Dear Exxon Persepctives,

In an effort to become a more rounded elite intellectual I have added the site feed from Exxon Mobil's blog called "Exxon Perspectives". You will find it to the left under the seldom-read Earth Policy Institute feed. I feel that going to the climate change site and reading the comments from all those hippies is futile. We should be meeting at the Exxon site and having the same conversation...on their turf. The climate change comments fall into one of a few categories,
"I told you so."
"We haven't seen anything yet."
"Thanks for this information."
"Have you read about..."

What is the point of this choir singing the same songs to themselves in the same church? Either you are an evangelical environmentalist or you are living in a fantasy like Stephen Hawking saying "Heaven is a fairy tale for people afraid of the dark."

If the environment matters to you then you have to preach to someone other than the choir. And if it matters to you then the enemy is surely Exxon Mobil so you should learn as much as you can about their position. So, I'll be making periodic comments on their site that should be amusing and fruitless like a clown making fart sounds for the benefit of a herd of elephants. Also, the level of commentary is so much more refined than on yourboobtube or fuckbook that I will have to step my game up. Everyone spell checks and fact checks their comments, refrains from using smiley face icons and swear words and sometimes even concedes an argument point or asks for clarification before calling someone a whore or cocksucker. That's hard to believe but it is true. Also, I feel sorry for the Exxon blog because almost no one comments on their articles. That seems sad. Everyone who cares is commenting on the climate change blog and poor Exxon is alone. I want them to feel someone is out here reading and thinking about oil exploration. And if I want to pick a fight then the biggest propaganda dog in town is Exxon Mobil Public Affairs Division. If I can get Exxon Public Affairs VP commentator Ken Cohen to say, "Oggy, you have a point. I think I'm going to contact our CEO and shut down oil exploration efforts in the Arctic." then I have done something. And if I can't get that done then a circle jerk with other hippies is pure self-pleasure nonsense.

It seems a Ken posts once a week and the articles definitely are pro oil but these are the facts that they choose to defend and it's better to meet them on the same battlefield rather than arguing with the wrong people.
And what would be funnier than The Man in The Van posting daily updates about his arctic wolf expedition on the Exxon Mobil blog?
"Hey, Ken, this is an Eskimo village that would be devastated by an oil spill. Meet Oomlat, the village shaman. He strongly opposes oil development here and he also speaks no English."

I guess I'm looking for a direct line of communication with people who lack the empathy gene but might be able to use my abundance of empathy as a surrogate.

It's a little intimidating as their blog page background includes many algorithms and equations like Psquared/2Icubed+mg=cos.squared. Really, they have to put that as the background?* And then try...wait...
that's going to be my first post. To introduce myself and my far reaching world-view.
It goes to the heart of the problem/disconnect and is as follows:

Dear Exxon, thank you for providing this forum to research and discuss current oil exploration trends and topics. My name is Oggy Bleacher and I'm a dirty hippie. I have a long long beard and long hair with knots in it. My bum stinks. I wear American made clothes which means they were manufactured in 1973. If I wash them they will disintegrate so I don't wash them.

I am also from the future and feel it is my duty to inform you that you'd be better off forgetting everything you know and starting from scratch. The current path of mankind leads directly to an inhospitable climate. Oil, far from being our salvation, proves to be a short lived energy fix that mankind is addicted to. The pursuit of energy to enable our less-than-important daily activities consumes the environment and ultimately anything that resembles earth. In short, you are totally misleading yourselves if you think it is smart to continue on this path of destruction.

Speaking of smart, the Exxon corporate home page promotes your perspectives blog with the words, "Less industry jargon, more insightful conversation." You sound like an ad for Ruffles potato chips. "Tastes Great! Less Filling!" Uh, did your content writer sit in the bleachers or the box seats at Yankees games in 1987?

But, the image you have, less than an inch from the words "Less industry jargon" is A FLOATING AND SPINNING 18 POINT MOLECULE MODEL. The background? A SNOWSTORM OF COMPLICATED CALCULUS EQUATIONS stolen from the effects department of A Beautiful Mind. What? I'd hate to see what you consider jargon. Are you trying to say you are smarter than me? I mean, if you are so smart then why don't you write an algorithm that compares the Climate Progress website and your website to figure out who is right? Huh, smarty pants? I dare you. Trying to push me around with your cosine ego inflated Ven diagrams? You think I don't know what those equations mean? Well, you are right. I'm totally baffled by them. Chemistry class was my one opportunity to look at Christy McFarlane's shaved legs and I wasn't going to waste a minute paying attention to the chalkboard. Who would? Apparently, you would. Congratulations. You don't know what you missed.

My point is that the very basis of your jargon-less forum is flawed. The actual gate to your open forum is designed to intimidate and confuse. "Uh oh. All these equations mean these people are smart and I'm just a knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing hippie wandering around where I don't belong. I bet these people are important!"

I will break it to you easily: YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT. Those equations and molecule models are MERELY YOUR VERSION OF THE MAYAN STAR CHARTS. The big difference is the star charts were biodegradable (and low fat) while your equations ARE DESTROYING THE ENTIRE PLANET!

So, I give you a grade of C, average, for your blog. It exists, which is good, but your self-important content writers and engineers could not contain their inflated egos, which is bad. Try to improve. The nature of your blog does not invite the public to learn. Most of us are not petroleum engineers, although I once went ice fishing with one in Alaska and he made fun of my mother. So, if you want to flaunt your PE degree then go to the geek gym. Furthermore, drilling for oil and refining it so it explodes under compression isn't exactly mystical black magic. Get over your empathy-deficient egos and invite people to converse. We all know the oil spill in the Gulf could've been from an Exxon rig. You all share the same contractors and materials. Don't pretend you are Mr. Clean. Your propaganda ads don't fool me. Alaska should be lit up like Las Vegas after all the oil you've sucked from the North Slope and spilled in Prince William Sound. Ooops. Remember that? The Marbled Murelette probably can't wait for you to start digging up oil somewhere else. Get the hell out of his territory. Who is taking advantage of whom? Stephen Hawking just proved there is no heaven so that means you have to be held accountable on earth. Sorry, that's the way it goes.

In the meantime, I will be watching you closely and bringing all my hippie friends over to get stoned and read your blog. You want to invite us in to take a shower and use your bathroom then that's what we'll do. Thanks, dude.

* The articles actually are free of jargon and are a high school reading level. Ken Cohen does a good job of arguing his case without too much rhetoric. If you can pick an honest fight in this forum then your brain is working good.

Here's an example of what I want to accomplish:

From their article:
"We know that certain types of algae produce bio-oils. The challenge is to find and develop the algae strains, and the production systems, that can produce bio-oils at scale with an attractive economic return. The ultimate goal is to have algae bio-oils processed in our refineries to supplement supplies of conventional gasoline, diesel, aviation fuels, and marine fuels."


My Response:

Oggy Bleacher wrote:

Thank you for submitting a comment to the ExxonMobil Perspectives blog. We are reviewing it based on our Rules of Engagement and it will be posted upon approval.

May 23, 2011 at 2:23 CT

"Lets keep in mind that when considering economic feasibility we shouldn’t compare cost of algae derived oil production to the $100/bbl or the $4 per gallon for petroleum products because all the evidence points to a $15/gallon “real cost” when also taking environmental impact into consideration. That’s more like a $400/bbl and at that price algae suddenly is more "attractive". I say take the corn out of our food and put it in our cars."

Who can I Blame?

I'm sort of pissed this evening because I've been reading about a theory developed by Judith Rich Harris which suggests peer groups and not parents are the primary developmental factor. This is the first I've heard of this. Of course who you hang out with has something to do with your personality, your lingo, preferred sports and music, but do we look to anyone as much as to our parents for bad advice and political dogma and emotional abuse when we are kids?

"The evidence I've put together in my book indicates that parents have little or no long-term effect on their children's personality, intelligence, or mental health."
-Judith Rich Harris

Well, that throws my whole "burn the parents" campaign into the trash. I'm starting to think that she started with a thesis that would guarantee controversy so she could get on the map. And then she proved it and even became a kind of cause celeb for a few years in the Nineties. I mean, really? Parents have nothing to do with my personality? What? So, when people called my house and I answered and they said,
"Bob?"
and I said, "No, this is his son."
"You sound just like your father."
"Haw haw haw."
"Even your laugh."
"A-Yah. Sho do eat them lobstah up. Har har, jus' us goofy Bleachah kids."

And it's true. If I played a recording of me and my father you wouldn't know who was talking. Recently, he heard me and my brother yelling about something and he remarked, "It's like listening to myself twenty years ago."
I chuckled ruefully and thought. "Yeah, it's almost like you were our father and we were paying attention to you."

It's weird because I don't see any trace of my father in my brother but there are three generation of facially furry Bleacher men who look like me, my father, my grandfather and a few uncles. The same chins and slim build and droopy, clueless eyes. But this theory by Harris kind of throws it all away. A Bleacher man born in 1890 was going to be shaped by his peer group and one born in 1971 was going to be shaped by his peer group. The family, if it can be called that, was pretty much there to throw us some table scraps and teach us how to start the lawnmower, which is about all that I remember. But that does not explain why I'm not a tap dancer or something completely different than a psychologist, which is what my father was.

Harris suggests it is the parents who are more influenced by their kids than the other way around. Really? So, my father got his sense of humor from me? Now the shoe is on the other foot. Every stock market blunder my father made (Go ahead and sell that Apple stock. They'll never survive the Eighties) is really my fault for being innately clumsy with investments.
I don't think I like being responsible for the career rut my father found himself in for 15 years. I much prefer blaming him for my inability to focus on tasks, take chances in love and my reluctance to start business enterprises. It's his fault! But no. Harris suggests that it was my peer group growing up in Boston and then Portsmouth.

Good lord. That never occurred to me because the group of cripple gang mutts and break-dancing, BMX riding, pot smoking, beer drinking, dip chewing, criminals and degenerates were never people I looked up to. I had no choice but find a few of them I could tolerate for a few years. I didn't want to take my headphones off and leave my room but at least once a day I was forced to go to school or take some pointless trip to toss a ball or break some bottles. I didn't think that meant I was being influenced. Because if that is true then I'm totally fucked. Not only did I not pay much attention but my memories of my peer group are something out of nightmares from a death camp...we were all trying to survive long enough to see the next Missing in Action sequel. Chuck Norris was my hero. Is that the problem? I identified with film heroes like Charles Bronson and literary cliches like Henry David Thoreau? I thought all my friends were props for my private theater from hell. But no, they were the very foundations of my personality and emotional health. That can't be true.

I picture a summer afternoon when me and Dan were waist deep in sea mud as we carried a steel canoe two miles on our shoulders across Little Harbor as the tide kept receding out of reach. That was formative? Or when Bobby and I came back from lunch at the printing warehouse and we punched back in. Then Bobby winked at me and we ran out the side door for two more hours drinking beer and eating pizza and watching Hardbodies and Hardbodies 2. "We'll just sneak back in and no one will notice," he laughed as he threw his chewed tobacco in my Coke Classic.
We snuck back in and both of our time cards had huge red words "SEE ME!" and our hours had been crossed out, effectively ending that career path

So, that was more important than my mother packing her bags and splitting for the Caribbean when I was 6 years old? Really? Watching my father deteriorate into a shiftless, jobless, long faced, weekend parent train wreck was simply casual window dressing? I should've laughed at him and said, "Judith Harris says that your misery and the dissolution of our family actually is meaningless, so you can hang yourself from the group home rafters for all I care. All that matters is the kids I play Whiffle ball with. C-yah, wouldn't wanna B-yah."

And all this time I just thought those stoned playmates were there to keep me entertained until I could get out of town.

And what does this theory say about athletic or musical prodigies? That trained abilities aren't related to personality, intelligence of emotional health. A well trained golfer like Tiger Woods would never exist without his father. But his father had nothing to do with his personality. Michael Jackson, in the hands of a gravedigger, would've been a laborer, a damn good laborer, but because his peer group included Motown giants he grew up a performer. But his parents didn't influence his goofy personality. Really? His private carnival, zoo and creepy sleepovers were unrelated to his parents?

I haven't read the whole book so I need help here. Any amateur therapists want to weigh in? There is no way you can convince me that Michael Jackson and Mozart or Alex Rodriguez were destined to be who they are because of their peer group. No way. How many Olympiads thank their parents? How many serial killers curse their parents? Isn't a good parent just a good coach, someone you sort of hate but who prepares you for the race? No, there must be an exception when it comes to athletics and music because parents have everything to do with physical abilities. Anyone can learn to play the piano provided they start when they are about 5 years old and practice for 8 hours a day for 10 years. If your parent wasn't there to remind you to practice almost no one would play piano voluntarily. Maybe that's a good thing since only Mozart talents would bother taking the time.

I want to give a conclusion for all of you parents with kids or kids who resent their parents. Does it matter what you do with your kids during your bi-monthly visitation? I mean, Harris sounds like a crackpot but many people in the psychology business take her seriously. I think that probably has something to do with it. Psychology. It's about as useful to survival as poetry. If you remove psychology (most of human history) then you still have people trying to find shelter and food. Add psychology and you get AN IMPORTANT ANIMAL WITH IMPORTANT MISSIONS WHO IS INFLUENCED BY IMPORTANT THINGS to find shelter and food. So, Freud and Jung and Harris all belong to the same group of self important philosophers who think everything we do HAS SOME ROOT CAUSE. Hell, if it wasn't for psychologists I probably wouldn't even think to blame someone for all my troubles. It's a vicious cycle: They tell me I've got a rebellion complex and I say, "Oh? It's your fault I've got a rebellion complex. By the way, what's a rebellion complex?"

So, they give me the ammunition to fight them and then tell me they have the cure. It's like a Trojan horse computer virus. Of course, I was surrounded by every psychology text in the world growing up. Stacks of books like, "Your Mother, Your Lover" or "Killing Dad and Other Fantasies" or "Freud Explains Your Troubles" or "How to Ponder Your Life Away"

It's like, these crackpot authors and psychologists were just good snake oil salesmen so their theories got bought and spread around. In First Century Africa a troubled teen would burn some leaves and chop the head off a lizard. PROBLEMS SOLVED! Today, we've got years of therapy...because...the therapist says it is what I need. Wait, the doctor is telling me I need his council? That sounds real fishy. That's like asking a dog if it's time for his dinner. Every psychologist wants to think he is useful. He's the new age shaman in the ugly tie and he's got bills to pay, but is any of this new age magic legitimate? I think it is too complicated for me. I'm a humor writer. I don't have all the answers. I don't even know who to blame for my hair loss anymore. Of course, I read about this theory in a book with essays about mk-ultra CIA mind control experiments so that should tell me something.

How about this: If you want to go to the ball park with your kid, then go to the ball park. If you don't want to go, then don't go, but you might want to point out the park to your kid and explain what baseball is. I don't know. That seems fair. If you are an exceptional athletic or musical coach then you have a good chance to train your kid to play sports or an instrument. If you fail to do this then he probably won't be as good as Tiger Woods or Mozart. He'll be in good company. But he could be a doctor or an engineer or a poet who constantly asks you for money. The choice is yours! And remember, if you are ever fired from a job or bomb at karaoke then you can blame your kid.

Chihuahua Grilled Queso Sammy

Bored with your standard American grilled cheese sandwich? This is a variation that might awaken your passion like a silk nightie and a bottle of gin. I saw it on a blog called grilled cheese social and will summarize:

Get some real bread.
Get a plantain with some black spots on the peel.
Get some Chihuahua style melting cheese. Monterrey Jack'll substitute as long as you call it "Queso"
Get some jalapeno slices.

Peel and Cut the plantains. Is there a cool French term for cutting the plantains diagonally so there is more surface area? There should be. That's how you cut the plantains. Then fry them in hot oil watching carefully for a few minutes.
Take the plantains out and mash them with a spatula like this (use your palm on the spatula and you'll burn it.)




and add some salt. Return the plantains to the oil for a few minutes. When they are browning put them on a plate. Or if you are like me then you will set the fire alarm off, the dog will start barking, you will let the dog out and then check on your Thoreau bean garden in the rain and weed a little and talk to the neighbor and wonder what all the smoke is coming from your....wha? When you get back to the plantains they will be black.

Then grate the cheese and grill it on the bread like normal. When it's done put the plantain chips on and the jalapeno slices. Add some pork if you need to eat meat with every meal.


This went down the gullet so easy I ended up eating half the paper plate by accident.

Dr. Zhivago

No, I don't sit around all day watching movies from my past. I weed the garden, play guitar, fix the Swedish engineered Saab routinely (The rotor was baked onto the distributor shaft and the pcv hose connector shattered when I tried to change the rubber tube), crawl around the attic and fix the attic fan belt, blah blah blah. And also read. I've read a library of books this past winter and other than Siddhartha, Bukowski, McCarthy, Conrad, Steinbeck and others I finally sat down with the Boris Pasternak book, Dr. Zhivago. The film, scripted by Robert Bolt, is what makes me resent movies like Hardbodies because they shouldn't even be in the same category of media. One celebrates human emotions and studies political change; the other shows tan lines on flabby asses. Roller skating girls lose their bikinis. Chase scenes happen on surfboards.

But then I read the book and realize Robert Bolt should get some kind of Nobel Peace Prize for adapting a complicated Russian novel with digressions so numerous I can't even go into them without a long essay. I've never met someone who actually read that book from cover to cover because that person would've remarked that the movie is a loose adaptation of the book. It's been around for 50 years and less than 100 people have reviewed it on Amazon. So, like, two people a year have read it? I believe it. The movie, in this case, is more accessible and so "better". The book made my eyes cross with detailed descriptions of peasant women's braided hair and the history behind certain hairdressers. Maybe I'm biased since I'm a fan of the movie. But the movie, without Julie Christie's revlon complexion might fall on its face. The sizzle is so loud you almost don't pay attention to the steak and are content to eat the fork.

I think the mystique of the novel and story propelled them both to fame rather than the writing. The book was originally written in Russian by the poet Pasternak who had been censored as a poet and basically translated other works for 25 years to avoid trouble. But that whole time he was secretly writing Dr. Zhivago knowing that he would be on a train to a Siberian gulag if it was made public. Finally he was old enough to slip it out of the country and not care about his fate. (He would die three years after it was published) Russian censors considered publishing it and then decided no. But it was published in Italy and then translated into English. And the Red Scare American media saw a perfect opportunity to slander Communist Russia by prancing around with the novel as evidence of a repressive government. I wonder if Ike or Nixon or anyone read the book from cover to cover. That cunt Nixon was not known for his integrity.

This is not to say the writing is bad. No, the writing is utilitarian, to use a USSR word. But when you write for 400 + pages then there comes a point where the project itself is not utilitarian. Pages of dialogue go on and on. I'm always amazed at the existence of 400+ page book that manage to be totally boring. A Million Little Pieces fits this category. The Road. Jitterbug Perfume*. Everything is Illuminated. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. All terribly boring and self absorbed. They say don't pay attention to your audience. Well, this is what you get when you follow that advice. Snore! *To be fair, I'm not part of Tom Robbins' audience. His books are too deliberately fancy and witty for my taste. If you know you're cool then you aren't cool, Tom.
I did not laugh or cry or frantically turn the page to find out what happens next. It's utilitarian and reading it was like homework. Everything happening in real time for 50 or 60 years. Zhivago carries water in wooden buckets, apologizes, struggles, his heart hurts, the host family snickers, he apologizes, his knees ache as he climbs the stairs. "One more." blah blah blah. There is much of this book that a censor would help with his red pen. But it bothers me that a reader is left to entertain himself. Was Pasternak totally without a sense of humor in his writer's colony? It seems yes. The USSR of the 40s and late 50s was a gray place and smiles were as rare as tropical Sundays in Moscow. Brutal. The movie isn't very funny either but it's passionate and well paced. Grand. Watching it, you feel a part of something important even if you don't know what. A critic called the movie a prop pony that looked real enough to ride. Well, wasn't that clever?

I don't recommend running out and buying this book unless you have some wish to fall asleep with it on your lap. Legend has it that Christopher McCandless read this book shortly before his death in Alaska, even concluding from it that happiness is only meaningful if shared. He might've been one of the few people in a position to expound on the greater impact of the story and language but it's also possible his situation greatly influenced his interpretation of the book. In my present situation it put me to sleep until I finally knocked it out at 5am and shrugged. Lara isn't much of a role model. She is moved upon but does not move much. Zhivago is even less of a hero and would have poetic thoughts about happiness but at the end of his life would not trouble himself to debate the meaning of happiness. "That's a young man's game, hand me the kindling," he would say and I admire and detest this kind of person who is above a frivolous debate. I feel that I was once an aspiring philosopher and I'm not ashamed of that period in my life. No, I have graduated and it seems my fresh faced comrades did not follow me as I now find myself alone at the podium. Either students wish to learn philosophy to satisfy some humanities requirement or hobos embody their philosophy of drinking to excess. Where are the philosophers who walk in the footsteps of Plato? Who seek to further thought for its own purposes and not for political or religious gain? I'm too impractical to think a debate over the meaning of life is not important. A hipster would have a debate while drinking at Starbucks and turn his nose up at my boycott. Coffee in New England? Are you fucking kidding? You know how far that coffee has to travel? You ever pick coffee? They're like caffine vampires sucking the blood of Nicaragua and Colombia.
But hipsters are practical. The world runs on dunkin? Sure it does you Cambridge assholes. Harvard must learn you real smart if you think coffee is grown in Massachusetts. I'd really like to hear what a Harvard hipster has to say in his Russian Lit class about Crime and Punishment and Dr. Zhivago. I picture him wiping mud from his Chuck Taylor shoes, "Pasternak's notion of romance is influenced by his translations of Goethe. It is unoriginal. Pompous."
"I disagree," says the girl wearing a set of back rims without lenses in them. "The "Doctor" is prescribing medicine in the form of romance. His prescription for Russia, for the ailing Moscow is loyalty to love. Zhivago represents Pasternak's lost childhood."
The bell rings and everyone grabs their slave made iPads and jugs of coffee from 4000 miles away. SO FUCKING IMPORTANT THEY GOTTA DRINK COFFEE TO STAY AWAKE! YES, TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT PASTERNAK.*

Just as a test I will write a short quiz for anyone to prove they read the book:

1) How many kids did Zhivago father?
2) What were the names of Zhivago's chief love interests?
3) Is Varykino a house or a town or a district?
4) Lara's husband goes by what names?
5) Lara's husband dies in what manner?
6) What is the name of the hydroelectric plant?
7) Shortly before Zhivago's death, who does he see outside the trolley car?
8) Who plays the balalaika?
9) What is Zhivago's occupation at the end of the book?
10) Does Zhivago kill anyone?

Bonus question:
Do you prefer a)


or b) "blah blah blah Zhivago blah blah blah."


I'll score your answers when you enter them in the comment section.

* Sorry, I stumbled on this site about hipsters and really feel the vortex of irony beginning to spin so fast we may travel back in time. The Honda ad made my brain melt. I didn't think I would ever miss the punk rock youth movement. My theory is that culture patterns have accelerated so fast that a 20 year old today is exposed to as much media as an 80 year old in 1970...so the 20 year old has the jaded outlook of a terminally ill senior citizen but the viagra libido of a bunny and the Red Bull metabolism of a sparrow and the technology of Dr. Spock. The hipster acts like he can predict the future because he can predict the future...at least how the media presents it (which is the same thing?). But I know that to abuse a hipster is to invite an auto tuned music video of your rant to end up as a facebook page/flash mob protest. You could literally bomb the south by southwest music convention and you would A) become the subject of a rap song. b) have your picture stenciled into urinals so S.F. hipsters could piss on your face. (only in microbreweries) c) the video footage of your attack would be edited into an abstract art film/ballet/opera with nude dancers and a crippled dog starring Emo midgets. I laughed until I cried and before I dried my tears there was a video on youtube of me crying and 50,000 haiku comments.

Pick me up!

I have an offer to anyone reading this and who might want to visit St. Louis. Drive my father's car (we won't tell him) from Portsmouth to St Louis. Either stay here or return with me to Portsmouth in the same car. The trip is 26 hours +-. I am trapped here and am looking for creative ways to get me to my van without resorting to the 4 day torture chamber of Greyhound bus. I still have nightmarish flashbacks to a brake failure that happened after uncountable days on the road from Chicago to San Francisco as we hurtled down the Sierra Nevada slide. Greyhound had us on a rock scree clinging for our lives as the bus smoked. "Fire! The bus is on Fire! Lawd Hep us!" the woman from Missouri had yelled as the smoke billowed into the cabin from the locked air brakes. I thought to myself, "If I get out of this alive I will not take Greyhound again."

So, get the keys to my car from my brother. Take the car through scenic Pennsylvania, etc. and Indy to the 70 and to St Louis. Give me the car. Then do what you want. We can see the arch, see a cardinals game. Then return the same way in the car and I drop you off wherever you want. Please!

I am looking at motorcycles that should not be ridden 1200 miles.
email, headinhands@gmail.com and lets get Oggy to Labrador before all the wolves are gone.