Things being what they are, it's late by a day but here's the latest from workin' slob Mike D.
Well, it’s been a little while since I’ve been lucky enough to share with you fine miscreants, but I’m back now so you can all relax and stop planning the mass suicide. I promise I’ll never leave you for such a long time again. Ok, now that we have gotten that out of the way. Let’s get onto the meat of this glorious meal for the mind.
How in the hell are all you minions of His Glorious Shining Appendage? Beautiful physically and full of Christ love I’m sure. Since you were wondering (but too shy to ask), I’m doing well also. I just picked up a pretty rad XS650 chop.
|Does this smell like love to you?|
for me. I’m pretty stoked.
Anyhow, throughout the year or so long journey that led me to this bike, I’ve owned and traded/sold a pile of scoots and parts. Yamahas, Hondas, Harleys… The list goes on. In all the “business” being handled, I was really lucky to get to spend some time with a few guys who really live and breathe this vintage motorbike “thing”. What a bunch of absolute weirdos. I mean complete loons, and I’m proud to count myself amongst their ranks.
In all honesty, there’s some of the best sumbitches ever in this odd little world we have all plunked down our flags upon. Through the web, and in particular the venerable
DOTHETON.com I have been lucky to meet some absolutely killer people. You all know who you are, so Ill leave the name dropping for self righteous dick bags who were
ignored by some TV tart at an overpriced nightclub, but who act as if they and Ms.Vacant stare fucked in public.
Which brings me to my next rambling “point”; Barber Vintage Motorcycle Fest is this upcoming October and hell or high water I WILL be there. That much is for sure. And when I get there, I will be surrounded by great people, great bikes, and hopefully some umbrella girls. And dammit, that’s wonderful. You see, like most of you, I live in the real world. The real fucking boring world. Its full of shitty jobs, horrid people, and empty checking accounts. There’s a healthy dose of shitty weather thrown in for us North
Easterners as well. So, when an event like Barber happens, we as humans (well, those of us who get sexually aroused at the sound of vintage race bikes throttling up after turn
three) owe it to ourselves to take time out to enjoy things like this. We need it. I need it. You need it.
You see, in this ass backwards world of metro-sexuals, where everyone gets a trophy, political correctness bullshit is everywhere, we’re bombarded with the notion that waking up one day and saying “fuck you, I’m getting on my bike, riding away from here and hanging out with a bunch of hoodlums because it makes me fucking happy. And, oh yeah, Ill be really drunk at one (or more than one) point too” is somehow a bad thing. We might offend someone, or god forbid, hurt somebody's feelings. Well ya know what? Good. That’s a great way to separate the people who actually give a shit about your mental health from the jackasses who would trade your happiness for six pack of Blatz.
Fuck those people man. Total wastes. And there’s a TON of them out there. Trying to bring you down to where they reside, fat, docile and useless. I think that’s somewhere behind your shitter by the way. You know the place. That spot you can never really get clean. It’s a sticky and piss soaked dump. Yeah, they live there. Don’t go there. Its gross, and there’s no beer or dirty magazines.
You should be hanging out with the motorcycle weirdos. Doing cool shit, feeling good, starting trouble, but not too much trouble, getting sun burnt in weird places, sleeping in a field, listening to music that your old lady/man hates, talking to people you’ll never see again about seriously heavy shit, and so on… Just fucking do it. You’re
going to be in a pine box before you know it so have a little fun. Fuck Tipper Gore and the rest of the PC crew. Live while you still can. And make sure you call me before hand. I'm always down for a hootenanny.
|At a dead run, purloined brew under one arm and someone's banner in the other hand Mike's always down for the hootenanny!|