Caveboy Monday: Bikers and Wanna be Bikers

2011 May 9
by mockers

I saw a commercial the other day for a three wheeled motorcycle.  The commercial extolled the virtues of the open road and how you can take your drivers test today and be on the road tomorrow living the life.  Yes you can be a regular Marlin fuckin Brando right out of The Wild Ones.  Somehow I think that if Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson had tooled around on a tricycle that Easy Rider would have lost some of its’ appeal.

Then to raise the dork level a couple of notches the puss cycle has two wheels in the front.  What models do the have?  The Vagina, it’s a great ride when you first buy it, then it only runs about once a month, and after a few more years it quits altogether and then you can’t give it away.  Then perhaps the Menstrual, it runs like hell for about a week out of each month, but then it refuses to start.

Then they are extremely safe, especially in a bar fight.  There’ll be no danger of getting kicked in the balls, because they’ll be in you wife’s purse.  So if you are ever riding one of these emasculated wimpcycles and somebody asks if you use tampons for an oil filter, don’t get mad you brought it on yourself.

When I was in college a friend and I were invited out for a night of partying.  This is a true story about real bikers.

We rolled into the parking lot of a little non-descript bar around 8:30.  From the outside it seemed like a quiet place and I thought “This place is kinda dead.”  As we entered the establishment it was in fact extremely dead.  There was a dude playing guitar at a table with what looked like his wife and kids.  An older couple sat swilling a few beers and eating a burger.  I approached a table and started to sit down when my friend said “No we’re going to the back.”

The U shaped bar divided the building approximately in half, but for all intents and purposes when we passed around the end of the bar we walked through a portal to a different dimension.

Nailed to the back wall was a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off.  The identifying patches indicated that we had entered into the official or unofficial headquarters of the local branch of a relatively well known biker club.

At one of the several pool tables was a rather large woman bent over the table shooting pool.  Directly behind her was a smallish gentleman groping this gal rather enthusiastically.  She was oblivious to his mauling and continued to shoot as if a mosquito was buzzing around.

We were introduced to the president of this civic organization, who we’ll call Jerry, and the first words out of his mouth were “How come you ain’t drinkin? Hey (insert the bartenders name) give these guys a beer!”  When I turned around there were three pitchers on the bar, no glasses just three pitchers.  Then I noticed everyone was drinking from pitchers.  “Oh shit!” I thought, “This could be bad.”  I noticed that the guy that had invited us had a somewhat knowing look on his face.  I and the other invitee knew we had been had.

When we had finished our first beer (pitcher) Jerry inquired if I liked titties.  I answered in the affirmative.  Next question was “Do you like to suck titties?”  Again I answered a resounding “Yes!”  Then quicker than you could say saggy boobs he had grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and said “Suck on these.”

The next thing I knew he had thrust my face onto the left boob of the big gal that had been shooting pool.  What was a guy to do?  I sucked her boob.  They were large boobs, very large.  And as I was mouthing the very large boob I looked up and saw that my friend was firmly attached to the other large mammary.

When the breast sucking had ended Jerry said “Now you owe her a pitcher for the titty shot.  My first inclination was “Why should I pay for something I didn’t ask for”.  Besides had they aforementioned boob been full, firm, perky with nipples that stuck straight out instead of pointing at the floor, there would be no question a payment was in order, but being surrounded by a half a dozen men, most with felony convictions tends to sway one in going with the flow, so I bought her a pitcher.

As was my practice I had bathed prior to setting out for the evening, something the rest of the crowd had given up for Lent, three years prior.  As I was recovering from my encounter with the suitcase sized knocker I felt a tree trunk go around my neck.  No that is not a tree trunk it was an arm.  Lo and behold I was in a headlock of an individual that would have dwarfed a walk in freezer.  I was suspended off the floor to where just the tips of my toes were just barely touching and we were headed to the back door.

This was getting just a bit out of hand and there was nothing I could do about.  I could see it coming, I was about to get the ever lovin shit beat out of me for no other reason than this guy was bored.  Thinking it couldn’t get any worse I tried to formulate a plan of escape.  Then it got worse.  About the time we reached the back door my new found friend uttered the words I will never forget, “You smell like a French whore, I think I’ll take you out back and fuck you!”

Think boy, think, I had seen “Deliverance”.  Desperate times call for desperate measures so I said the first thing that came to mind, “You won’t like it, I just lay there, I don’t moan or anything!”  Suddenly my feet were again on solid ground and my almost molester slapped me on the back (I was pretty sure that he collapsed a lung, but I was just glad my bung hole had retained its’ original size) and said “God damn boy I like you, let me buy you a beer!”

I guess we had passed the test, because for the remaining time we spent there, there was no more talk of sodomy or ass whipping.

A week or so later the guy that had taken me on the evening of a life time came into my dorm room and handed me something.  Upon further examination I discovered that it was the band from a Stetson hat.  There appeared to be a reddish substance dried on it and by appearance the method that had been used to remove it from the rest of the hat involved a bladed instrument of some sort.  My friend said “Jerry wanted you to have that, and to tell you if you ever need anything, take that hat band back to that bar and tell’em Jerry sent you and they will do anything you ask.”

Those are bikers not wanna be’s.


remember nuthins free so send money

caveboy out

8 Responses leave one →
  1. 2011 May 9

    I’ve seen a couple of these tools riding around my town. I’m gonna start carring a shotgun with me. If I see one of these tricycle fags, I’ll put a hole in their back.

  2. 2011 May 9
    squawvalleyskip permalink

    As someone who has owned and ridden harley davidson motorcycles for over 30 years I absolutely agree with the first half of this mock. I have also, on many occasions in my younger life found myself in the company of the same sort of crowd described in the real biker element part of this installment. I don’t frequent bars anymore, but given the choice I would much rather hang out with the bar crowd as related above than with any douchenozzle who would spend $27K on one of those three-wheeled roofless cars. But these days when any asshole with a credit card can put a down payment on a new harley (and learn to ride at 50+ years of age just to fool themselves into believing the image they bought is not just an image they bought) and shiny new black leather H-D licensed “riding apparel” and suddenly be a “biker” the crowd that leaves the harley dealership for the sponsored Sunday rides ain’t much better. Most of those dickwads never had a bike they had to work on, much less build themselves like we did back when motorcycles were still cheap transportation. And they never learned to really ride what they just bought, much less ride in a group of riders. There’s a reason most injury or fatal bike wrecks involving new H-Ds are the result of new, middle-aged rider error. The upside is the number of 5 year old bikes with a couple thousand miles on the odometer for sale by these “bikers” whose wives decide they want the monument to middle-aged adolescence sold out of the garage.

  3. 2011 May 9
    WV.Hillbilly permalink

    The West Virginia State Police has just bought 3 of these pussy cycles to use in the northern part of the state.
    No word yet on whether they have heated seats to keep the troopers’ vaginas warm.

  4. 2011 May 12

    Next time you see that commercial watch close when the voice-over says the line “Of all the things you’ve ever ridden.” Or something like that. Watch the close-up they show when that line is spoken. Subliminal much?

  5. 2011 May 17
    Kay Smithers permalink

    You pussies can’t handle something alittle different. So leave the 3 wheeled motorcycles alone. Man up and see the possibilities. You will get old one day and there will be no one to hold you up.
    Signed a woman who can see the possibilities.

  6. 2011 May 18
    Spyderman permalink

    Pretty obvious the writer has never ridden one of these. I had an HD guy make fun of mine once. I opened my wallet, pulled $300 out and put it on the table and told him to go fetch whatever oil-dripping POS HD he rode in on and let’s run em.

    He declined and bought me a beer instead. Later we did run them in the lot for fun — and he was glad not to lose $300.

    A buddy of mine is a vet that lost use of his legs fighting for YOUR freedoms – and the Spyder with SE5 paddle shift and add-on handbrake is the only way he can ride again– and his beats mine on the strip – the paddle shift is a performance shifter– letting you shift while hammering it.

    I’ve ridden the dragon on mine plenty of times and can keep up with just about anyone – totally dust ANY HD on the twisties.

    So eat that!

  7. 2014 October 22

    I was born on a harley, literally.. The only one calling owners of these fags are fake riders, prolly never take their bike’s our of the garage because they’ll get dusty… The owner of this article think’s he’s a ‘fucking’ journalist (pun INTENDED) and can’t even spell check the 2nd paragraph of his article, err i mean pathetic rant…

    What models do the have?

    Not sure what is worse, this article or the patheticness behind it..

    Rock on 3 wheelers, dude pulled up in one the other day and it was looking sweet… That’s why I’m here, looking to price one up.. come at me, and ill have the biggest gang of bikers in the world backing me up, you fucking wanna be pigs

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