Space Jam

Something happens when life doth spring forth from the belly of the Mother; and to be honest it doesn’t happen overnight.

Nevertheless the creeper takes control.

Yes, garage space disappears at a rate so fast it makes blazing, sexy race motorcycles look like my old Voltron Big Wheels of years gone bye.

Now that the KTM project is done (fingers crossed and more of that write up to come) and my baby clucker chicken heads are out in their coop I need to get The Hotness back to parking inside the comfort of the garage. Sugar melts when it gets wet, y’all.

Long story short, life springs forth and there isn’t room for shit in the garage. Eight car garage, you say? Doesn’t matter. Offspring take up that space so quickly your head will spin. Every time I head out to make room and clean up it seems like more room just disappears into the ether. Ghosts of girlfriends past and whatnot.

Love the fruit of my loins and all but, shit, give ol’ Papa Bear some space for his tools and toys, yo.

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