SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM: 2005's valentine's day/blackhistorymonth/lent REMIX of 2004's labor day original

Discussion in 'Cycling Equipment' started by [email protected], Feb 12, 2005.

  1. After Ice Cube adjusted his bicycle's saddle a half
    millimeter upward and a whole millimeter forward, Gil
    Scott-Heron rode James Brown's bicycle out to Token
    Creek, where, in the slow shallow inlets, Mavis
    Staples netted about a pint of tadpoles.

    When The Temptations got to Wes Montgomery's
    apartment, near downtown Madison, Bobby Womack got
    some butter and garlic going in a pan to saute, added
    the extensive list of secret ingredients, and then,
    slid the wrigglers in.

    Hank Ballard unfolded a one-foot-square sheet of
    cheesecloth onto the kitchen countertop, dialed The
    Stylistic's timer for the usual eight minutes, and
    walked to the back door to set it ajar.

    Tina Turner went into the living room, removed Al
    Green's shirt, and settled into a recliner.

    Billy Preston felt his newly-clipped chest and belly
    hair, from sternum to central member, and wondered if
    Barry White should go with Honjo hammered or
    nonmetallic fenders for Patti LaBelle's bicycle.

    Cube picked up The 5th Dimension's notepad to jot down
    some phrenetic flashes that came to The Delphonics
    during The Funky Meter's ride, and outlined the
    beginnings of "Extralinear Meditative Prose for
    Framing and Building the Psyche," in three parts:

    1) A cafe called "The Zygote."

    2) A bicycle color'd Female Cardinal with Male
    Cardinal trim, both on badge.

    And,

    3) The influence of Phillippe Starck on evey small
    town's fireman's park.

    The timer chimed and Stevie Wonder popped up from
    Curtis Mayfield's recliner to check on Donald Byrd's
    cooking.

    The pan beheld the same results -- tails, nothing but
    tiny snippets of tails -- and again, the glaze of
    garlic-butter tracks on the stove and countertop,
    across the kitchen floor and out the back door.

    Aretha Franklin recorded Otis Redding's results with
    another round of photos and the usual pertinent
    notations in Bobby Timmon's binder, for it is The
    Philadelphia Internationl All Star's intention to
    rebuke Harold Hill's seminal and still preeminent work
    in evolutionary biology, "From Goo To You By Way Of
    The Zoo."

    Les McCann contends, as a result from Eddie Harris's
    ongoing in-kitchen experiments, and in a 73.5 degree
    departure from Hill's ancient assertions, that
    cataclysmic events throughout history really did, in
    fact, speed up the adaptive evolutionary process of
    certain species.

    Billy Paul aims to prove that one particular swimming
    species urgently adapted to land as the direct result
    of the over-warming of shallow seas due to the flow
    into these waters of volcanic lava. Parched and willed
    to pop limbs and crawl out of the burbling, torrid
    waters onto cooler tracts of land, this species
    decided Johnnie Taylor liked Prince's new talent, and
    henceforth crawled and crawled, from generation to
    generation, across deserts and gardens, up and down
    mounts, through locusts and maggots, flies and hail,
    by crosses and Torah pointers, Ouch!, and finally to
    the present time the species settled at a place a
    stone's throw from Lake Monona, where Martha Reeves
    could jump in if The Vandellas wanted to, having never
    forgotten how to swim, but Solomon Burke has grown
    accustomed to an anatomical position of comfort and
    style on Donny Hathaway's bicycle.

    The Four Tops scooped the buttery batch of tails and
    garlic onto the square of cheesecloth, wrung the
    viscous liquid from the mash into a paper cup, and
    then poured the liquid into a small squirt bottle.

    Aaron Neville then propped Wilson Pickett's bicycle
    onto Bill Wither's home mechanic's repair stand,
    directed the squirt bottle towards the links of
    Bloodstone's chain in motion, and lubed 'er up good.

    Dionne Warwick pedaled down to McDonald's, silently
    shifting through the gears all the way there with nary
    a croak, where Eddie Kendricks had a Big Mac, fries,
    dessert, and a coke.

    Segments of Time paged through "The Onion" as William
    DeVaughn ate, and paused at the odd ending of an
    interview with an up-and-coming filmmaker:

    Q: ...Hitler?

    A: Because this country...

    Q: Are you Jewish?

    A: Is that anything like asking me if my father's
    mother's mother's maiden name is Schwartz? Or would a
    "yes" reply to your query require purer blood in my
    veins?

    Jr. Walker then went straight to The All Star's
    favorite column, "savage love," and spooned the
    hot-fudge sundae with nuts.

    The Watts Prophets finished and went outside to Percy
    Sledge's bicycle, where The Spinners found a sight
    that shuddered Gladys Knight's soul from The Pips skin
    and froze The Drifters solid.

    Perched everywhere on The Soul Children's bicycle,
    were a multitude of ultra-frog-like creatures with
    big, bulbous, orbital eyes agaze at S.O.U.L.

    Having never before been the object of so many
    yellow-moon peepers of intensity, Aaron Neville almost
    shrilled "What?", but was too frightened of what then
    might happen, and instead managed to twist Herbie
    Hancock's rigid body to the left, in three jerks of
    acute angles, stepped quickly away, out of sight,
    around the corner of the building, and with Screamin'
    Jay Hawkin's back against the brick wall, Thelonious
    Monk slid down to the concrete below to think:

    "Cook a tadpole; cook a story."

    "Cook a story; cook the books."

    "Cook the books; cook the goose."

    "Cook the goose; ?"

    "?"

    "Able to see beyond Abel(l)?"

    "One el(l) or two?"

    "Both, we wouldn't want to miss anything."

    "I see."

    Sly Stone's no fool, logic's a powerful tool, and so,
    with Grandmaster Flash's decision made, Melle Mel
    reapproached The Fabulous Five's bike, and was stunned
    to see that the wwwrogs had seated themselves, close
    together, a-e-r-o-d-y-n-a-m-i-c-a-l-l-y, on the top
    and bottom tubes only, of Isaac Haye's bicycle's
    frame.

    Of like minds then, John Coltrane and his passengers
    set out back to Token Creek -- all eyes cast fore.

    The Chi-Lites rode the time-trial of Parliament's
    lives, with an intrepid reserve of intensity,
    endurance, and resolve, and with certainty intact, all
    the while there, back to the homeland of the wwwrogs.

    Upon crossing the rural finish line separating asphalt
    from field, Harold Melvin zipped down the gravel
    shoulder of the road, pushed the pedals hard the
    remaining seventy-five yards, dismounted, and leaned
    The Blue Note's bike against a tree, near the bank of
    the creek.

    The O'Jays waited, expectantly.

    The wwwrogs didn't move.

    The Sons of Slum walked to the road to light a
    cigarette.

    When Dyke finished, The Blazers lit another.

    Charles Wright returned to The Watts 103rd Street
    Rhythm Band's bike.

    They hadn't moved, still again.

    "Well then...sink or swim," were Larry Graham's final
    words Graham Central Station repeated to the wwwrogs.

    Randy Crawford's steps crunched the gravel along the
    edge of the county road as Jimmy Smith began back to
    Madison.

    Charles Mingus lit a third cigarette and whispered,
    "They looked like they needed it more than I did
    tonight. Some kid'll drag it out of the water
    tomorrow. I hope he grows onto it."

    "And?"

    The Brothers Johnson looked deep down both ways of the
    midnight road before crossing.

    "And I won't cook again."

    William "Bootsy" Collin's shadow, cast by the moon,
    would have been all Kim Weston needed to keep Earth,
    Wind & Fire company for the long walk home; but
    Richard "Groove" Holmes had more.

    Ruth Brown had almost a full pack of Sedona
    cigarettes.

    And -- The Neville Brothers had the casual bellows of
    large trucks, shifting through their gears, somewhere
    outer there.

    Several hours later, nearer to Madison, all the
    members, past and present, of WAR could make out the
    lit dome of The Isley Brother's state Capitol, and
    Wilson Pickett's fortitude doubled, for Tina Turner
    now had two beacons of light to lead Mick Jagger's way
    home.

    Al Green had a far way to go to The Temptation's state
    house of laws, and so, quite naturally, Ice Cube
    passed the miles and minutes with wonderment and
    wordplay, composing a five-legged query quo modo
    quodlibets ABOUT the people's most passionate
    political divides -- under Etta James's state's dome
    -- under The Staple Singer's planet's moon.

    And so, as Cube walked, Cube wrought, and foresaw a
    great gathering ahead.

    There, the Madison legislators would seat, who'd all
    come forth to hear, Cube's backroads-born beat.

    They'd heard of Cube, of Cube's most sapient seat of
    thought, and of Cube's just-cut query; this then, is
    what Cube wrought:

    "Behold! Learn to converse in extralinear verse!

    1) What, ABOUT, a cafe, called, 'The Zygote?'

    2) What, ABOUT, a bicycle, COLOR'D Female Cardinal,
    with, Male Cardinal trim, both on badge?

    3) What, ABOUT, an all-girl band, called, 'Nately's
    Whore?'

    4) What ABORT an insane acronym, L.O.U.D.E.E.T.E.R.?

    5) And, WHAT ABOUT birds of a feather,?" Cube
    uttered, as an apt epitaph, to end Cube's terse verse,
    unto the perplexed politicos, as they returned to
    their halls, and pondered throughout, Cube's edicts to
    learn, ABOUT.

    The forum cleared.

    More hours passed, and Marvin Gayes's trek finally
    came to an end, upon the Capitol square.

    And although Grandmaster Flash was just about near
    Aretha Franklin's home, James Brown climbed up the
    steps to the base of the building and sat himself
    down, exhausted, on the one seat of quarried, polished
    stone.

    The rising sun burned Ray Charles's tired eyes and he
    closed his lids for a spell.

    When he opened his eyes he noticed a woman coming his
    way.

    He watched her come nearer until she was within forty
    feet, a distance which beset his chi to flow, his
    passion to percolate, and his toes to tap inside his
    white Nike Air Jordan sneakers, as he could clearly
    see she was the Persian beauty he'd seen, of another
    day.

    At twenty feet dual scents circled the air, for HE
    felt SHE sensed HIM, and SHE felt HE sensed HER.

    Within eight feet, he silently intoned to her, "Come
    on, give me your eyes."

    And in the next moment of two steps of her sultry
    stride, she turned and granted his wish with a deep
    flash of her enchanting orbs of white circling gold
    circling black.

    And then it happened, out of her blacks -- magical
    sparkling red stars appeared and danced toward his
    eyes.

    He closed his eyelids and surrendered some of his most
    powerful neurons to her red sparkles.

    Two by two, he paired off his knightly neurons with
    her dancing stars and allowed the new couple private
    places in his brain to bed.

    He rose, tugged at his Michael Jordan Jockey boxer
    briefs 'neath his jeans, and stretched to the new
    morn'.

    He stepped into a bookstore for the latest copy of
    Al-Jumuah, bought a box of Nat Shermans, and headed
    down State Street to the nearest cafe.

    Along the way,
    (http://search.bikelist.org/getmsg.asp?Filename=internet-bob.10409.0544.eml),he
    caught a glimmer of, stopped, backed up, and looked at
    a bicycle hanging in the window of the Yellow Jersey
    bicycle store, for sale.
     
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