploring and to gamble $20 each for the hell of it. Well. Have I mentioned Libby attracts weird people? I turn to a waitress to ask for a bloody mary. I turn around, and there is this Native American person. I am going to refer to himself as an Indian from here on out, because that is how he introduced himself to us… as an Indian Mormon Shaman Witch… He was also drunker than a boiled owl. Well, he had suddenly appeared and seemed to be sniffing Libby. When he turned around and his head slowly cranked backwards on his neck to peer up at me, he stammers, “God, you are big.” I reply, “That’s cuz I am a man.” he scrambled away amongst Libby’s snickering… for abut five minutes… then he came back! He says “Its okay if you have a penis because I have one too!” I say, “Well, you might as well go play with yours, cuz you damned sure can’t play with mine.” He replied, Where are you from.” I said, “Arkansas, I’m on my way home for my sex change operation.” I mean, I pulled out the whole arsenal. NOTHING deterred this wild Indian. He tried to touch my hair and was met with a rude comment and threat of bodily harm… This made him tell me he had been growing his hair for three years and he kinda flicked his head and flipped his hair out to the side like he was Farrah Faucet… and it was so greasy it STUCK there. Libby and I kept sneaking away. We would think we had escaped and suddenly his head would pop out from around a machine and sniff Libby. We ran away from him several times… By the time he got brave enough to reach out to TOUCH her, I had had enough. I grabbed him by his shirt collar and read him a riot act… I don’t remember what all I said, but apparently it finally got the point across. Well, Libby and I, we then decide to go upstairs and check out the rides… we WANTED to jump off the tower.. but they weren’t doing it due to high winds. The other rides looked stupid, so we just peered out at the spectacular Vegas night from the highest point in this jewel of the desert. From this high up, you couldn’t see the hookers and the old men asking for dollar bills at the front door or hear the incessant dinging of the slots. It was a spectacular sight, the endless lights glittering like diamonds in the center of the black nothingness of desert, and a beautiful memory with my friend.

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When we left the top of the Stratosphere, we found that there is no button to push to get an elevator. You have to just wait for it to show up. So we waited…. and waited… and waited some more. and then some more people showed up and they are standing around waiting too. I had squatted down by the elevator and when the bell FINALLY dinged that signaled the approaching car, I stood up quickly in my long strapless sundress.. which was hung under my wedges… which resulted in pulling my dress down around my waist and flashing everybody waiting to get on the elevator. Oh well, Libby was the only person there who I knew and she has seen em before anyway. I’m glad that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.. and that none of those people had a cellphone handy.

Could it be a Faded Rose from Days Gone By….

Posted in Uncategorized on December 11, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

Could it be a Faded Rose from Days Gone By....

I exist in an era into which i was not born. I think women should wear fishnets and hats and gloves as often as possible. I want to watch Christmas in Conneticut and The Bells of St. Mary’s during this season. I don’t think little girls should dance on stages in their drawers. I think Kim Kardashian could learn a thing or two from Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield. I also have a viewpoint of America and all the good and bad of it from that time period. I can’t look at Obama’s face without wishing for a time when he would be a bellboy somewhere and some white man who had some sense in his head was running this country. I prefer lead sleds to the shoebox ugly ass cars of today. I listen to Dean Martin sing Let it Snow and Bing Crosby sing I’ll be home for Christmas. I miss a time that I never knew… but i know that my country was in a better shape than it is now. I know there was an abundance of patriotism.. I know men still worked to make a paycheck and women still canned vegetables and made their own clothes. I would happily hand over my cellphone and my laptop to live in the days when this country was a sleeping giant instead of a cowardly lion.

Infusion, Tears, and Other Things

Posted in Uncategorized on December 4, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

i got my infusion today. i wrote a blog during my infusion but lost it somehow.. i was talking about how i have today completed two years of Benlysta, and this month completes 10 years of life threatening lupus. right now.. my toes are red with reynaud’s syndrome. someone has to help me up and down and i am staggering around like a drunk. there is pain i could never begin to explain in my legs and head and hips and hands. A couple hours ago, i got a text from my friend, Debbie. She is in the diagnosing stage of autoimmune disorders… I am pretty sure she has lupus… real often its very difficult for doctor’s to diagnose. Well, Debbie texted me and she is having a night that I have lived many times over. Her entire body is screaming in tension and pain.. she couldn’t sleep, alcohol wouldn’t drown the pain.. nothing would knock her out. I made Bob pick me up and put me in my car. I drove the two blocks to her house and Debbie’s husband Rich met me and got me out of my car, looking like a frazzled new daddy in a hospital waiting room. Debbie was on her porch, which is much like my shed. She was nearly pulling the arms off the chair in her pain… her beautiful face was streaked and puffy from a day’s worth of tears and her hands clasped in a death grip of trying to take what her body was doing to her. She was incomprehensible to me, babbling through her tears, but I sensed what she was saying… I been there before. Rich didn’t look much better, his face an open book of fear and concern. He is a fixer type person, like me.. i could feel the fury in his hands and his stare at not being able to help her. He isn’t mad at Debbie, but she probably feels like he is. No, he is mad at her disease. I had him take her to bed and I just crawled in bed with her and held her, and whispered prayers in her ear… rubbed her legs, rubbed her back, rubbed her head, I sang to her, and told her secrets. i let her rant while i rubbed the tension from her body. I could feel Rich checking on us through the doorway of the darkened room but I didn’t acknowledge him for fear of breaking the spell I attempted to cast on my friend. I made her laugh softly, I told her funny things and listened to her, told her not to think of doctors and things that upset her… think past the pain. Eventually I felt her body release some of it’s tightness at the same time my body was screaming at my awkward position beside her…. It felt like her pain slowly eased into me as she calmed down. She seemed to be relaxed at last. For a long moment she lay staring in my eyes. I could smell the saltiness of her skin and the pretty scent of her shampoo. She sort of rubbed my back the way I was rubbing hers. We both know that one day, one of us will lose the fight before the other one does. I thought of this at that moment. I think she was almost asleep when I left and i pray she rests tonight. The tears streaking Rich’s face made my heart constrict. I told him this is normal… I have these days, too. I just hide them. Perhaps its a mistake in me doing so… I probably should publicize the helplessness, the ceaseless pain sometimes.. That way people like Rich and Debbie don’t get frightened and antsy and in the shape they are in tonight due to Lupus. I hate this disease, i truly do. Debbie kept saying through her tears “nobody understands.” And she’s right…  if you haven’t lived it, you can’t understand. Only someone else with the exact same thing knows what you mean when you say “my legs and feet won’t stop moving” or “my hair hurts my head”… I am, once again, thankful for my pain… because it helps me to understand and maybe offer a little comfort. I pray Debbie gets a true diagnosis and they start her on a path of pain relief soon, because watching your friend live through the same pain you do sucks. I wish I COULD just magically take her pain into my body… Just because I know I can take it and I would rather hurt more than see her tears which sear into my soul and burn like acid. I had rather hurt fifty time as much, even die, and know that nobody else has to live through what I do… especially someone I love.

Bad Writers Make My Eyeball Hurt

Posted in Uncategorized on December 3, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

I wrote briefly the other day about bad writers. This apparently went unseen by my intended audience as there are still shitful blogs popping up. I know that I can’t sing, so I don’t sit around recording myself belting out Delta Dawn and then pouncing on unsuspecting people with it by posting “please listen to me sing”. People need to learn their limits and to stick with what they ARE good at. I know I am a literary snob. I own it. I have earned that right. I have proven my ability to manipulate the English language into anything I choose it to be. This was not done in the amount of time it takes to make a blog page. This was done over years of hard work and reading and trying. I do have a gift of words just overflowing from my mind.. to the point that it is almost a curse. Knowing me doesn’t make you a good writer, however. Writing is not a venereal disease. It’s a talent. Some of you people do not have it. You are embarrassing yourselves by posting this drivel you call writing out in public. seriously. Go back to playing Candy Crush. And what’s worse, some of them ask me directly… did you read my blog? Did you like it? What am I supposed to say to that crap? Am I supposed to say “oh yes, it’s lovely” like you do when someone shows you a baby that looks like Chewbacca then says “Isn’t she cute?” To me you are the equivalent of someone trying to feed a 78 cent pot pie to a five star chef. That’s what I think of your work. So there.

Tomorrow is another day….

Posted in Uncategorized on December 3, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

Tomorrow is another day....

So, tomorrow is my Benlysta infusion for lupus. It is it probably gonna kick my ass… they also shoot me full of steroids, so I may very well sit up all night and write or radio or who knows what… I never am quite sure WHAT will go on after I get it. I just wanted to let you all know in case I am missing for some reason for a few days, i haven’t given up my blog again. I am just going through my treatment. I have two this month… the next one is on New Year’s Eve. I been threatening to wear an evening gown to that one.. I still might.

yea, i know, i’m a bitch.

Posted in Uncategorized on November 30, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

Someone told me today that I need to watch my language on my blog because I am a Christian. Well, they can kiss my entire lily white ass. When someone gives me a list of words out of a Bible with a reference to what words I will go to hell for saying, I promise to strictly adhere to it. Otherwise, deal with it. Don’t read it. I don’t give a big flying rat’s ass. It’s your loss, not mine if you choose to allow your prude jackassery to deprive yourself of my work, well tough titty for you… How dare you assume you have the authority to dictate what i do and do not say. I have also noticed some people who have started new blogs since I became active on mine once again. Some of you really should go back to whatever you were doing before you started trying to write because I assure you that you had to have been better at whatever that was. I understand writing is therapeutic…it’s an outlet for emotion, a canvas upon which to paint your rage, a bottomless well into which to pour your pain… unfortunately, I am afraid you people I am talking about have no clue what I just said. I am talking about a forced paragraph of someone struggling for SOMETHING to say and puking out four or five sentences of some vapidly stupid, atrociously spelled, grammatically butchered crap. You don’t HAVE to write if it’s that’s much of an effort… or if you truly like to write but you are truly that bad at it, buy a diary for God’s sake… If it don’t look good, don’t put it on the front porch. A bad writer with a public blog is the equivalent of 397 pound woman in a string bikini. As far as trying to correct my language, it’s not going to work. ever. I say what I think and you see what I say. My mind doesn’t really give a fuck if you approve of it’s language. I’m not a wilting little violet… I’m a biker, I’m a wrench, I’m a warrior in a fight to save my country… I speak the language of my people. If you wanna read sweet little sugar coated bullshit instead of my harsh words that make your thoughts quiver and your mind bleed,  I can provide you with a link to some of those shitty blogs some of my friends have started. Image

Kanye is a Douchebag

Posted in Uncategorized on November 30, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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I am linking a story that Perez Hilton wrote about Kanye West. Where do I even start with this moronic assbag?

My FIRST issue is going to be, he has announced Kim Kardashian to be the Marilyn Monroe of our time.. Seriously, you mutton fuck? Let’s see.. Marilyn married Joe Dimaggio. Kim has entertained the equivalent at least of one NBA team and A Night at the Apollo in her vagina, and now settled for a has been, piece of shit, illiterate, Dennis Rodman of music rapper who is likely cornholing Miley Cyrus every chance he gets. Marilyn is a beautiful American icon. Kim is a nasty skanky, what? Armenian or some shit? who has an idiotic reality show. Marilyn was one of the most beautiful women of all time… Kim is about three Big Macs and squirting out another kid or two from being Honey Booboo’s mama in better clothes. The entire world falls at Marilyn’s feet fifty years after her death. The Hollywood walk of fame laughed in your face at Kim getting a star. Yea, that’s the same. The similarities are astounding. 

 

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Next, he has made the stupidest comments about books that I have ever heard in my life. What the hell is he even talking about, with “some people be so wordy.” He admits he hates books.. so why publish one, dickhead? THIS person has a book deal…. His book is about, quoted from Perez Hilton:

“So, what can you expect to find in his book? Plenty of what he calls “Kanye-isms” which reveal his “optimistic philosophy” on life, such as “Life is 5% what happens and 95% how you react!” With another page that reads, “I hate the word hate!”

Adding, “My favorite one is ‘Get used to being used.’ I feel like to misuse, overuse or abuse someone is negative. To use is necessary and if you can’t be used, then you are useless.”

- See more at: http://perezhilton.com/2009-05-27-kanye-the-rapper-author#sthash.MCksfWWV.CBfzjQnK.dpuf

http://perezhilton.com/2009-05-27-kanye-the-rapper-author#sthash.MCksfWWV.dpbs

This is possibly one of the most idiotic dimwitted pieces of shit God ever ran a gut through. This person’s book with this moronic, regurgitation inducing drivel of a yard ape trying to sound like Buddah will make the New York Times best sellers list. Why? Why do people listen to and read what a person says who admits he is, probably illiterate. This makes me want to vomit up a taco salad and some Elmer’s glue that I ate in third grade. How the fuck does he think someone can be a novelist and not be wordy? Why would somebody pay money to read what he has to say when if you asked him if he knew who Beowulfe is he would guess a new breed of pitbull. This fucker probably thinks Oscar Wilde is some old jazz musician and Jane Austen is that lady who played Dr. Quinn. 

 

THIS is what he thinks writing a book is about…

 

West is now the recent co-author of Thank You And You’re Welcome. Though don’t expect a long read. The book features only 52 pages, some of them blank and others just have a few words on them. He reveals that “This is a collection of thought and theories.” Just when I thought Fifty Shades of Shit and Sons of Fagarchy was as low as the arts could sink. Fuck. These idiots named their kid North West. They probably are envisioning a future line of cheap chinese made shoes and purses called “North by North West.” I take that back… this fool wouldn’t even get that.

 THIS quote makes my ass want a dip of snuff…. “He says, “Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed.”

Seriously did this man just say self absorbed? He is worse than Paris Hilton on her period. He’s the biggest attention seeking, coat tail riding, media whore on God’s green earth. And talk about drama queen? He cries more than a t.v. evangelist who just got a ten thousand dollar pledge.

 

Turkey Day…

Posted in Uncategorized on November 27, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

Turkey Day...

My niece, Becca, and I have been preparing for our Thanksgiving meal.. and while she and I are preparing a veritable feast with four pies and bread pudding and turkey, dressing and all the fixings, its really just for my sister’s family, bob and myself. I have done my share of those huge 20-30 people Thanksgiving dinners… They don’t usually look like those two boys arguing over a crescent roll on the commercials when you get that many family members in one spot. The reality of the matter is most huge gatherings will include: an under or over cooked bird, or runny dressing, or forgotten rolls, or burnt pies, or somebody gets drunk and takes off their pants, or someone cries, or gets accused of having an affair or or gets punched or announces their fourteen year old daughter is pregnant… the men aren’t grandly carving a bird… they are burping and drinking beer and watching football. the women are in the kitchen arguing over who put too much sage in the dressing… ALL families may not have gatherings like this… I admit I come from quite a cast of characters. But somehow I believe these Bumpus hound hair pulling teeth gnashing some got insulted and someone got pissed off type gatherings of red solo cups and loud arguments and at least one door slamming is actually probably more indicative of the true tradition than those cheesy hallmark moments on t.v.

My Sister is the Clark Griswald of Thanksgiving

Posted in Uncategorized on November 26, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

My sister has some sort of spectacle of a thing happen to her every freaking Thanksgiving. Without fail. One year she called me in a tizzy cuz someone had done something BAD to her turkey. It took me several moments to realize what she was upset about. i gently explained to her that was the turkey’s NECK up in there, and that there hadn’t been a bad accident at the turkey factory. twice she has baked her wedding ring into the dressing. one year, my dad gave her the ingredients to make his famous baked beans.. but he left out one thing… he didn’t tell her to STIR the beans. so the brown sugar-mustard caramelized stuff that occurred probably couldn’t have been removed from the pot with an Ak-47 and a backhoe. This is her latest occurrence during the holidays. The other day i saw her post a status about “there was a lint explosion on my shirt!” well, since she had started a new job as the clerk at the hotel, I figured she had taken a load of towels out of the dryer. No.

She calls me just now and tells me about the “lint.” My husband gave her a ride to work because I was in Pine Bluff at the hospital with my dad… he had my fuzzy white lapdog honey in the truck with him… When Jayme goes in to work, she notices weird white fuzz all over her beautiful black lace blouse. So, she tells her boss that she needs a second to go to the restroom because my dog got some fuzz on her. she picked the strange white fluff off the front of her shirt, her right shoulder, down her arm… she even found large clumps of it in her hair. She spent the rest of her shift trying to inconspicuously remove the minuscule white balls from all over herself. When she got home, she pulled her hair brush out of her big ol Betsy Johnson bag…. and found a Kotex had been punctured by the hairbrush and exploded to atomic proportions all over her and her purse on her first day of work like she had been caught in a snowstorm. sigh.

Welcome to the Hotel California.. Pat Leahy, Part 1

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on November 25, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

 I sprawled out in the motel bed and lit a Cuban cigar. I filled my pipe with Jack Frost, which seemed like a fine way to start the day, while Libby bustled around the room poking in various bags, preparing the intricate two hour morning beauty constitutional that I know as well as my own twenty minute one.. from her steamy ritualistic bath to applying various portions and potions and other Bare Mineral things from the pots and jars and brushes in her big , brown leather make up box. I stretched my joints and thought about our day as I absentmindedly stared at another Law and Order and searched for my lighter on the wildly colored bedspread then blew smoke from my fifth morning camel toward the motel ceiling. We were going to visit my Facebook buddy, Pat, in Long Beach. Pat is the proprietor of High Gear machines and a very enthusiastic supporter of herbal endeavors. He is pretty much the court jester of our little Facebook bully club. Jj was gonna stay behind and get caught up on everything around the house for Cecily’s return from France. I still haven’t made my mind up if this was a good thing or not.

‘Hey, Marcia…’we are goin’ to a bike shop today… I brought two Harley tanks so you’d have something to wear… Leave them fuckin’ Muslim clothes here.’

She opened the bathroom door, releasing a cloud of luxurious scented steam to mingle with the skunky dank cloud i was creating. ‘Go find it..Lemme see if I can find my jeans. We’ll slut it up today!’

I got up and dug out the two crystal studded Harley-Davidson shirts while she came out for a towel and her jeans in nothing but her panties and stopped to inspect her facelift scars in the mirror, still strangely at odds with her youthful breasts below… Have I mentioned they took off her fucking ears? I threw the shirt at her and plopped back down on my bed with my phone to see if Jj was up and about yet. We made a coffee date so I could pick up my jacket from the night before, then I checked on Bob and caught up on texts and phone calls until Libby emerged from her steam bath pulling and stretching at my top with a towel around her head. I rolled my eyes at her and went in for a quick shower while she worked her intricate magic with her Kat Von Dee make-up once again. I twisted my riotous mess of purple and red curls atop my head, grumbling that I had carelessly tied it up wet in a messy ponytail the night before and fell asleep… I stepped in the ice cold shower to wake myself up as I briskly bathed, then turned the water to full heat and let it run down my back and hips to loosen the sore muscles of not enough sleep. I stepped outta the shower and into my tank and Miss Mes.

When I emerged from my very own steam cloud, Libby looked stunning. Her hair was messy soft around her face, and in clothes that actually fit she was a knockout. In the ten minutes it took me to add a few curls to my hot mess of hair and paint on enough make-up to pass for the Amy White that Pat expected, Libby had went through several transformations. First, she tied a long scarf around and around her head like a turban. Then she put a different scarf around her head and tied the long one around her neck. Then she put on a long black Jesus dress lookin’ thing over it all. Then she took all that off and added.. You guessed it.. The Army fatigue Columbo Muslim jacket and one of them damned fishing hats. And Toms. Again. With my beautiful Harley shirt. Hell, I tried.

After our usual scavenger hunt for cigarettes, pipes, lighters, purses, car keys, room keys, lighters again, and Biker Gnome, Libby loaded her pockets with cream n sugar in the Motel office while i admired the beautiful California day. I grabbed my pewter Paris Hiltons out of the trunk and we hopped in my car headed over to Jj’s for real coffee. Sounds like the beginning of a nice normal day, right? Right? Wrong. Oh, so very, very wrong.

 

We hung out with Jj for an hour or two, laughing and gossiping, trying to cajole him into going to Pat’s with us. But, since Cecily’s flight was due in the next day, he opted out, so Libby and I headed for Long Beach. It was a beautiful day and the traffic wasn’t awful. We followed my GPS to a nice little neighborhood and saw nothing that looked remotely like it should be the dwelling of a biker who has never left the 60’s, so we turned around and went looking again…  We had directions from Pat to turn at the Mexican restaurant… well, he didn’t tell us that every building in Long Beach basically looks like a Mexican restaurant. So, we had to do a turn around or two… thank goodness for those nifty little U-turn signs California has. When we got back to the street where we had initially been lead to by my GPS, there he was, waving his arms wildly at the end of the street. We parked, and I got out to meet Pat Leahy for the first time. He was much bigger than I expected him to be, dwarfing me even in my 6 inch Paris Hiltons. He was a combination of a cast member of Duck Dynasty, Kramer, Daffy Duck and Mongo from Blazing Saddles. He squeezed the breath outta me then Libby, then kinda yelled “Ya’ll come on in!” I would soon learn this half yelling-half laughter twang is his normal way of speaking.

 We made our way through a deceptively normal looking entrance into a place that I am going to make an attempt to describe… again. It was a hippie compound, encampment sort of place, with small buildings or ramshackle tents or shops kinda strewn everywhere. My mind went into gearhead overload and I can’t possibly begin to give you in detail what I saw, because I saw every fucking thing automotive or motorcycle ever built piled on about a half an acre. There were tools of an exploded Snap On factory proportion… You followed a makeshift walkway of sorts through the maze of various buildings and erected rooms… Peeking inside them you would see fantastic hot rods and Harley engines, or parts, or someone peeking back at you… His shop areas were immaculate. Nothing else was. Libby and I picked along gingerly behind Pat with a growling furry dog of some undetermined lineage. sometimes it was around a mudhole or across a concrete block or a swaying piece of plywood. I was watching where I placed my beautiful shoes and Libby was holding her coat tightly against her sides so as not to brush across the anything, everything, bikes, parts, cars, signs, appliances heaps through which we were traversing. I held my breath and made a wide berth around a large black plastic bag that held quite obviously something that once walked now dead and decaying, hopefully a deer or large dog…. I didn’t see a pale blue hand fall out amongst the maggots and flies, at any rate. We suddenly came upon a house, with a treehouse type room built on the top. A blonde head with a mouth doing the telling chew-clench symphony of a methhead, appeared out of the room from above and welcomed us. Pat informs us that this is his friend, Jewels. You don’t get to Pat’s bird nest of a home from the front of the building at all… oh noooooooooo. You have to go around to the side where you find…. The Stairs of Death.

I have, my entire life, had a deathly, unholy fear of stairs and escalators. And here, I HAVE to go up what appeared to be the steps built by a ten year old to his treehouse…. In 1948. In heels. Very high heels. Someone had been so kind as to make sure that at least one of the two rotted planks that made up each step of the rickety death trap to Pat’s house was nailed down, so. After my heel went through the bottom step and Pat chuckled “Hehehehehe…. Got me some glitter offa that purty shoe to keep!” I felt carefully with the stacked toe of my shoe and gently carried my 170 pound crippled up ass one step after another up the ninety eleventy steps to Pat’s house. And, holy sheep shit. You just THOUGHT the stairs were something.

The entrance to this psychedelic sewer of a place was a sight in and of itself… To the left, there is a beautifully maintained greenhouse full of the prettiest marijuana plants I have ever seen. There is an amassing of plastic tarps, rickety chairs and other things one might would expect to find on a porch… of Grizzly Adams on acid. Around about this time, Rick the pinstriper showed up. Rick had a dingy Tom Petty kinda look going on, not counting the apparent absence of teeth which made it impossible to understand a word he said. By this point, I need to pee a little, so I ask Rick where is the bathroom. I THINK he said “huhuhuhhhh I dunno, I just hang it over the porch.” I am not positive of this however, but I wasn’t gonna hang it over the porch at any rate, so I decided to hold it. The building itself, as far as I could see, had no actual doors or windows. It DID have places where they should be, however. A ginormous pit bull appeared and humped my leg a little, and I was glad he didn’t hump Libby because he may have knocked her off the porch, which, I guess, was technically a roof. Pat DID have curtains of a sort; you know those big flags you see people selling at rallies and fairs with stuff like “Southern by the grace of God” printed on a rebel flag? Well, there was a various assortment of those covering the window holes… never let it be said Pat is uncivil. Beside the door hole, There is a porch light, and a bunch of little mice painted in rows, like Zeros on the nose of the red Baron’s plane… I asked about it. Pat told me,  “This here is a tally  how many fuckin’ rats have been shot in this here fuckin’ room to date! HAHAHAHAHA! YA’LL COME ON IN!” So, Jewels chewing her jaw, Libby and I, Pat and Rick the pinstriper entered what shall from here til the end of the earth be known as the den of debauchery, the epicenter of insanity, the nexus of Pat’s universe, to the scent of marijuana and the tune of Sweet Home Alabama and Pat yelling “TURN IT UP!”

 

 

 

My Expiration Date.. part one.. Highways and High Heels

Posted in Uncategorized on November 22, 2013 by the Wicked Bitch

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I’m writing this year in my life because I know that my body grows weaker. I have decided to blog it this time because, simply, I do not have a publisher. This entails the tenth year of a life sentence I was given due to advanced stages of lupus. A doctor in a free clinic told me I would be lucky if i had ten years… Almost ten years ago. I intend to surpass that and see my fortieth birthday. I do, however feel the wings of the butterfly encompassing my soul. I feel my angels drawing nearer no matter how hard I try to run from them. Yes, I am still a brick wall… but I feel my foundation cracking a little. I am still a Mack truck… I feel my engine slowing down. I feel the new pain that radiates in my chest. I feel the new awareness of my kidneys throbbing as I close my eyes to sleep. I sense my mind slipping into stages I cannot recall. I may now incriminate myself… I may now alienate myself. This will, eventually, become a book. This book may be nicer, more spiritual than the last one… Or it may be much, much worse. The closer one draws to demise, the less it matters what anyone thinks of what you have or have not done.  There are probably dozens, hundreds of books haunting the recesses of my soul, begging to be written… characters that visit my dreams and live within my head… but i do not write them. I do not know what to do with them once they are on paper. Somehow I can only truly write one character… Myself.  I, as always, suffer from the opposite of writer’s block. My words rush forward  and scramble to be heard, riotous mutinies of avowals pushing forth to weep from my soul and vomit from my mind as soiled memories. I want to tell everything and nothing… I do not know where to begin one story and finish another one, such is the clutter of thought in my head. This may be the last book that leaves my mind… I may write a dozen more.  But. I am going to sit down and open a vein. I have actually been preparing myself to do so for about a year. And by God, what a year it has been.  If you choose to swim in the bleeding trenches of a year in my life that is an eternity and that is an instant, a year that most entire lifetimes could never even dream to emulate, then read on, my friend or foe. Join me upon my endeavors. Be warned that you will now be revealed the true inner workings of my mind; you will lie awake at night thinking of my depravity and you will want to hug me because you will fall in love with me and want me to live forever. You will feel my hatred. You will cry my tears. Your battlefields will never be green again after the war my thoughts will put you through. You will shirk from my fury and cheer my victories and feel disgust at my racism and be blown away by my spirituality and devotion to God. You just thought I mind fucked you with the first book.

You’ve been warned.

Part One… Highways and High Heels

Amy Irene White

Which One is Thelma and Which One is Louise?

“Wanna go to California?”         

“Don’t you know what happens when two redheaded bitches from Arkansas pile in a blue Ford car and head West?”

Libby knew when she called she would talk me into going. She always talks me into doin’ insane shit. She did not know it was something that had haunted the recesses of my mind for the better part of three or four years… almost ever since I got that email from Bill Hayes that informed me that he had sent a copy of my book to a friend of his named Jj Solari.  As a contributor to biker rags, I had of course heard the stories about Jj… He was one of the legendary greats who wrote the copy that helped Easyriders rule the biker world for a decade or two. He’s a virtual god amongst biker writers. I remember thinkin’, “Wow, HE is reading me?” I decided to search him on Facebook. What the fuck, right? I had no idea when I clicked that friend request button what an important change in my life it would conjure forth. It took us about five seconds to become inseparable allies on the internet, and not much longer than that to start toying with the urge to cross 1,600 miles to meet face to face. I listened to Libby go through her whole spill… reminding me of everything from “You missed the Medical Marijuana Convention in Washington!” to “It’s my birthday” to “It’s been forever since we went anywhere” to “I promised my Mama” to “You gotta go because I didn’t shoot you when you fucked my brother.” After she wound herself down, I told her I would get Bob to put new tires on my Mustang, and we would make her Medical Marijuana conference if we could also visit the Jayster. It’s always these spur of the moment decisions that suddenly alter one’s life more irrevocably than any planned venture. I had no way of knowing just how sweetly fate was weaving a neat tapestry of everything. In my mind, I was taking the trip to find the end to a book I been trying to write. Instead, I found the beginning of another one.

Libby and I go back a long way… and somehow everything we do together turns into epically ridiculous situations of Lucy and Ethel proportions. We met about fifteen years ago or so. I met her when she touched up the ink in my first tattoo, back when she was apprenticing for her license as a tattoo artist. We have fought and stayed mad at each other for years at a stretch, but somehow we always gravitate back together. Both of our major fights have been caused not by us but by the men who we happened to be involved with at the time. Libby and I could live in a one room house together and never have a cross word… if not for the eclectic group of people we are both constantly surrounded with, of course. On the surface, one would wonder how on earth we are friends. Libby is a perpetual mother, from her own children to her grandchildren to even her brother’s children… everyone she meets is taken under her wing; and once there, it’s not a haven left lightly. I, on the other hand, possess very few maternal qualities. I am much too narcissistic to dwell overly much on doting on others. While I do love my son and simply adore my niece and my stepdaughter, they are all very aware that I exist very much inside my own world.

“Wanna go to California?”         

I call Libby a cougar, which she denies… however, she IS twelve years my senior, and her men are usually younger than me.  She LOOKS younger than me and has a laugh that sounds like every cigarette she ever smoked and every tear she ever cried. I am a perpetual kitten, always choosing men twice my age (for instance, my extremely tolerant 69 year old husband, Bob). Both of our endeavors get a bit more difficult as we age, of course… Libby has to work to keep up her gorgeous timeless face while I have to deal with the hazards of colonoscopies and heart attacks and mortality. She is maybe five foot one standing on her tip toes… In my ever constant heels I usually stand around 6’4 or so. Libby may weigh 120 lbs. soaking wet… I look like a Green Bay Packer in drag… it’s not unusual for me to lift her in the air and swing her about like a little girl. Libby wears big floppy trench coats and Coach fishing hats and Toms and Uggs and other deceptively casual pieces. She is very polished and metro, with a penchant for clothes that hide her. Her wardrobe is a vast collection of beiges and greys and browns. I have waist length purple and red hair and dress somewhere between Betty Page and Paris Hilton and Stevie Nicks… the only constant to my endless wardrobe are my ever present stacked spiked heels, even when I ride my bike. Someone asked me awhile back how many shoes I own… I replied, “I have no idea, but I just bought two more pair.”

I ride an antique Heritage Softtail Nostalgia. I’ve had her for eleven years. She has so much chrome and bling that my mechanic, Rodney, refers to her as the “Tijuana Taxi”… the rest of the world knows her as Irene. I have never entered a show I didn’t bring home a trophy, and I’ve ridden her all over the country… an old biker legend with another one in the saddle; we are both show and go. Libby recently bought a black denim Street Bob, black powder coat and stripped down sleek, a slip of a woman in designer cowboy boots on a powerhouse of modern horsepower. I named her bike Beulah after stories about an old negress prostitute who used to live in Mcghee, and whose job was to pop the top on all the young boys coming of age, way back in the day… Libby insists her bike is named after the church song. We are not bothered by our differences. We are secure in them, and revel in our own little world that no one else can understand. It doesn’t matter, because we know who we are, fuck ups, flaws and fails… and we are both okay with that. We are both the kind of women who carry tampons in our purses… not for menstrual reasons since we’ve both had the babies removed from our playpens… but because they are handy in the case of gunshot wounds.

Libby and I were raised very differently… Her mother was a schoolteacher, and Libby was raised as the child of old southern family charm and Masonic ideals and debutante values. She wore white gloves and went to high tea, and managed quite an accomplishment by being allowed to dirt track race motorcycles when she was a preteen. I grew up a tomboy with white trash cousins, playin’ under the hoods of the cars in my Daddy’s body shop. Libby was raised with progressive beliefs in parenting and high class values. I was raised strict Southern Baptist, where going to a high school dance was treated with the severity the equivalent of asking permission to attend a drunken orgy. Somehow our two very varied backgrounds melded into similar constitutions and a tried and true companionship.

Trying to write all the things she and I have been through is like trying to name the sands of the sea… and nearly as infinite. We have been there through births and deaths and tears and oh so much laughter. She was sitting beside me when I got perhaps the most life changing news of my life… when I was diagnosed with lupus. When Libby’s beautiful niece decided to take her life, my number is one of the first Libby called. I have watched her young children grow into beautiful adults with children who look like tiny versions of themselves. We’ve been through weddings and divorces, cops and robbers, bankruptcy and high cotton, life itself a thousand times over. Our relationship is unique in that, as a general rule, I think women are a big fat pain in the ass. With the exception of my sister and a select few others, women suck big green hairy donkey balls about ninety percent of the time. They are petty, they are two faced, and they sit around for hours at a time eating bakery cake and going “awe” in mass over Tupperware, and even worse, baby diapers and breast pumps, all along feeling this huge superiority over men because they possess the ability to produce another human being. I myself find nothing exceptionally fascinating about squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon, but that’s just my opinion. I find women preposterous, because they depict themselves as these mystical creatures when in fact most of them haven’t the sense to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the bottom. Women spend way too much time worrying about things like theme dinners, juicing diets and Cosmo magazine, or over each other because they are too fat, too skinny, too rich, too poor, too quiet or too loud. I’ve listened to a gaggle of them dissect for hours the complex workings of a man’s mind that makes them not want to have a conversation about relationships or romance the equivalent of the theory of relativity immediately after procreation. Why would you wanna talk about “where are we heading?” after getting your rocks off? How do they expect a man to even answer that? We are heading to sleep or to the kitchen for a bologna and onion sandwich because we worked up an appetite? Women are infuriating. If there was only three women on earth, two of them would get together to talk about the other one.

This isn’t saying Libby and I aren’t normal women in the strictest sense of the word…. We gossip and primp and shop. We both bake and quilt and can vegetables, which in my opinion, makes us a little BETTER than a lot of women who exist these days; the arts of knowing how to sew your own clothes or cook something that didn’t come out of a box are sadly dying away at a rapid pace.  Even in our deep south a certain core that was once born and bred in every belle is curiously absent… I watch young girls and wonder why no one ever taught them to put their napkins in their laps or how to walk in high heel shoes, and my uterus convulses at the likelihood of other missing pieces in their educations as southern women. Sometimes I wonder if this is a sign that I am reaching old age, as I shudder inwardly at young girls tottering around in heels like a hog on ice, wearing too much make up and too little clothing. When did it become en vogue to look like a white trash hooker?

“Wanna go to California?”        

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More Reviews for Wicked Bitch by Amy Irene White

Posted in cars, motorcycles, biker, bikers, harley davidson, biker author, action, adventure, amy irene white, biker author, biker journalist, celebrity interviews, easyriders, in the wind, biker, v-twin, wicke with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 28, 2009 by the Wicked Bitch

Amy White at Red Room

I Take Alot of Pride in What I Am…..

Posted in cars, motorcycles, biker, bikers, harley davidson, biker author, action, adventure, amy irene white, biker author, biker journalist, celebrity interviews, easyriders, in the wind, biker, v-twin, wicke with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2009 by the Wicked Bitch

“i take alot of pride in what i am…”

i exist between satin sheets and swim whiskey rivers. i am lookin for adventure and whatever comes my way. she told me not to smoke it but I did, and it took me far away. i soar on silver wings and hang out with honky tonk heroes like me. i’ve sold my diamond rings to buy boots and faded jeans, and i went back to the wild side of life. i was once an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams. i rule a smoky kingdom. i have tied a red bandana around my auburn hair, been busted flat in baton rouge, and got runned over by a damned old train. i have taken the midnight train to Memphis, only God knows why.. i have walked into a restaurant strung out from the road and i have seen a husband driven to drinkin’ in a hot rod Lincoln. i have been known to visit fist city, and i stand barefooted in my own front yard quite frequently as well. i’ve heard that train a’coming as it rolls around the bend, and i park my big ol hog out on the lawn. i enjoy takin’ my ol harley on a three day cruise, drivin’ my chevy on the levee, wanting to go where everybody knows my name, driftin’ down the dusty dixie road, rollin down the road in some cold blue steel, and workin’ ten hours on a john deere tractor. i adore goin’ downtown in the middle of the night, sportin short dresss wearing spike heeled shoes, smokin’ lucky strikes and wearin’ nylons too. i was raised crusin’ in daddy’s pick up truck, doin’ things with my hands that most men can’t, and i like being the young thing beside him that understands. i have one more silver dollar. i have built an emerald city from grains of sand. he has touched my cheek before he left me. there ain’t no kinda cure for my disease. a man of low esteem has stood by my side, and you never met a motherfucker quite like me. i can make folks feel what i feel inside, and i know its a long, hard ride.

Biker News From Around the Country

Posted in Uncategorized on July 21, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

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This is a compilation of news bytes from Bill Bish and the Brothers Behind Bars Newsletter… I believe it’s important to stay abreast of biker news in all states, not just your own.

Biker Newsbytes: Compiled & Edited by Bill Bish, NCOM

Motorcycle Bill Aims to bring Equal Treatment: South Carolina Governor Nikki Haley recently signed a Motorcycle Equal Access Bill that mandates equal treatment toward motorcyclists across the state in all public areas. This legislation, sponsored by Rep. Todd Atwater (R-Lexington), amends the Code of South Carolina to keep local law enforcement agencies from denying access to motorcyclists on public highways, bridges, parking garages and essentially any publicly funded areas. A lot of local motorcycle groups supported this bill, many feeling that law enforcement has not treated them right for a long time and they say they’re ready for a change. “There’s few municipalities, in particular, that want to stop motorcycles from parking in publicly funded taxpayer areas,” said one ABATE spokesperson. “If tax payers are paying for a garage, then they should not be allowed to tell us we can’t park there.” Under the bill, cities and counties have to make reasonable accommodations for motorcycle parking in lots and garages. “All this bill is about is equal access, this is making sure that when you go to any city in this state that if you have a motorcycle you have a place to park,” said the governor who is also an ABATE member, adding; “As long as I have been in office, ABATE has been my friends, and that’s because they fight for all the right things; they’ve always fought for safety, they’ve always fought for individual rights, they’ve always fought to make sure that people have the liberties they should have.”

Missouri Lifts Ban on Sunday Cycle Sales: Due to so-called “Blue Laws” influenced by early religious edicts, vehicle sales are prohibited on the Sabbath in several states, but Missouri recently joined a growing list of states that are repealing these outdated bans. Governor Jay Nixon signed HB1735 on Mon, June 23rd that will lift a ban on Sunday sales of motorcycles, all-terrain vehicles, personal watercraft and other items typically sold by power-sports dealers. The legislation was championed by motorcycle riders and at least one Harley-Davidson dealer from the Kansas City area, who told lawmakers that he was losing Sunday business to a competitor in Kansas. When the measure takes effect August 28, Missouri will join Indiana, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York and Maryland in removing their Sunday sales bans over the past few years. Other states that currently prohibit the Sunday sales of motorcycles and automobiles are Colorado, Illinois, Iowa, Louisiana, Maine, Minnesota, Oklahoma, North Dakota and Wisconsin. The Missouri legislation does not repeal the state’s ban on Sunday sales of cars and trucks.

Utah Lawmakers Urged to “Get Ahead” of Outlaw Bikers: A perceived proliferation of outlaw motorcycle “gangs” in Utah has led a veteran police officer to warn lawmakers that they need to get ahead of the curve. “There’s been a 300% increase in the members of outlaw motorcycle gangs in Utah, compared to what we experienced 5 years ago,” Utah County Sheriff’s Sgt. Lane Critser told members of the Legislature’s Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice Interim Committee on Wed, July 16. Critser, who has worked in gang enforcement since 2008, said the proliferation of gangs and gang members could be attributed to multiple factors. Utah is an “untouched” state, meaning no gang has claimed territory as its own. Also, law enforcement in Utah is unaccustomed to dealing with outlaw motorcycle gangs on a regular basis, he said. “It’s like a gold rush. Everybody is trying to get here and establish dominance in the state so they can run a variety of their criminal activities and make their money in the state,” Critser testified to the committee. The state also is becoming increasingly attractive to members of outlaw motorcycle clubs because Utah is largely rural, said Rep. Paul Ray (R-Clearfield), pointing out that a number of clubs have hosted runs in Utah, including one where several members racked up citations for multiple violations in numerous counties en route to Weber County, and “By the time they got there, they just turned around and went home. They didn’t want to deal with it anymore,” Ray said. “Really, you’ve got to make it expensive and uncomfortable for these guys and they won’t want to stick around.” While he offered no details, Ray said he intends to introduce a gang initiative during the 2015 legislative session.

Berlin Bans Hells Angels Logo: Outlawing the motorcycle club’s symbols represents the latest weapon in a fight to stop Germany’s ‘rocker wars.’ In the latest salvo of a battle to rein in outlaw motorcycle clubs, authorities in Berlin are hitting the global Hells Angels brand where it hurts most: the logo. Last month, the signature winged death’s head and “Hells Angels” label featured on the motorcycle club’s “cut,” or leather vest, were banned in the capital as the symbols of a criminal organization. According to GlobalPost, a Hamburg judge outlawed Germany’s first Hells Angels charter in the city in 1983, but the Hells Angels as an organization have never before been banned across Germany. Now the prohibition of the iconic logo has come about through an ironic twist. When a former member of the banned Hamburg charter appealed to the court in April to be allowed to wear the club’s “colors,” the judge interpreted the original ruling to mean that the Hells Angels logo is illegal not only in Hamburg, but throughout the country. “Now, all the other regions in Germany are thinking about that judgment,” said detective superintendent Matthias Frohn, deputy head of the Berlin police division responsible for curtailing the city’s motorcycle gangs. Frohn says it remains to be seen whether the broader ban on the club’s logo will be enough to finally scatter the gang.

Mongols Refused Incorporation: The Mongols MC has been formally refused permission to become a registered incorporated body in South Australia. Despite claims by the club that it hosts recreational and charity events and that it was only formed because of its members’ interests in American motorcycles, Acting Liquor Licensing Commissioner Dini Soulio has refused their application. Senior legal sources told the Herald-Sun newspaper that they believe the Mongols’ move was largely tactical and aimed at thwarting the provisions of the Serious and Organized Crime (Control) Act should police obtain association or control orders against any members in the future. SA Attorney-General John Rau has endorsed the decision, made on public safety grounds, to reject the Mongols’ incorporation application. A Mongols source said the club was considering a legal challenge to the ruling “in the same successful way as two previous legal challenges” involving anti-bikie legislation.

NCOM Region 1 Meeting & Seminar, October 25th in Portland, Oregon: The National Coalition of Motorcyclists will host an NCOM Region 1 Meeting & Seminar on Sat, Oct 25 at the Holiday Inn – Portland Airport, 8439 N.E. Columbia Blvd in Portland, Oregon (503) 256-5000. NCOM Region 1 comprises the states of Alaska, California, Hawaii, Idaho, Oregon and Washington, and this annual Coming Together will feature a seminar on the Defender Program & Freedom of the Road Throughout the Nation talk by Paul Landers, U.S. Defender Lt Commander and Liaison for COCs Texas; “Profiling the Big Win in Washington” by “Double D” & Twitch – Outsiders M/C, Washington State COC; and a seminar on Legal Issues by Washington Aid to Injured Motorcyclists (A.I.M.) Atty Marty Fox and Oregon A.I.M. Attorney Sam Hochberg. A Regional Meeting will include discussions from participating state organizations, and continue with a Confederation of Clubs Meeting with reports from representatives of each Confederation present, and conclude with a Christian Unity Seminar and Meeting. For further information, contact NCOM at 800-ON-A-BIKE or visit http://www.on-a-bike.com/

Save the Patch (Excerpted), by Spike: The familiar rumble and roar of a pack of bikes, which is music to our ears, may be a faintly distant tune in the future. The loudest noise on the streets right now is the buzz and the buzz on the streets is “Save The Patch”.

‘Save The Patch’ is the culmination of many factors including decades of ever increasing discrimination and persecution to Bikers, their organizations and their lifestyle in general. We as bikers have widely been subjected to unwarranted highway stops, refused admittance into establishments and misrepresentation by law enforcement and the media. The U.S. Dept of Justice last year filed a lawsuit seeking to seize control of the trademarked logo of the Mongol Nation MC LLC, arguing that the Mongols are a criminal organization and that the mark is used for intimidation; but the Mongols and their attorneys argue that the government is overstepping its bounds with the lawsuit, which they said would infringe on the rights of club members. “They’re trying to destroy the right of men to associate and indicate their association,” said Joe Yanny, an atty representing the Mongols. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. In addition to being a violation of club members’ free-speech rights, more importantly, it’s a due-process issue.”

The lawsuit breaks new ground in terms of trademark law, the attorney said, adding that it may end up at the Supreme Court. Unlike a business trademark controlled by a single entity, the Mongols’ logo is a “collective membership mark,” and “It’s legally owned by one entity, but held in trust for the members. It’s the votes of club members that ultimately determined who is allowed to wear the club’s patch.”

Bikers throughout the state and nationwide identify with the message being sent out and the ramifications, if the patch is lost, it will affect us all. In southern California, widely respected members of all major clubs have met to discuss ways to save the patch.

A Facebook page “Save the Patch” has been set up since Oct and it states: “It has become time to further protect and defend our rights to ride, associate, and enjoy our lifestyle for all motorcycle riders and enthusiasts. To wear our respective clubs membership insignia, which have been trademarked, copyrighted, and incorporated by these organized entities. Representatives from a few of these clubs in Southern California have come together to make the initial steps in presenting and organizing the support of all motorcycle clubs and riders to stand up and work to prevent the freedoms we all value and enjoy from being eroded further, by an ever more intrusive government apparently bent on tyrannical control, we all need to become involved and work to defend that which we all enjoy about our lifestyle, be it as a club member or independent riders.”

The good news is, the passion to ride, the passion for freedom and the passion to preserve the life style is more than enough to unite the Biker world in whatever stance it takes to Save The Patch. To contribute, make checks payable to “Trademark Defense Fund” and mail c/o NCOM, 7334 Topanga Canyon Blvd, Suite 200, Canoga Park, CA 91303.

Weird News: What’s A “Biker”? Do you identify yourself as a “biker,” a “motorcyclist,” or a “rider”? To some motorcycle riders, the terms are fairly interchangeable. To others, the terms are more finely nuanced, as the people behind the Oxford English Dictionary recently discovered. Last Feb, the online edition for the Oxford English Dictionary rewrote its definition for “biker” after receiving complaints from motorcyclists. Riders took exception to the old definition which read: “a motorcyclist, especially one who is a member of a gang: a long-haired biker in dirty denims.” In a poll of 524 motorcycle riders, nearly three-quarters of them said the definition was inaccurate, while 60% said it was “dated and irrelevant.” Another 21% had a more passionate reaction, saying they were “outraged and offended.” In response, the Oxford University Press, which publishes the OED, updated the definition to read: “a motorcyclist, especially one who is a member of a gang or group: a biker was involved in a collision with a car.” We’re not sure that’s much better, but then we don’t represent ourselves to be the “most comprehensive dictionary of the English language.”

Quotable Quote: “Let us form 1 body, 1 heart & defend to the last warrior our country, our homes, our liberty, & the graves of our fathers.” ~ Tecumseh (1768-1813) Shawnee leader, folk hero

A Woman Left Lonely

Posted in Uncategorized on July 20, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=klhK_4evO5c

Janis Joplin

Air Force Academy Band to Perform Opening Ceremonies at WMDRA Sturgis Nationals

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

the Wicked Bitch:

This is a great read for patriots planning on making the trek to Sturgis this year.

Originally posted on BIKERS BULLSEYE:

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Air Force Academy Band to Perform Opening Ceremonies at WMDRA Sturgis Nationals

 
BOISE, IDAHO – July 1, 2014 – The Western Motorcycle Drag Racing Association (WMDRA) is thrilled to welcome Air Force Academy Band, Wild Blue Country, to Sturgis Dragway on Wednesday, August 6 to perform the National Anthem and Opening Ceremonies for our 3rd Annual AMSOIL Sturgis Nationals.
“Our drag racers and drag racing fans are some of the most patriotic folks in the country and we’re so honored to have the Air Force Academy Band join us at the track,” said WMDRA President Sandra Alberti. “God Bless America!”
The United States Air Force Academy Band proudly represents the Air Force Academy as the leading educational institution developing and inspiring air and space leaders of character with a vision for tomorrow. As one of eleven Air Force bands, the Academy Band maintains a rigorous performance schedule in support of…

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Texas Governor Rick Perry orders border surge

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

the Wicked Bitch:

It’s because Obama is dead set on turning America into a “build your own third world country” kit.

Originally posted on Twitchy:

From Governor Perry’s press release:

“The responsibility for securing the border rests exclusively on the federal government. The federal government’s failure to secure the border has created an incentive for families to send their children on a dangerous, and sometimes fatal, journey. Until the federal government fulfills its duty, it falls on the State of Texas to address those obligations.”

https://twitter.com/GregAbbott_TX/status/479439328779583488

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Protest Rally Event

Posted in Uncategorized on July 18, 2014 by the Wicked Bitch

the Wicked Bitch:

This is the protest that Arkansas bikers are participating in.

Originally posted on Caldwell TEA Party:

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Stand up for Legal Immigration to the U.S. And the value of American Citizenship. Speak out against the illegal invasion of the U.S. and those aiding and abetting undocumented illegal Aliens that violate America and your family. Stand up for U.S. Law and our sovereign Land and the American Flag. Come help to send a strong message to the Community, Lawmakers and Washington DC!!

1.) The current surge of illegal immigrants crossing our border is NOT acceptable and must be stopped.
2.) Our borders MUST be secured and our current laws enforced.

A lawful and peaceful protest that is protected by First Amendment and allowed under Lenoir City Law Enforcement. This event done in conjunction with Americans for Legal Immigration (www.alipac.us)

Event to take place Friday July 18th in Lenoir City locale from 4-7 pm. Contact if interested: phone: (828) 381-2786  e-mail: ronkingkong48 [at] yahoo.com

ALSO:  Protest on…

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