Arthur went out and bought a crotch-rocket, apparently, at the tender and not-so-sane age of 55. My friend Cullin, the chimney sweep who makes more money then a lawyer, said he saw Arthur at a Starbucks a month ago and Arthur told him he was taking motorcycle driving lessons. I want to know where were the 200 friends (who were at his memorial last night) , when he told them of his brilliant idea of getting one of these high octane body bags. For the record, I had lost contact with Arthur for a few months or, trust me, if I knew what he was up to, would have stood outside his house chanting "No, No, No, No,..." until the neighbors called the cops. An ear splitting, hog of a Harley is a completley different animal but these little rolling cod-pieces are just plain idiocy. Charley, I applaude your brilliant navigation of the same mid-life impulse that killed Arthur, with your brilliant machine 'Twin Barrells' topping out at 7 knots and producing the whitest knuckle rush on the road.
Apparently, Arthur was waiting at a red light ( with some fantasy of a drag race ping-ponging around in his helmet and, when he successfully guessed the exact nano second the light was to turn green, roared (or whizzed) out into the intersection. Unfortunately, some guy in a mini van ( who obviously could feel his penis getting smaller every time he sat at a red light) was triumphantly cheating the the yellow light, which, to a man in a mini van, can only offer you the split second opportunity to decide whether or not you will risk the abyss or defer and endure yet another excruciating 60 second sensation of your life slipping away . Instead, both men rushed forward, with the Reaper whispering his song in their ears.
Yes, this is a brutal start to our blog, my friend, and you didn't even know Arthur.
ps I got the 'Twin Barrels' t-shirt yesterday. The faux thermal underwear sleeves are REALLY soft!
Love it.
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