My Mildly Ridiculous Biking Misadventure

I went out motorbikin' on my sweet hog tonight. It descended from shits and giggles into mild farce. Getting slightly lost on my home turf of the Isle of Man is usually reason enough for ridicule given it's only 33 miles long. However, I like to pass expectations because I'm swarthy and inept.
So there I am cruising around Snaefell mountain at a proud and erect 2036 feet (yes, I'm so masculine I didn't even pass out at this impressive altitude) when I read the casual road warning "PATCHES OF FOG" and faintly notice a nondescript 4x4 start tailing sexpestily close to my rear wheel.

Boom! Fog assails me like a toxic death gas. Moist! Condensation inside my helmet (teehee) and mist juice on the outside of it. Blush! My miniscule knowledge of this epic mountain road and my embarrassing Learner rider status equals a decidedly unsexy average speed of 30mph.
It's cold, dark, and misty as a '70's British horror movie. There's nowhere to pull over or turnaround. I want to stab the vehicle that's trying to bum me. I can barely see the L plate on my front mud gard. Even a bastard rabbit tries to kill itself under my tyres. Not even Jean-Claude Van Damme could handle this shit.

The mist finally lifts and my tailgater finally turns off, probably to shit on a baby. I reach a deadend town called Ramsey. I refuse to stop, turnaround or ask for help. I'd likely be raped in this place and I'm a gentleman, damnit. I power through. Another town, this one called Andreas. Another one, Bride, then back to Ramsey like a sick carousel filled with perverts and sex cake.

At last, I find the coast road and can make my return home. A double dose of the dreaded mountain run would drive a man mad enough to eat his knees. Familiar territory but it's blacker than hell, lights not yet in this undeveloped elbow of Earth. It's colder than fear and the dreaded mist of doom falls again once I hit Lonan. I become reckless. The mix of headlights from oncoming traffic, terminally ill cats eyes, and my fog lights being gobbled up by this barbaric weather mean I'm blind and fatigued but I won't give up. I man up. I ease through Laxey, the mist clears slightly, I gain confidence. Baldrine, I'm in familiar territory. Suffice to say, my balls are aching at this point. Onchan, home stretch, please don't be a mirage or a stress induced mental episode. Finally Douglas, civilisation. Hundreds (40ish) of miles of tortured introspection later, I'm a shell shocked, deranged skeleton.

I think I love you, really quite tame riding conditions.

Sexy and Fearsome

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to raunch!
Are they legend or are they fantasy?
Is that terror or desire you feel in your pants?
Ultra violent busty lust vixens hell bent on getting their kicks and filling their boots.
These diabolical sex sheiks will leave you feeling sexy and used and dead.
Their hearts are as cold as their genitals are hot... and that's smokin' hot!
Cunning and wicked in equal measure, these rampaging ex-strippers are on a wild deathwish - destination Lustydangerville!
Catfights and murders, beatings and 3 ways. Can you keep up with the awesome deuxsome?
Stacy Von Tittfield and Mandy Sexington are... Sexy and Fearsome!