Yea, I'm back.

For those of you who haven't been paying attention, here's where we left off:

These three a-holes (working in kahoots with a midget stripper, goes by the name of Clara), kidnapped me in a bar and forced me to work in the circus. Eh, I've done worse...

Then they sold me off
to a nunnery. Tell you what, these chicks can PARTY! It was just too much for me. I needed some peace, quiet and to wake up in the morning without a painfully chafed crotch. Or some "appliance" that kept bitching about being low on battery power. You've been there, right?

So I bought a scooter from Sister Catrina Cushman for fifty bucks. It really sucks at wheelies and you can't get your knee down very easily in corners, but for a straight line tourer, it's not so bad. Depends mostly on the wind.

Then I hit the road. For the solitude. For reflection. For finding myself. For getting away from those f&#king crazy pengiun bitches and hopefully cure the crotch rot
. On Day One, I got from where I shot this photo.... all the way to the top of that uphill. Need to figure out how to trade up.
Scooters suck. This is bullshit.

Next day, I met Hobo Nick, a pro mx mechanic, who walked from Florida to California, starting with no money and no food. Some of Nick's fans include Ricky Carmichael and Mike Alessi, (far right) who met Nick in Huntington Beach when he completed his walk. HoboNick is a cool guy. He let me lick his food wrappers from Taco Bell.

Desperate for scooter fuel, I stopped in this strange desert town. Unlike Nick, I didn't need food too much...matter of fact I found some very ripe berry bushes just before I got to the "Dusty Fender". Chugged down about a pound of them. It's good to be a donkey. We'll eat almost anything...except Donkey least when we're sober.

I should have known something weird was going on. As soon as I opened the door, there was this: a three-legged dog and a kid wearing footsies in 100+ degree weather. I've seen Trog-dogs before, so no biggie. But footsies in the heat of summer? Something is f&#ked up. It might be me.

Then it got worse. This horny dude claimed to own the place and kept trying to sell me Milk Duds, which we all know is about the most un-cool-est, gay-est candy as was ever made. He talked funny too. I think he was from Boston. Those people are that way, in case you didn't know. Now you do.

It kept going downhill. Here's his wife. Goes by Steampunk Witch. Town Mayor for the past 7 years, claims to have Barney Fife chained up in the basement ("50 cents to take a peek"). She put on her horns and tried to sell me an AT&T bundle package. No more berries for the rest of the trip!

Stumbled across this, which explains why it's so hard to get a flight these days. Groupon has a 7.3% discount coupon for pilots at the Mohave Oriental Massage Parlor. Even had valet parking! Super low prices in town for kleenex and vaseline. No idea why.

Found this too. According to his wallet (which also included $4.32 and a condom), this was my long lost Blind Uncle Ferd, who left home to become a professional juggler and close-up magician. I'm fairly convinced that it's not going to pan out for him. I poked him with a stick. Not good.

Another new friend I stumbled across. This is Harland, who was trying to locate a police station. Apparently he got mugged and they took his hump and he's really pissed, not to mention thirsty. Dude sure spits a lot for not being a redneck. Maybe it's his lisp.

After three nights of camping out, I split the cost of a room with these four guys, who were racing their Pintos cross-country. They're the  Filipino Bed Making Champions (2009~2010), who decided to tour the US to get away from their fame and stardom.
(I checked out early).

Wasn't my type of town anyway. Among other things, these folks are kinda, sorta off the deep end when it comes to enforcing their no smoking rules. Glad the bear has a job and all, but his tactics might be considered a tad aggressive.

Caught up with old friend Ronnie Ziggafoose in a bar outside a town called "Beyond f&#king Nowhere". . RZ was getting tired of people asking about how he lost his....well, you figure it out. And if you have to ask guess is you were edumacated by the LA Unified School District, right?

There are some really weird signs out in the desert. It was time to GTF out, but the stupid Cushman, going 10 miles a day at WFO throttle, wasn't doing the job. I needed to trade up. Stopped in the next town I wizzed into, to see if I could get better wheels.

The most obvious place to stop was Wal-Mart. Mostly because that's all they had for stores with a parking lot. I quickly realized that Wal-Mart might not be quite the place it used to be. This is Rhonda. She runs the Auto Accessory Department and plays the plunger on weekends at weddings.

Answered a Craigslist ad for this little sweetheart. As blind luck would have it, she also had a scooter for sale too! Wanted too much for it and I think there might be some upcosts for suspension valving, so I passed. The night of wild abandon sex was good though. Glad I brought along that flashlight, crisco, flare and bouyancy compensator....

Almost bought this gem, but what with the rough terrain out in the dez, I had to reconsider. I'm kinda disappointed. Mofo had one bad ass sub-woofer in it. Killed every squirrel in a 7 mile radius and made dolphins ears bleed 283 miles away.

I wasn't getting anywhere...and then I saw this in town. That's what I was missing! TEAMWORK! It's what gets shit done!
I needed a team to help me get off the Cushman and get me onto a ride that any ass would be proud to sweat on!

One quick phone call to my cousin Bobo was all it took. He gathered up his entire synchronized swim team to come help me out. Donkeys kick ass when it comes to finding a sweet ride. But they can be a strange group. Fairly f&#ked up, actually.

Being all about "The Troops", Bobo made sure that his crew included war veterans. This is Clyde during his tour in the sandbox. He had to muster out when he got too tall can figure it out. To this day, every time Clyde sees a cinderblock wall, he breaks down and cries. We look away, then giggle. We signed Clyded up for the newsletter at Yea, we did.

Another vet was the highly decorated Colonel Liston, who worked his way up the ranks through so many heroic instances that eventually anybody below the rank of General was his bitch, and he took full advantage of it. Probably the only donkey to shit in a C-31 and nobody dared say a word.

On the other hoof was Bobo's second cousin Bubba, who is either Bobo's father, uncle or brother, nobody really knows for sure. Bubba can make a fully functioning whiskey still from two soup cans and some plastic straws from McDonalds. Bubba is highly regarded by the group, despite his admitted trout fetish. We keep him away from the seafood dept. at the grocery store. It's the law.

Truth be told, there's actually a lot of donkey incest going on, and personally I'm shocked that the folks from 20/20 haven't picked up on this yet. Half these dudes go to family reunions to look for their next ex. As far as my new teammate Fabio goes and his son just isn't talked about.
Besides, Fabio left Maria almost two years ago, so we don't speak of her anymore.

Then again, not everybody in this group can say they mustered out with honors. This is the former Staff Sergant Rhonda. Remember Ronnie and his chomped off arm from the shark? Ever seen a donkey's teeth? Now imagine this soldier in a similar condition, except his leg is gone. Yea, it didn't go well. Rhonda ain't welcome at the VA hospital. Can't vote no more neither.

File "Courtney" under the "We Don't Ask" (because we don't have to) and "We Don't Tell" (hell yea we do). Courtney thumps to the beat of his own drummer, or guitarist, or roadie....he's not really all that picky. Can't afford to be. Think about it. How many gay donkeys do you know? Probably none. Well there ya go. Courtney has frustration issues. Nobody looks at his profile on Adult Donkey Finder. Nobody.           Ever.

Then there's Marv. He's the only donkey I know that has to wear a court-ordered ankle bracelet, and when you pull up the "bad donkey" locator, Marv is right up there on the top of the list. A hardcore fan of upskirt videos, Marv has been kicked out of almost every big mall you can name. He's also banned for life from any/all shoe stores (even if they only sell sneakers). Nice guy though. Makes awesome omlets. Peels onions with his gums.

Speaking of porn, there just isn't enough Donkey Porn out there. Seriously. Have you seen much? Me neither, and I have a Frequently Pornstar Club Card that gives me a discount at every Internet Cafe in the country. So I offer up this from my personal collection. No DVD available (don't ask) and if you're gonna copy this image do it quick, because once this chick sees it, I'm going to be buried in that whole lawyer  bullshit thing again, sure as shit.

Okay, I found this. Thanks Mr. Google!
You know friggin' everything! You rock!

I feel better now.

Back to the crew...quick before some asshole blows my door open armed with a black light and a camera.

"This is NOT my beadspread!" Swear!

This is Bob. He's our team opener. When we ask the next scooter owner "How much will you really take for this gem?" and he responds, Bob's job is to launch into this "You're f&#king kiddin' us, right?" laugh. It's supposed to help me get a better deal. Personally, I think it's just because Bob is an asshole that like to piss people off.
Or his wife (a dental hygenist) is trying to drum up business. Don't know for sure yet. I"m keeping an eye on both of them.

George is on the team too. He's our group's charity case. George was abused for a few years, forced into slavery to make believe he was a V-8 engine. It's taken him years to repair his vocal chords, after being forced to make all those fake engine noises for his owner Rasha. To this day, every time we roll past a gas station, George snarls and nips. He's in therapy.
I don't think it's working.

Another of Bobo's recruit for our "Get Tony a better scooter" goal is Hiram Yablonski, one of the few donkeys in the world that actually makes a living as a pro bass fisherman. Hiram is having a tough time going from fishing to actually moving his body, but we're trying to be patient. He keeps mumbling about some Old Man & the Sea. Nobody understands. Nor cares.


On the other side of the coin is Travis (yep "Travis" and you know why). He's one of the very few freestyle donkeys to break into the big time, having just completed a stint in the live Nitro Circus tour in Australia. Like the other one, this Travis is banned from all rental car facilities world wide. Unlike the other one, this Travis is stuping the chick that does the double back flip on a Big Wheels. Yea...Penthouse letters here we come!

This is Tank. He's our "closer". When we finally find the right ride for me to continue my journey, and we're getting down to brass tacks...Tank steps in. Tank doesn't take no shit from nobody. When Tank asks "What's the least amount you'll take for this piece of shit?" you man up. If you don't, Tank is obviously going to f&#k you up big time, and not because he has to, but just because he wants to.
Meanwhile, I gotta go. The girl in column
A-147 of the Tony_girls.csv file gave me a call (isn't Excel AWESOME?) The database says her name (column B) is Mandy. I won't tell you what's in column F, but it requires leather, an automated car wash. grease, bungee cords, a funnel, one pom-pom and a friend of hers called "Girth" Not Garth. Girth. I'll let you know how it goes, but I'm concerned. Just got a text: "Bring ice, fire estinguisher, cotton candy, a stool, plastic sheets and a vacuum. HURRY!"



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