The Condor Gets Nailed

Yoooooooooooooooo

For the past few days the Condor has been laying low, the wings have been clipped, just trying to lick the wounds and fly out of the nest of shit. Last weekend the Condor visited Westside Propane/Fries/Bikes for some repair action. The Condor's seat was becoming increasingly difficult to keep shut. As Junior from Westside PFB mentioned,

"it's just like a door handle on a car, it jams. It's just one of those things that happens over time. Like a car door, it jams and you just have to pop it back out. "

Awesome advice in less than 2 seconds...wait for it...okay watch it here it come now....for all of you fellow E-bikers out there, don't worry about the dealership mechanics fixing a fucking jib faulty bike that you've only had for about 2 months, just take a screw driver, pry the shit out of it (as a Westside PFB mechanic would), and keep on jarbling about "it's one of those things that happens, it's common".

????

Who knew that all it took was some sibling support (and some WD40)

So after leaving Westside PFB with a seat still fucking jib I venture cross the menace known as Niagara Street towards Elizabeth North. Trying to avoid the fucking North Tonawanda road styles I hear a car bomb go off. Then the Condor feels like she took a huge dump and the back end was now free of 50 or so pounds. What really happened was that Elizabeth North seems to be home to a lot of Rose City Roofers who just leave their tools and work related items scattered all over the fucking place. I ran over a nail and it took the Condor's tire right off the rim. After about 10 minutes of playing John Walsh trying to track down a family member who actually answers their home phone cell phone I figured I'd just strong arm the Condor across Niagara to rest at one of the Phat Kidz' crib at Elizabeth South (always bet on South AND Black). About 3 paces diagonally left there was some chi teen looking around all shifty as if he was waiting for a cream coloured K Car to drop off some killah Rose City Bud. Fuck do I ever know my home. A cream coloured K car (no Camaro) idles while the kid just keeps reppin' paranoia and Rose City Chiosity to the max. Dirty deals done dirt cheap. The Rose City Roofer Gas Huffer is just keeping six then comes over to give me a fucking increbible insight that blows Miss Cleo out of her jamaican hut of fantasy.

"Ah would you fucking look at that?!? Look at that Boss, you ran over a nail...took the tire right off the rim {no fucking shit....son} there's a lot of roofing been goin' on around here, some sloppy work I'd say. Then heads in to give his Chi Teen a blow jay.

Fortunately another Rose City Roofer of a less chi stature earns his stripes and helps me carry the Condor to safety. At that time the role of John Walsh (fuck HIM for jibbing over Banzai) is no more and I was able to get a Bro Law tend to the Condor's needs. $150 or so later the Condor has a new back tire.

Conclusion....shit's about to get real once again.

2 man enter, 1 Condor leave

pCe

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The Rose City Condor

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