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(posted to r.m.h. on June 20, 1999)
Dennis Peterson wrote:
well I was just wanderin' through camp, minding my own
business (honest, officer) when I was accosted by some
people wanting to take me to some show that involved a
donkey and a girl - no, waitaminute - different run, to
Ciudad Juarez I think. But they looked like they coulda
been the same guys, until I was dragged over and met the
classy ladies too. Had no problem guessing who was who
from the most part - musta passed that test, 'cause the
next day (Sat.) I was invited to tag along for a ride up
the river. I passed on this, as penal institutions
make me nervous, but when I finally figured out that they
meant a real river, then Ian and I agreed to meet them at
the secret Slug HQ on the Illinois side of the river, at
a bar (naturally) in Grafton overlooking the said big river.
had a nice ride there, but no Slugs; had a decent lunch
of bbq pork and deviled eggs sitting out on the deck over
the river, still no Slugs. Finally left for home (camp)
about 2:30 or 3:00 and passed a couple of shovels, a
pig fucker, and some other bikes all leaving a slimey
trail, going the other way towards the secret hideout.
What a dedicated bunch of slimeballs - oil changes even
take priority over food. But at least I did actually get
to ride with them - just not real close except for a
short minute.
sign me slow but still slimed, |