My last post was about the Aryan Brotherhood. This one is about motorcycles. Can you tell I just finished watching Season 2 of Sons of Anarchy? I’m actually onto Season 4. That’s how long ago I wrote this. That’s today’s useless fact that nobody cares to know.
There’s something sexy about motorcycles–to women. I don’t find them sexy at all. They’re a lot nuisance. Also, much more difficult to run off the road than a motor less bike. Can you also tell that I don’t like any sort of bike?
I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle. I’m not into bad boys. Most people who ride motorcycles are Vietnam Veterans. That’s actually not a fact. It’s more of an assumption based on 1:1 people whom I know drive a motorcycle. That’s how the government gets numbers. They ask one person then assume it represents everyone. I should work for the government. Polling myself, 100% of the world agrees.
(“We love you Mooselicker!” – people of earth)
Motorcycles are entirely too loud. I can handle loud noises like anybody else. I like my soda to fizzle and my music cranked up to a medium decibel. My ears can take it. Coming from a cycle with a motor though is different. I don’t like loud machines. I don’t know why. I’m thinking one killed me in a previous life. The movie The Mangler based on a Stephan King book was probably based on that previous life. I think it’s about a sewing machine that eats people. I already own Thinner. Next on my DVD collection should be The Mangler.
Guys who ride are not nearly as badass as you would think. If my 2001 Subaru Forrester fought a new Harley Davidson, my car would win. There’s really no doubt about it either. Motorcycles are wimps. First off, they have half as many wheels. Half as many tires to not go flat. You get one flat tire on a motorcycle, you’re half way dead. I don’t have a second off. I thought I might, but I don’t. The point of this paragraph is that motorcycles are death traps. A Prius could slam into them and crush it. Safety first. That’s what I always say while in the car with a driver who goes more than 3 MPH over the speed limit. Those laws are there for a reason. And always remember to buckle up friend!
My least favorite type of motorcycle is the one where your hands have to be really high up. I think they might be called “Low-Riders.” I assume everything that Mexicans own is called a Low-Rider. Their homes aren’t small, they’re just Low-Riders. If you think I’m racist blame George Lopez for having “Low Rider” as his theme song to his television show that I would never watch. I don’t like holding my arms up high for too long. I think I have poor circulation to my hands. This could be a sign of diabetes. Or stroke. I should probably see a doctor. But what doesn’t kill me after 8 years probably won’t after 9.
I don’t begrudge anyone who drives one of these machines. Mostly because I wanted to see if begrudge had a hyphen in it or not and needed a reason to type it out. Finally, I have my closing words for my thank you card to my grandmother. I would never get a motorcycle though. You need to take care of it too much. And you need to own a tarp to put over top of it. I don’t like tarps. Their only good use is for covering the infield during a rain delay or dropping on top of a Scooby Doo villain. You’re better off using a net to catch the old man dressed as a Frankenstein. Sometimes nets aren’t around and that’s when you got with a tarp. Thought I’d let that out there for you. I used to work as a Private Dick capturing elderly hotel and amusement park tenants much like Scooby and the Gang. It’s not as glamorous as the cartoon makes it out to seem. For one they drug test a lot. Thanks Hannah Barbera. Again, your inaccuracies of real life have imprisoned my friends.
(Bears don’t wear ties. Hanna Barbera is a liar and a thief)
What’s something positive I can say about motorcycles before I can finish up here? I guess it’s that a motorcycle club can bond others. I know that they’re not like they are on Sons of Anarchy. Like I’m really supposed to believe that a bunch of thugs with chain wallets can kill people in the middle of town and not get arrested. I’ll admit, when I see others with the same car as me I look. Sometimes I smile. Motorcyclists get to do this too. They see others that “ride” and can give each other a friendly thumbs up. It’s nice. I like when people belong.