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Cavaliers On Wheels: Scorching The Gauntlet On The Isle Of Man

Englishman, John McGuiness, sped away with his 21st win on The Isle of Man, 2014 TT Zero Race category. On the cutting edge of high-speed motorcycle racing, McGuiness is also the first to win the TT Zero Race super-powered by an electric motorcycle, riding at an average speed of 117 mph. As he scorched the countryside with a low roar and a zero emissions exhaust, a huge record setting moment for Mcguiness on the Isle of Mann and quite frankly, a huge win for electric powered motorcycles within the super sport of motorcycle racing.

Super-bikes and riders straddle the edge of death on The Isle of Man. Exhilerating, captivating, adrenalizing, and totally insane.

WAKE THE F%$K UP AMERICANS!

This diatribe composition of pure, enraged, madness and irreconcilable differences, that will never change until we see and feel our government actually work for the constituency.......US, Americans completely pissed off regarding being pissed on in an ever constant stream of rhetorical bullshit layered on top of decades more fucking bullshit! I don't even no where to start....how about illegal aliens, documented or not? MEXICANS and other South American filth that illegally cross our borders everyday and night with their attitudes of entitlement. Hmmmm......where the fuck did they recently get the ridiculous notion that our land has become a red carpet conspiracy to defraud the citizens of the USA by our SHITBAG Prez, Fuck-wad, Barack Obama. And to think I voted for this creepy, flip-flopping, piece of goat shit.

So, we as Americans, are to ascertain, that this "dreamer" generation of disease and filth ridden children of terribly horrendous parents from South America, will be the real future success stories of many generations to come and evolve into true Americans? Who even believes a shred of this shit-train of illegal aliens coming to save the day, eh? You would have to be a blithering idiot and Mexican Muslim sympathizer who has consistently lied, nagged, fucked and sucked his way to the top to offer us this fucking goat-fuck mess of unreasonable proportions. Is this all he has to offer?

Interview With a Whore-Mongering Political Baboon

Yes, folks. This is old news, but politicians are bi-polar schizophrenics with an insatiable thirst for loose women, drugs, power, money, all the while feeding their narcissistic ego's, in total belief of their own fucked up lies. Yes, Bubba.....it's the unfortunate god-damned truth! Nonetheless, getting to the business at hand, rumor has it on the DC grapevine, John Edwards, may make a run for the 2016 Democratic Presidential nomination, or at least within the Independent party, in a desperate bid to hustle his whore-mongering ass, at a minimal shot, into a Vice Presidential pick for 2016. Don't Scoff! Anything is possible on the Ferris wheel in Washington politics.

Gonzo Paperz chose Sterling to conduct the interview, for obvious reasons, as John Edwards, agreed to sit down for a brief interlude and answer all of our inquiries.

Sterling: On beach front property, literally, in the sand, Key Biscayne is John Edwards home away from home within this luxurious bungalow cabana. Tiny, but effective commercial kitchen and Tiki-Bar to boot, (I guess his girly friends enjoy gourmet cooking). Extremely comfortable beyond the opened French doors leading out to the salty air, above the clouds, capturing the natural and unnatural sights of the sea.

Edwards: Sterling, can I offer you a Martini or wine-cooler?

Sterling: First off, I don't drink cherry-apple Martini's. I've been sitting here, quiet, gulping down on my bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, gazing at that silver tray of pink cocaine mounded up like a scene from Scarface. May I?

Edwards: I would never condone the use of cocaine, but all of our guests are free to enjoy the perks of the party. Do as you may, Sterling.


Sterling: While pulling off the mound with a solid gold, pen sized straw, my face instantly went numb and my head spun almost 360 degrees, as I screamed "Hiawatha" - "AAAHHHHHH". Mother of all dope, where did you acquire this batch of superb cocaine?

Edwards: Well, as you may suspect, a man in my position rubs shoulders with a few nefarious characters, as one of my staffers is a friend of a friend of Keith Richard. Shall I go further into the association?

Sterling: No! But it sure would be mighty nice of ya' to explain to me how you have several ongoing sexual associations with many women while your wife is grief stricken with cancer? And, how many children do you have out of wedlock?

Edwards: Well you threw that at me like a brick! Your interview, is, from my perspective, a feeling out process for another possible run in 2016. I thought this media frenzy over my personal life would fade away as the American people yearn for a President that can keep his word and get down to the business of Immigration reform. Work on a bill allocating billions of dollars toward Infra-structure directly effecting the economic challenges leading to the creation of more jobs for our American citizens. I can make this happen, Sterling, I just need one more chance.

Sterling: (While swilling down the last of my Maker's Mark Bourbon, I reach for the tray of blow and take two large whacks that go straight to my head, spinning my conscientiousness into a sudden, foul, hostile, and violent mood. His rhetoric crossed the lines of decency and clarity of when good men standby and do nothing to correct inhumane, delusional beasts, so far out of touch with reality, they need a good ole biker thrashing coupled with several high velocity back-hands giving him a great taste of the long knuckle. And I wanted that blow. God knows, he has no use for it.) Johnny-Boy, this is not my interview.....it's yours, asswipe! I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here, only fulfilling a favor for a friend. So, from me to you, FUCK YOU and your whores! You're just a bottom feeding ambulance chaser, teaching your misguided daughter where to hang out in our various nations hospital emergency rooms, trying to exploit the injured and poor dieing patients. Pack that cocaine up in a zip-lock and I'll be on my way.....I'll be publishing none of this pathetic bullshit evening sit-down, of course. Fair enough?

Edwards: Well, no! I won't be bullied or extorted into giving you my dope. This evening is starting to get too weird and you're making me nervous. Step back for a second and think about what you just asked.

Sterling: I did, cunt! (I swiftly blocked his way into the other room, assuming his bedroom, and grabbed the tray with a stern balance and kicked him straight in the nuts while sliding the tray out of his grip. I side-stepped as he went down yelping and screaming like a spoiled, petulant child. I caught him square in the gonads. Edwards, buckled over and shaking from the shock, I begin rifling through the kitchen cabinets. I find a suitable container and scoop up about half a kilo and stuff it within my rucksack while heading toward the French doors, out to the beach trail where my flat-black Vulcan, Kawasaki loyally awaiting to launch at a moments notice. When out of nowhere, Edwards, leaps on my back, frothing out foam and blood from his filthy mouth similar to a starving, degenerate Baboon smoked out on a seven day Meth binge. I first thought, he may bite my fucking ear off.) Judas Priest ya' filthy pig-dog......you're spitting and drooling all over my neck and ears. What are you, a ferrel fucking animal, Edwards? Sweet dreams Johnny-boy-blue balls!

Sterling: (As I hoisted him up a bit, in one graceful motion, I swiftly hip-rolled and Judo slammed him to the tile floor, then sat on his chest slapping him repeatedly in the face fairly hard and methodical, as he screamed attempting to bite me. He then went completely limp, smelling the blood of defeat. Realizing, that I was late to a meeting on another more pressing issue, I gave him a few more swift kicks to the ribs where he laid, crying and spitting blood and bile like a "Baretta-styled" pimp beat down. When I mounted the Kawasaki, I heard child-like screams,

Edwards: "I'll trounce Hillary. I'll trounce Uncle Joe, and I'll twist Rick Perry into an oxycodone induced stupor. FUCK OFF, Sterling Frontier."

Sterling: Will visit ya' at "Club Fed" faggot! And off I roared to the Buffet compound.

Taliban Cafe III

My Jinni's comfort me by serving breakfast and start preparing the opium pipe. I sit there surrounded by infinite exotic pleasure, head in my hands and realize all of this happened for a definite purpose. I am here for a particular reason unknown to me. It's something big-time and ugly for sure, because no one receives this amount of pleasure over a blackjack win unless there's something attached to it. My Jinni's see me in contemplation and tell me that they're very happy to be servants of mine and that they can provide me with anything I desire. I pull on the opium pipe long and hard and ask, "Did I really play blackjack with Dick Cheney and George Herbert Walker Bush?" As the warmth of the opium starts to take hold and overcome me with cool and soothing euphoria, she responds, "By the way, my name is Ophelia and this is my sister Mary-Catherine, and yes, you did play blackjack with Dick, George Sr., Karl Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld. We like to refer to him as Rummy, he's a real bastard!" I immediately apologize for my poor manners and re-light the opium pipe to fulfill my need for some sort of sanity. As I try and make some kind of sense out of all of this madness they bath and dress me in a silk white outfit and paisley designed red velvet robe. It was weird but quite comfortable. I begin to ask them, "Do you hang out withe these degenerate assholes or what?" Mary-Catherine replies, "We were Dick's Jinni's, we had no choice in the matter. He won us in another rigged blackjack game from that little queer Senator Mark Foley, and it's been hell ever since!" I then ask Ophelia, "So you know Dick Cheney personally, his habits, likes, and dislikes?" She replies, "Oh yes my savior, he's a filthy, careless, degenerate gambler that needs to be stopped!" Tell me more Ophelia. She replies,"He's an annoying narcissistic schmuck that is followed around by a team of medical specialists 24/7, constantly monitoring his heart condition. Their main concern is his poor diet. For breakfast he eats four over easy eggs, one pound of Boars Head bacon, slung corned beef hash saturated in bacon grease, two garlic and onion bagels, smeared with scallion and vegetable cream cheese and washes it all down with a full pot of espresso coffee. His snacks between lunch consist of liberally soaked shrimp toast, mesquite barbecued pork rhines dipped in sour cream and onion sauce, while constantly smoking foot long Cuban cigars while sipping cold opal Sambuca, babbling incoherently regarding impacts on his stocks of oil, gold, and diamond markets." Well this news doesn't surprise me. His diet would make a fawn in the morning dew turn rabid and callous. As the opium pipe is passed around and shared, I ask Mary-Catherine if she would like to corroborate these crazy innuendos. Ophelia, clearly upset yells,"This is not innuendo! We are Jinni's and unfortunately this is the God ugly truth!" I back off as it is obvious they have a lot of frustrations to air regarding Mr. Dick. So I just sit back, smoke heartily and listen. "Go ahead Mary-Catherine, you seem like you have a lot on your mind. I'm all ears." She replies," Ophelia is being nice in regards to Mr. Cheney. He drinks that Opal Sambuca in the afternoons and Cognac at night. He stammers around, drunk and nasty, bitching about his market fluctuations wielding Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, re-reading it in a seduced state of obsessive compulsive disorder. His heroes are Rommel the desert fox, representing military valor. Rasputin for his seductive magnetism, and his great love for Hollywood's American gigolo, now Buddhist convert, Richard Gere. His behavior has reached obscene levels. At times his drunkenness would get so diluted he would beg to get tied up and buggered by Richard Gere impersonators then turn on them, sadistically torturing them by a severe whipping, using the American Flag and a springed Billy as his preferred weapons." "Mr. Cheney is a carnivore drafting the master plan by his High Priest, George Bush Sr." "He gets things done as a pivotal architect in the diabolical dissension into The New World Order! A dedicated, loyal Big Daddy warrior bent on government controlled chaos, anarchy, and destruction! He carries on like he's some immortal Greek God gnawing on blood sausage and Greek olives sucking the Sambuca straight from the bottle spitting the olives pits on his parquet teak wood floor like marbles as his aides break their asses on the pristine waxed flooring." " His aides never complain or speak of him in a disparaging manner. They fear him. Fear is synonymous with respect. Remember, he's Big Daddy's right hand man, completely untouchable as his dirty work is hermetically sealed in the American flag." " Even in hiding he can be spotted in a local D.C. pizza pit, gorging himself with pineapple ricotta cheese slices, dripping grease down his satin tie, throwing the leftover crusts to his loyal gang of Doberman Pincher's that constantly hump the legs of his secret service aides. He is the devil incarnate!"