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Biker Jim's
2148 Larimer street
Denver, CO 80202
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3:52 PM, December 30, 2011
Scores
Griswolds 73

Neverland Ranch Hands 55

Easy Street 51

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Web

Quiz Schedule
Tuesday: Oblio's, 8pm/ Wednesday: Park Tavern, 8pm
Emilio Scattaglia (Click Here For Hot/Sexy Horse Erotica!)

You're a terrible person and you should feel ashamed of yourself.

This is my last blog of 2011. Although, the end of the year has no more significance to me than the end of the month, the end of the day, or the end of a particularly difficult bowel movement. I’m not one of those people who say things like, I can’t wait ‘til 2011 is dead and buried, because, really, who gives a shit? Let’s face it, 2012 is gonna suck just as much as 2011 did. Or it will be just as awesome as 2011 was. It’s all about your perspective.

I find the same people who hope for some miraculous turnaround in their personal fortune just because they bought a new calendar are the same people whose only Facebook status updates are to bitch about what a shitty day they had at work, or how bad their migraine is, or how their fucking sports team lost the game.

Really? Nothing good happened to you this year? You didn’t not die? Your kid didn’t reach some important childhood milestone like riding a bike or wiping their own ass? You didn’t see an awesome movie or get turned on to a great new band? YOU DIDN’T NOT FUCKING DIE?

I have zero sympathy for people who look back on a year in which they got to spend time with people they love, occasionally doing things that didn’t make them completely miserable or, y’know, fucking kill them, with nothing but contempt. Fuck you. People starved to death not far from where you stuffed your face on Thanksgiving. People got raped not far from where you made sweet love with your significant other. Some poor little kid got killed by his or her walking shit stain of a parent not far from where you got to watch Shrek 3 on Blu-Ray with your spoiled brat eating pizza rolls. Spare me your fucking whiney bullshit about how your credit card debt grew or your favorite American Idol contestant didn’t win.

Next time you spend a year on the street bumming for change to support your alcoholism and sifting through dumpsters to find something to eat, then you can get yourself to the library, log onto one of the public computers, and then bitch about how bad this year ate all the dicks or whatever. Until then, shut the fuck up, watch some cute fucking kittens on YouTube, order a pizza, and be thankful for what you have. Next year’s not going to get any better because we don’t deserve any better.

Biker Jim's
2148 Larimer street
Denver, CO 80202
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8:17 AM, December 23, 2011
Scores
Unicorn Bukkake 77

Quiz on Your Mom's Face 70

Amish Vandals 59

Sleep Eating is a Serious and Delicious Disorder 48

Who Knows 38

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Web

Quiz Schedule
Tuesday: Oblio's, 8pm/ Wednesday: Park Tavern, 8pm
Emilio Scattaglia (Click Here For Hot/Sexy Horse Erotica!)

You're a terrible person and you should feel ashamed of yourself.

I knew there was something special about the McRib sandwich, something that set it apart from other – lesser - fast food abominations. Turns out it was all the heart that goes into it. And I don’t mean heart as a metaphor for all of the hard work and pride McDonald’s employees put into each and every food item that they thaw and then warm up and then hastily slap together with the same care a trashman uses when throwing your refuse into the back of their truck. We’re talking real, honest-to-goodness porcine cardiovascular flesh used in every bite. It’s the same kind of heart flesh used in many Black Magic rituals and consumed in sacrifices to the older and more primitive of the gods. (The gods that stalk through your dreams, hunched in the shadows and peering haltingly around corners, breathing shallow breaths just out of sight.)

I believe this explains the draw many consumers have to the annual (?) “limited time only” release of this culinary catastrophe: The McRib is a prepackaged, mass-marketed Satanic ritual designed to foster mind control and irresponsible consumerism. And the key is the heart it contains. It makes sense; imagine how few people would be receptive to consuming raw pig heart in service of the Dark Arts. But, if you mash it up, salt it, press it into a vaguely food-resembling shape and then throw some faux grille marks on it, you have the perfect delivery device for a mind control spell.

I mean, if you think about it, that’s the only plausible explanation for people paying money for the privilege of putting something that horrific in their body … Right? The alternative (the anyone would do that of their own free will) is just too outlandish and terrifying to comprehend.

Happy Holandaise!

Biker Jim's
2148 Larimer street
Denver, CO 80202
View All Posts
Comment Now
2:25 PM, December 16, 2011
Scores
Poopship Destroyer 71

4x4 59

Frosty Nerds 58

It's Not Gay if You Yell "Slayer!" 54

Crampon & Tampons 49

The Dirty Christmas Sanchezes 46

Brown Bunny 43

Benny & The Jets 13

Wild Boar 6

Click Here For Hot/Sexy Horse Erotica!


Web

Quiz Schedule
Tuesday: Oblio's, 8pm/ Wednesday: Park Tavern, 8pm
Emilio Scattaglia (Click Here For Hot/Sexy Horse Erotica!)

You're a terrible person and you should feel ashamed of yourself.

What’s the world coming to when washed up celebrities can’t even go to poor, Southeast Asian countries to repeatedly have sex with children without getting harassed? It’s a shame, frankly, that someone like Gary Glitter - whose important and lasting contributions to the genre of Novelty Music You are Forced to Hear Ad Nauseum at Sporting Events can not be overstated - must be molested by a close-minded and backwards third world judicial system simply for his lifestyle choice.

Just because Glitter likes to diddle the little, so to speak, doesn’t mean he should be punished for it. I mean, if it’s legal for us normal folk to have sex with furniture or even, god forbid, our own loitioned left hands (the Devil’s hand), then how can we, as a civilized society, not allow our former B-List Glitterati, who are undoubtedly our superiors, to at least have a warm 11-year-old with which to make intercourse? It’s downright barbaric, if you ask me.

And really, what 11-year-old girl from a remote and cut-off-from-media fishing village in Vietnam, wouldn’t want to have repeated and totally consensual sex with a 61-year-old man whose light had once burned so 40 watt? Even her parents, who must have known Glitter to be the most special kind of burnt-out husk of creativity, had to have been thrilled with the prospect that someone-who-commands-third-page-headlines-in-newspapers-half-a-world-away had taken a shine to their daughter, whose only other prospects for the future would have included education or, god forbid, merely having a family of her own. Now she can always tell people “I lay with star one night. Or, he used be star, anyway. Not brightest star, but star.”

Folks will look at her differently, with a kind of respect not normally afforded people of her station. That’s a favor she can probably never repay someone like Gary Glitter. That’s a favor that judiciary systems around the world are repaying to him in persecution. And that just ain’t Rock and Roll, Part 2 or otherwise.

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