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A one-man Rogue Nation.
Now all he needs is his own national beer and airline, a couple of nuclear warheads and we're there.

There was this point at which - for whatever reason - the leader of the group I was with felt intimidated by M'sieu. I could tell; unlike the rest of the dusty pucks, I am old like heem and I have known for some time what an intimidated old man looks like - no matter how "cool" he is or how much he wants to make a weird toothy little smile about it. Yes.

Anyway, I kind of liked Mateo right then. Plus he had hair like Erg. Wistful. But so:

Later, some quite a bit after this whole incident and after one of my oldest friends confirmed that he was good, I's leaving; it was late. Mateo ran - *ran* though - out of his designated area (see? right there) but then halted uncertainly in front of me and said: (not without a certain restraint) "..................your bike?" I made the thin lip, the smirk, the heavy-lid that says "dude." without having to say it. You see what I'm saying? He offered me the entire rest of the place with his left hand, then, with a nod and his lips pursed - eyes wide open, clearly thinking "If that wasn't his bike, I've memorized his face and will kill him if necessary."

Before and after that, though, I would think in my head "he's fucking ultra rad with that megaphone". Sometimes it takes a minute for us hardcore Mr. Individual Pants guys to warm up, but after that we're rock-hard gay for each other for the rest of time, like in the Baghavad Gita.

I'm just here to see the show, officer.

Hail Mateo, full of grace, the lawd is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst Deviants,
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb -- The Underground.
Holy Mateo, father of DUI,
Pray for us Tribers, now and at the hour of your unsubscription.

let us tread...

so I was looking in all my little bits and scraps a old paper and junk the other day and I found a thing of my dad's, his 'Tool Steel reference Book (no. T-59)' which is a reference guide to commonly used steel grades. This is back from the days when he worked in Oakland. the address of the steel plant? 1657 W Grand Ave - weird coinkydink, no? Let us tread.. .

Complex meandering equation!

A multifaceted oblique equation of saturated vestments and splattered entrée.

It undergoes a requirement to shudder and scamper!

Scurry!

Be emancipated from the evoking shackles of horde siesta within a bifurcated mélange!

trite without mateo is like a cheeseburger without the cheese.

it ain't right, yo.

one ... unique ... there's nobody like him ... cool ... smart ... bull fucking HORN ... he be da bomb . . .
dude