Friday, May 17, 2013
Thursday Afternoon Beer Run & the Price One Pays for Looking Sexy
It's finally warm here in the vast RedState Midwest with temperatures in the eighties. I've broken out my summer wardrobe, feeling good and looking sexy. I went for a late afternoon beer run on my trashed-out, wrecked, and recovered Superglide, like an innocent, free-spirited, fully-circumcised schoolboy, wearing hot pants, a skin-tight wife-beater, cheap sunglasses and Budweiser trucker hat. Picked up a six pack of imported Mexican beer at the local rural liquor outlet and loaded up the sissy-bar mounted backpack ready to blast home on fumes and sweat-dropped beer-bottle condensation. As I hit the solenoid starter switch, I burned my leg on the straight pipes, leaving a small hunk of burnt flesh on the blued chrome.
I've been burning my leg on the same spot for thirty f@#kin" years, and still haven't learned not to ride in shorts.
Took the whole six pack to recover from the pain, shame and anguish.