I ride a motorcycle. It's a big, loud, fuel-injected, American-made cruiser. It's engine is 92 ci (cubic inches; that 1507 cc for you metric people) and I installed drag pipes on it. It kicks ass. My neighbor rides a big, loud springer. It kicks ass, too. A few of my other neighbors ride, too. Their bikes all kick ass.
Riding kicks so much ass that marketing has made the image of the "outlaw biker" desirable to pasty-skinned bankers, lawyers, and others with lots of disposable income. It was a mistake, but what could we do? They've discovered what we've always known.
So, now these posers ride up on their shiny new H-Ds in their shiny new leathers and their shiny new helmets. They act like they're "people of the road." They're outlaws! ARR!
No, they're not. They're a bunch of posers who have too much disposable income. Now, no matter where we ride, these dipshits are there. They try to drink with us, they try to keep up with us on the road, and they try to tell us about their wild days. Wild days? Oh, you mean those college frat parties where you wore underwear on your head. Yeah, you're an outlaw pal.
It's great that these people want to ride. It's fine that they bought badass cruisers instead of crotch rockets or the BMW they should have bought. But for them to cultivate this fake biker look is just an affront to nature. They're not dirty enough, they're not rough enough, and their teeth are too perfect. Well, except for this one guy. His teeth are no longer perfect because he tried to cultivate his image to the wrong outlaw. Maybe that should happen more often so these people will realize that it's not the bike that makes you an outlaw biker.
Riding kicks so much ass that marketing has made the image of the "outlaw biker" desirable to pasty-skinned bankers, lawyers, and others with lots of disposable income. It was a mistake, but what could we do? They've discovered what we've always known.
So, now these posers ride up on their shiny new H-Ds in their shiny new leathers and their shiny new helmets. They act like they're "people of the road." They're outlaws! ARR!
No, they're not. They're a bunch of posers who have too much disposable income. Now, no matter where we ride, these dipshits are there. They try to drink with us, they try to keep up with us on the road, and they try to tell us about their wild days. Wild days? Oh, you mean those college frat parties where you wore underwear on your head. Yeah, you're an outlaw pal.
It's great that these people want to ride. It's fine that they bought badass cruisers instead of crotch rockets or the BMW they should have bought. But for them to cultivate this fake biker look is just an affront to nature. They're not dirty enough, they're not rough enough, and their teeth are too perfect. Well, except for this one guy. His teeth are no longer perfect because he tried to cultivate his image to the wrong outlaw. Maybe that should happen more often so these people will realize that it's not the bike that makes you an outlaw biker.