Ulterior Motive & Juicy Details

'Can you help me out with some rep?'

'All I need's another 0.14.'

'Excuse me, I'm trying to get to 69 and need another 0.14 rep.'

I'd click the post button right now and file this away on the blockchain but I'm seeking another 0.14 rep in case you haven't noticed and I don't think that panhandling introduction's gonna cut it. I don't know what's so special about 69 #69 poundsixnine anyway. <- Lie. Why it's the astrological symbol for Cancer, of course! I had to look that up. I know _{this much} about astrology signs other than I'm a Virgin Version Verizon.

_{The V one!}

When I registered this account back in September, 2017, I saw an author with a 69 reputation (astrology, remember?) which seemed unattainable from my little 25 chair. I'd never typed one word on a social media type platform other than MySpace—still can't access FaceBroke or Instawhatever it's called. I followed my favorite artists on MySpace back in the day to stay updated with their tour schedules, occasionally dropped a line saying thanks, that was the extent of my blogging.

That probably won't cut it either. If I wasn't so got dang happy, I coupon probably collect 0.14 rep in under 25 words. <- Click that—classic. Coupon wasn't a typo, I meant to do that. The first time, however, didn't mean to. It's one of my favorite autocorrect stories now.

I shot @galenkp an article on discord that I'd found in the new section. A brand new authors very first post. I don't typically share posts like that—first time I sent him one. This one. Anywho, I fired Galen that link assuming he'd appreciate the content as much as I did—he did. I thanked him:

What about now? Probably have to dig deeper. Something you don't already know, something interesting and unexpected. Pura's my second marriage—true story. I did it once before—failed miserably.

But I was only 25. I'm much wiser now than I was back then and I'm still the dumbest guy on the crew. It's what everyone else did—marriage, mortgage, mouths to feed, fill in the blanks. She was Pilipino and Italian which meant she knew everything and was never wrong. She was a few years younger than me, 22, a Communications major (don't know htf she graduated?!), neither of us wanted kids. I was under the impression marriage was more of a business deal than love—tax relief, dual incomes, financial benefits. I was wrong.

_{Soul Mates}

_{It's the only time I've ever been wrong, btw}

Well, that and the DUI. Those sting a little bit. But I've been sober now since August 2nd, 2014, so I guess everything worked out the way it's supposed to. As I was saying, 25! Completed my prerequisites in junior college, earned an associates at Technical training, graduated with a five year degree from University and the rest is history. Like my cunt ex-wife!

_{You'll never hear me say the B word, either—that's another one}

She didn't want kids, we agreed on that. If I told you a handful of childhood stories, I think you'd understand. We were probably on our way home from saying I do in Las Vegas when suddenly the young bride riding shotgun wanted kids. To this day I don't have children, one thing led to another and, well, she started fuckin someone else while I was at work. Marriage #1 - 11 months, fail! More juice?

_{The Luckiest Guy I Know}

_{Really makin me work for this}

I can't sit still. That might not seem new to you but there's a long history my inability to sit still stems from. My mother was real young when she had me, I never met the contributing male. Born in Los Angeles, moved to Central California, moved back to Southern California, stayed with my grandparents over a year, got shipped off to stay with my uncle in Colorado and whatever else happened before my third birthday—can't sit still to this day.

The longest I stayed in one place was between 1991 and 1994—high school. Moved out when I was 18 and haven't extended a one year lease since. I think walls are a lot like shoes, hats, new vehicles, and everything else material—boring after three months.

One more. I don't talk about this one unless someone asks. I've mentioned before I have a bad wheel, that's what I call it. Pura's surprised regularly when she meets a friend of mine I've known for decades who doesn't know I have a bad wheel. She says "it's because you don't lead with it. I had no idea until you showed me why you can't run."

_Kickstand

Those videos, singletracks, the nature walks, training exercises, and the rest of my content I've shared with you the past 3n1/2 years. I do it on one leg.

_"Uncle!!"

That happened. I was riding dirt bikes by the time I was three. Go ahead, let that one resonate.

Most three year olds I've met are still learning to walk. I was riding dirt bikes, ATC's and mopeds before I started kindergarten. My mother would send me to the liquor store for cigarettes. The first time required a note with her signature on it. After that, dude never questioned me when I'd roll up on a motorized two wheeler to fetch a pack of Marlboro Medium 100's in a box.

I dislocated my hip once, destroyed my ACL and both MCL's twice, required one subsequent reconstructive knee surgery for a total of three knee operations. I got cadaver parts in there now, what's left of it anyway. Four major surgeries on the same leg and that's only half of it.

The worst one was the time I got hit by a car on my way home from the liquor store. I got hit by a jeep once, too, many years later but that one didn't hurt as bad. They said she ran a stop sign, I don't remember—still have difficulty remembering things actually. The hood of her car chopped my foot off. Police report states I flew 260 feet before coming to a stop on the concrete sidewalk at the entrance doors to a billiards hall. By the time they got me in the helicopter, I had two broken bones in my leg, one missing foot and a broken neck—I was five years old.

They did their best to put me back together, we're talkin 40 years ago in 1980 so the fact they had me on my feet again and eventually back on motorcycles is a miracle. I lost too much blood in the helicopter ride which caused all the muscles in my calf to die off permanently to atrophy. Both my tibia and fibula required surgery. I ended up breaking that Frankenstein ankle two additional times and now it's a fused joint with artificial metatarsals. No muscle, no movement or mobility, seven major surgeries on one leg. Congratulations, @dandays, you're now walking with a cane! :ding: My grandmother always said if I couldn't learn the hard way, I couldn't learn at all—she was brilliant.

I was only five years old when it happened so I've since evolved to only putting weight on one leg—have to. In case you can't imagine a human spine after standing on one leg for 40 years, I once had a chiropractor tell me "If you weren't sitting in my office right now, I'd think these x-rays belong to an 80 year old man." I was 32. 'Gee, thanks! Can we talk about about this pain that starts at the top of my head and extends all the way to the tips of my toenails now, please?'

Standing, walking, driving, sitting down for too long, laying in bed, it's all painful. Surprisingly, downhill bikes are the least painful. Not painless! Just less painful than other travel options.

Now? I'm not sure how much value this needs to generate to bump me up to 69 but if I miss the mark this time, no big deal. I'm sure I'll release another one before the end of the week anyway and then another after that. :rinse: repeat. I'll get there sooner or later.

_{Til Then!}