DAMN THE GATORS, FULL SPEED AHEAD BY: Poppa John

I think it was 1985, or ’86. I had just finished building a chopper with a 96-inch shovel. The last coat of paint was drying and I was sitting on my dock across from my small beach house on Pine Island with a cooler full of cold beer watching the sunset over the Gulf.

 I was thinking about my daughter in Miami, whom I hadn’t seen in a few months. she was there with her mother,

I decided the right thing to do would be to ride over and visit with her over the weekend. This being summer in southern Florida, I figured the paint would be dry enough by the next morning, so why the hell not? The bike needed breaking in, and it was only a couple hours ride across Alligator Ally from Naples to Miami.

Friday dawned bright and sunny. The paint was dry, so I rolled Black Magic out, eased the choke out ¼ of the way, thumbed the starter and she fired right up. For a minute she and I just sat there staring down the road. She rumbled as I cranked the throttle, it was as if she was saying, "let’s go old man, I’m ready to run." I let her warm up as I rolled a clean change of clothes into my vest, tied it to my seat, then climbed on and headed out. I remember thinking my daughter would be pleasantly surprised to see her old man.

I headed east across Alligator Ally. Eighty miles of highway, straight as an arrow across the Florida everglades from Naples to Ft. Lauderdale and not a damn thing on it but bugs. Black Magic was running sweet and true. I was just out of Naples clipping along at 85 mph when one of those freak Florida thunderstorms came up and I was boxed in with no way to go but straight ahead.

The sky went black, and I it started raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock. I ran into what seemed like a wall of water and couldn't see 2 ft in front of my handlebars.. I eased off the throttle just as a bolt of lightning struck a tree about 100 yards off to my left. I went blind as a bat and deaf as a rock for an instant and that’s all it took.

The lightning and ground pounding thunder crack must have scared him too, because all of a sudden, a 10 foot gator jumped out of the canal next to the road and slithered right in front of me.

Before I had time to say, "oh shit," the front tire of Black Magic struck ole Wally the gator right behind his front leg. Instantly I was airborne heading for the canal next to the highway at 70 mph, the chopper and me. I didn’t know where the chopper went but I skipped across the water like a flat stone. Every time I hit the water the friction tore something off me.

When I stopped skipping I was in about three feet of water. Up to my ass in slime and mud with nothing left on but my boots, T-shirt and one leg of my jeans. I was dazed as hell but nothing seemed broken. It took me a few minutes to gather my wits and remember where I was. When I did, I crawled out of the canal fast, thinking the gator I hit might have been attending a party with more gators and that’s when I realized that Black Magic was no where in sight.

So there I was. In the middle of one helluva thunderstorm, dazed, standing by the road wearing only a t-shirt, boots and my jeans hanging on by one leg, wondering what the hell I was going to do now. Not a living thing within 20 miles, except Wally the Gator and I figured he was rightly pissed, so I didn’t want to run into him again. All my money, my ID, everything I owned, including my chopper was in the canal somewhere, when along comes an old couple and for some reason only God knows, stopped to help me out.

They ask me what the devil I was doing there, and once I explained they insisted on taking me to Ft. Lauderdale to see a doctor. I took the one leg of my jeans I had left and tied it to a nearby tree so I could find the place again when I came back and went with them to the emergency room in Ft. Lauderdale. When I got there I felt like a fool going in with a T-shirt, under shorts and boots and it wasn’t long before the cops showed up because somebody had reported me as being in an accident.

I had one hell of a time since I had no ID or money and they put a hold on me until they could get to the bottom of who I was and where the accident happened. When I was released from the Hospital I was taken to the "Cop Shop" since in the early 80’s a biker with an outlandish story was always suspected of doing something. So, they gave me overnight accommodations. The next morning, my daughter was contacted and drove up from Miami to collect her poor old pop.

It took the whole ride to her house to explain the entire story. Listening to myself tell it, I almost couldn’t believe it myself. But I got a few brothers from the area and went back to look for the bike. When we got to where I had tied my pants in the tree, we searched for 2 solid hours to find Black Magic buried in the slime and mud at the bottom of the canal. My wallet, money and ID were gator food so we quit looking for that. It took another hour to get her out and loaded on the pick up. She was a sad sight as we drove to the clubhouse. These brothers and I worked like hell for 3 days to tear her down and rebuild her so I could limp home.

It was Tuesday before we got her going. I never did get to visit with my daughter like I planned because we worked day and night to get the chopper up and going. Tuesday about noon I headed back to Pine Island. Going through Naples I got stopped for speeding. Once again I was on my way to the cop shop. I had no ID, no tag and only 8 bucks left from the $10.00 I borrowed from my daughter.

The Naples fuzz wasn’t buying my story. I’ll admit it looked like I had been in a hell of a fight. I had no tag or registration on the bike. No money and no ID. I spent another night at the taxpayers’ expense, and the next morning some brothers from Ft. Myers came and paid my fine and help me prove who I was. But, the bike had to stay behind until I could return and bring proof of ownership.

When I arrived back on Pine Island The first thing I did was go out on the dock with my cooler of Bud and a couple of joints, just watch the sun set.

 It was ironic but I was thinking. "Man I was here a week ago planning a 3 day trip to see my daughter, now here I am, a week later, sore as hell, my bike impounded, out a ton of money for the parts I still owed for, and still didn’t get to visit as I planned." Hell, I thought, I’ll just sit here and get stoned. So I rolled a couple, watched the sun go down, drank my beer and forgot my troubles.

It was Monday of the next week before I was able to go reclaim Black Magic. It was the following Friday before I got it all tore down again and put back the way it was before I started this adventure. I was still sore as a boil on yer balls.

Most would’ve have said "the hell with it." Not me. Come Friday I headed out again to finish what I started. In the end, I had a good visit with my daughter and the brothers that helped me in Miami.

A while later I was back home. Sitting on my dock, watching the sun set again, with a beer and a doobie. Thinking about riding the road. Good memories of good people. Just another day in the life of a real "Old Biker".

A lesson well learned By PoppaJohn

Setting with some old school brothers in a biker bar, a squabble was going on between my lady and I, she was a knock out and 20 years younger than me, blond, 120 lbs, 5' 2' and build like Venus.

She and her man (Steve) came riding into my shop one Saturday just as I was closing and heading for the watering hole, I knew Steve, he was a brother from Texas that had stopped in a week before bike week to spend some time with me. I had rode out and visited him a few months earlier. 

Anyway, he and his lady Susan were raising hell at each other and he threw her shit off the bike, he called me over and said, "I have had it with this bitch" handed me a hundred dollar bill and "here take this and help the bitch get where ever she wants to wind up.",  took off on his bike.

It wound up Sue didn't have anywhere to go and stayed at my house,  finally wound up working in the shop running the front sales, mixing with customers etc. Everything was great in the beginning, I had a good looking young sales person, a fine house mouse 20 years younger, she was expressive but worth it except for the blood thirsty way she went after getting her way.

I got wise after a few good beatings, broken nose, fingers and stitches. It turned out every time she didn't get her way and we were out at a red-neck or biker bar she would come on to the biggest, meanest SOB in the house and when he made a move on her she would come running to me. "That SOB wont leave me alone and he grabbed my tit".

Me with a snoot full of beer Murphy's Law took over and I usually got my ass kicked, this shit happened a few times before my stupid ass woke up.

There she was raising hell with me in Atlanta about some stupid shit around my old brothers because I wasn't going to Myrtle Beach Bike Week, and I thought, now is time for a good lesson bitch.

One of the old school brother I was with was "Sticky Jack" an old time 1% retired, 6' 6" , 325 lb. with super long hair and beard, never bathed, wore clothes until they fell off of him, lived in a camper trailer and total FTW person, had a set of handcuffs hanging from his belt.

I asked him for the cuff's and keys, called Sue over, cuffed her to him and told Sticky, "Watch her for me Bro. I have some business to take care of, I will pick her up when it's done", got on my bike and went home, 225 miles away.

The week end I returned (Sticky already knowing when and where) dropped in for a beer and who should I see, Sue looking like the riders from hell just trained her, still hand-cuffed to Sticky. She had to live with Sticky, sleep next to him, go with him when he had to piss or dump, go and put up with his drinking etc. and hadn't had a shower in a week. Needless to say she was glad to see me, this time I got my way. We loaded up on my cruising ride and headed out, stopping two hours later for a room where she could clean up and get a good nights sleep. Next morning we head out never telling her where we were going except just for a "get back to basics ride".

A couple days later and one hellofa  ride we wound up in Killeen Texas right at my friends (Steve) club house, who had given me the hundred some time back in Georgia and told me to "get the bitch anywhere she wants to go",  well I tossed her shit off the bike, gave Steve a hundred dollar bill and told him "what goes around comes around, handle it and thanks Bro., she's a good piece of ass but one hellofa bitch" Fired up my ride and went on out to Colorado to visit some other biker brothers.

Next time I saw Steve a year later he was on his way to bike week and stopped in like he always did, I ask about Sue. Laughing he said, "After you left I traded her for a bag of weed to one of the brothers an as far as I know she is still with him, he moved to Dallas and took her with him."

Biker in Nam, by PoppaJohn

In 1969 my second tour in country and I was stuck, (on loan) with doing recon for the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in Vietnam. The top dog in this group was Col. Randel, a mean as hell, short, bald pit-bull type of guy and was pissed off because we, Don, Travis and I had been assigned on loan to his command for recon. He was one of those stiff necked 100% Army that didn't like Navy at all, and the three of us (NAVY) were on his shit list from the word go.

One night around 8 pm, I heard this moaning and wailing sound, it wound up it was Tiny, a tank commander setting beside his tank trying to sing country western with a piece of shit banjo, drunk on his ass from rice wine and smoking Tia Stick. He was pissed because his gunner had gotten robbed and beaten at this whore house which was off-limits because of that shit.

Well didn't take long for Don & Travis to show up and we continued talking about this situation, drinking rice wine and smoking tia-stick and before you knew it we were 10 feet tall and bullet proof. Tiny fired up the tank and said crawl in, we headed out for the whore house not far down the road, it was a two story place with the upswept roof, with a lot of red and yellow paint, there was a pond with big goldfish in front of it with a bridge going over it to the porch of the house.

Well Tiny pulled the tank right in the middle of the pond, Don raked the roof with the twin 50 Cal., tiles flying, people were bailing out of the windows half dressed, while Don held everyone off with the 50 Cal. Travis and I went inside with rice baskets from the porch. If it was shiny and worth money we took it, had a couple of these baskets with watches, rings, gold chains, gold teeth, just a bunch of stuff they had stolen from the service men over time, money, script, were in couple empty ammo cases, loaded it back in the tank,

Well on leaving Tiny decided to go forward thru the front of the building, stopped in the center of it and rotated the cannon turret collapsing the whole damn thing, backed out of it, gave it a squirt of the flame thrower and burned the place to a cinder.

On returning to base we spread the loot out on the mess hall tables so all could choose their own stuff divided the money and hit the sack. Well about 4 am we were invaded by the MP's, dragged out of the sack and hauled off to Col. Randel's office tent. Seems the whores or whoever had called and made a complaint about a tank shelling their house.

He was yelling like hell and Tiny was there "Do you crazy SOB's know what you have done?" his head glowing like a red light, "You have committed armed robbery in a foreign friendly country and used one of my tanks, U S Government property to do it." *&%##^**@#* lot of vile language, "You will go to Leavenworth for the rest of your lives and bust rocks", walking over and ripping everything we had on our uniforms off and throwing it on the floor, demoted to lower than a grunt at that point, "this shit will go on my record as commander here and I don't need the problem, you crazy SOB's will ruin my career." After a lot of yelling stomping he sat down and just stared at us for a long time until his color came back normal, and the vines from his collar up receded.

He sat us at ease and took a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, poured up four cups for us, took a swig and toasted us for closing that "Damned whore house that the government had been trying to close for a year" seems it had been a thorn in his side being so close to the base of operations and he was going to over look this but if we got out of line one more time under his command he would press it all. "just who the hell do think you are,  HELLS ANGELS----- you are US Military," all I did was come to attention grin real big, salute him and say "YES SIR". {to the US Military bit} "Now pick up your shit get the hell out of here and sew it back on and report for duty, your dismissed." The money?, it was never found, it burnt with the building as far as any was concerned. In time we were returned to our unit and Tiny was transferred to Ft. Gordon until his discharge.

THE OTHER SIDE

In 1985 I met him (the Col.) again in Daytona, I was there for bike week and stopped in to fill up and there he was filling his Mercedes right next to me, he had come to Daytona for the races. It wound up I was invited to his home on an Island on the Fla. west coast. When bike week was over I decided to take him up on his invite and headed his way.

To make a long story short, we reminisced over killer scotch on ice about Nam and the problems my group had caused him, his words were, "I have laid awake many a night wondering what happened to you bastards, where you wound up, dead in jail or just lost in the system, how and where are the rest of your crazy group"?

I explained that I was "IT", the others didn't make it. It was 1985 and the last time I saw him was in 1969, 15/16 years, I had served another tour and retired in 1973 and since then had just been into motorcycles off shore charter fishing and being myself. It turns out he and his wife owned a ranch on an Island and a small Island just off shore with a house on it and he offered to let me stay there for a while if I wanted to so we could talk over old times. He and his wife lived there alone and we got to know each other very well over the two weeks I stayed.

It wound up them giving me the keys to the house on a small Island just off shore he owned to use anytime I wanted to and invited me to move down and help out around the ranch and I accepted. They had the house on the Island completely remolded while I was gone.  It took me a couple months to get my ducks ina row but I got it done, loaded the saddle bags & trailer, headed back to Pine Island Fla. to start a new chapter in my life.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the place, these people had spent a fortune on the place, it was paneled with cedar and cypress, a new dock and furnished with all new furniture and appliances, a turn key job.

And I ride up on a Harley with a trailer behind it with everything I could bring in it. It turns out the Col. was heavy into stocks and was a millionaire and then some, owned the ranch and  half the Island and the little one of shore, the golf coarse, a yacht, a plane and a brokerage firm in Philly, "BIG BUCKS" so I guess this was all a tax right off for them.

You would never think a biker could just fall into something like this, a house on a private island, a job as the Col.s assistant at $300.00 a week, full medical, a house all utilities paid and the use of a new GMC SUV when I needed it, the use of an 18ft. power boat for use to an from the little Island as there was no bridge to it. My job was to help him TCB anywhere I was needed. I already had a Captains license as that is what I did before, run fishing charters in the Bahamas for boat owners when I wasn't busy building motorcycles. I then went for my pilots license, got it and over a period of time was licensed to fly his plane, an Aero Commander 680 based at 5-Oclock flights, a charter servace.

You might say I was his right arm in everything he did, flying him where ever, Capt. on his boat, watching over the ranch. I asked him one time, "WHY ME" since I was sure he had contacts in the business world that could have found him what he needed. His son had been killed in an accident and I think he just wanted me around to take his place in his mind.

 His answer was, "because they would not have had the balls or the drive to do things my way, I always respected what you did with the whore house in Nam, it's something I would have done myself if I had not been the commanding officer at the time, you did good and I have never forgotten it, now you are part of our family, and don't forget it". The thing about that adventure wasn't my Idea, I just went along, was Tiny's  ball game, I was just a player.

During my time with him I started my own company with his help and his resources. I invented a portable hand control for handicapped drivers, the Automaster that could be connected to any vehicle with auto transmission in minutes. Started Team Mfg., manufactured and supplied them to every car rental there was as the Government had made it law to make rentals available to handicapped, I did well on that venture. So I decided to go another and opened a dealership, TEAM CYCLE USA as a division of Team Mfg. Sold  the manufacturing rights to the hand control and retained the company. Not manufacturing anything now, sold the dealership and started building my own bikes in 1995 and stopped that in 2010 just got to old for it, let my boys, Chris & Lil John do it now, I taught them well as they both worked with me in the custom business.

Over the years I created six of them with two different ladies one passed on the other divorced but still a friend, three boys and three girls, they all carry my name. In time they all came home to me. One daughter, (49) the oldest girl, married with six children 12 miles away, the other five single. Chris my oldest (52) and Little John  (32). Brandy (28) is here most of the time when she isn't with Kathy (KAT 26) the youngest girl stays on the island now as I have added a small bar there off shore and she runs it. My other son Randy the youngest son (24) making the Navy his career.

The Col. went where all old solders go in 1994, his family gave 50 acres to The Randell Research Center (RRC) is a program of the Florida Museum of Natural History, sold the ranch but retained the property (Island) where the house I lived in was, offered it to me for a ridiculous low price and I grabbed it up. Moved to Georgia in 1990 and retained a dealership for TEAM CYCLE USA and go to Florida in the winter. Now the house in Florida is occupied by Kat, and Brandy most of the time. Mr. Ambler bought the ranch out lock stock and barrel. 

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Kicked Back & Thinking

Sitting here thinking about the old days and the new breed of biker makes me wonder what the REAL BIKER WORLD is coming to, or maybe it's just me, old, out of touch, kicked back with an FTW attitude.

I remember back when I could take off from Florida and ride out West stopping all the way along at different club houses in different states, taking me a month to make the trip and having one relaxing hell of a time getting there. All the way out and back which usually wound up a two month trip from the Island to Ca. and back. Everywhere I stopped off I was treated like family, no questions asked, If I needed I had. I usually made this trip for around $500.00 and partied every placed I stopped, slept in a bunk behind or in the club house or in a brothers house and ate three squares a day.

I All I had to do was pull into a town, find the local biker watering hole or tit bar, order me a beer and tell the bar tender I was here from out of town and wanted to see the Sgt. @ arms of the local club. Well about the start of the third beer I had company + and the showing of a card and mentioning a couple names is all it took. This usually took place in Ga.,  AL., MS., LA., TX., AZ., and then CA. 26 days later parting all the way. Now mind you, this wasn't on the old flat-head, the last time was on a 96" Shovel and a Pan before that.

Back when a Harley was a Harley, and you all know what I mean, if I had to explain, you wouldn't understand. Back when you were known for who you were, not what you were, "It's not who you know, it's who knows you." This is the old way I know and live by, now days it's the other way around and that bothers me. "Where the hell has BROTHERHOOD gone"?

Well at 68 years old I will fire up the old  85 FL which has a 100" Merch in it and head out again along the same old route when it warms up comes spring time.

 Stopping all the way in the same old places and asking the same old questions, waiting for the same old reactions, to see if I get the same old hospitality. All my old friends either dead or in jail and the new breed running the show, will they remember?

Yea I know it looks like a "PREPPY PUTT" but at my age I want comfort and this old dog has a lot of go in it putting 100+ HP to ground. It will still smoke a new one in a heartbeat but does get a little squirrelly at 120 mph + with the shield so a good cruise is around 85 and I can sit on it all day at that speed, and it's no slouch out of the hole but it's rough on the rear stock tire.

Last trip I took to Myrtle Beach before I revamped the old beast all the big Gold Wings gave me a fit keeping up so out came the old Harley engine and in went the Merch, now they grunt to cruise with it. 

Since I am not a Patch I will not name clubs as so far are my friends and I never speak of any club to another, I guess I'm in the "glorified hang around" category. Come spring the first stop (1) will be in Augusta Ga. Augusta is a weird biker place but a lot of good old timers are there and I have no Idea who is the power there, they change too often and the new breed cant make up their mind who to be but the old timers are still who they always were and don't advertise it.

The #2 stop will be WV. then to #3 in KY and then on to #4 AL, #5 MS, #6 LA., # 7 TX, # 8 NM, #9 AZ then on to CA. this will take me a month then I will come home the same way so I plan this zigzag trip to last from May to July and it will be my last cross country retirement biker trip as after that I'm just going to sit around, get old and watch the newcomers learn what they wont listen to.

I will be seeing some that read this so have the beer cold, the C-House open for a guest, chain ya dog, warn all the loose hard bellies and show me that brotherhood is still alive from coast to coast.

 

PJ

HARD-HEADED PREPPY

Another lesson well learned.

It was a Saturday and I had put a big rump roast over the coals and got a couple of small kegs for a cook out for some customers. This one dude that had been harassing me for a few weeks to build him a bike was there and cornered me. From the way he described what he wanted I had tried to talk him out of building the thing and wanted to put him on a good bike for a lot less money. This is what I tried to talk him in to>>

And something like this is what he wanted.

With 300 wide tire and a 113 engine in it, hell no problem I will build one upside down if the money is right but I did try to explain where this design was eye candy and wasn't practical at all. It would take a football field to turn it around in, his back and kidneys would pay the price like mine has, the 300 tire wasn't a good idea, it will get out from under you on a hard curve if its wet at all, the belt you couldn't give me, you cant see shit in front of you up close unless you leaned over and looked around the tank and bars.

Oh, I had one in my younger days (old BLACK MAGIC) and that experience was talking to him, been there & done that. He kept it up until I took his deposit and told him.

 "OK Dude, you got more money than since, I will build the damn thing and I don't want to hear one word about it down the road. I will even let you choose and pick what and how you want it as it comes along during the build."

Well he was around daily picking shit and telling me how to do it, the shown rolling chassis is not the one, his had more rake, 45 degrees, and a 10" stretch in the down tubes, after he found a frame like he wanted. I had one hell of a time getting the right length front end.

Well one month and 18 grand later he had his bike and was as happy as a pig in shit with it. He could have had the first bike I showed at the start of this for 15K with a 110 hp. 113 incher in it. He fired up his new toy and tried it out up and down the road and headed out to the local biker bar to show all the guys his toy, in his shorts and tennis shoes. He had ordered a full leather outfit with tassels etc. and boots before he left.

Well about six months later I got a call from him in the hospital, he told me he had had a wreck on the bike and wanted me to fix it up, what the hell it's more money so I told him I would fix it and where could I have it picked up at. (Wish I never had asked.)

Every fucking thing I had warned him about had happened and I couldn't resist going by the hospital to ask questions. There he lay in traction and wrapped up like a mummy, "What the hell happened Bro. did you tail end some body?"

"Hell no, it fell apart" well I jumped his shit as I had put it together and know damn well it just didn't fall apart, it turns out the real story was he was on his way back from Florida with some other riders, and I will have to admit the belt was a bad idea as he jerked it around burning rubber with the 113 showing his ass all the time, it gave up on him and snapped. It was about 9PM on a Sunday night on Highway 121 just North of the Fla. line in the middle of nowhere, closest bike shop about 75 miles away and it was closed. He had his cell phone 911ed that got him and the bike rescued, towing company to pick him and the bike up, drop him at a motel and and take his ride to the shop.

The shop got him for another $260.00 for labor and the new belt, the motel got him for $45.00 he got back on the road and on the way back bringing the busted belt to get a replacement refund from me. Well he didn't make it, seems about 35 miles from home he said his back was hurting so he was squirming around on the thing he called a seat to get comfortable and hit a RR crossing doing about 80, went airborne and nosed in, the fork neck snapped and you see the results. Close your eyes and imagine a bike coming apart under you at 80 mph, he was lucky and went into a ditch with mud and water in it, but it still broke him up a bit.

Well he wanted it fixed but wanted me to fix it my way this time so he wouldn't have more problems and I told him I would rebuild it just like it was, "Hell no, fix it', it's insured, I don't need the rough ride anymore." So I rebuilt it, new frame, forks, front fender, tank, lights and accessories and he is happy now but I rebuilt it my way not his. It looks like this now with his 113 and in a soft-tail frame, chain drive. and he is happy as a pig in shit.

A simple chain link may have eliminated all this grief if he had a chain drive and a link in his tool pouch could have eliminated this expense and grief, as is his bike wound up costing him and his insurance company another $6.5K,

I will tell anybody wanting a custom build to ride with the rest better build it for the road not the show, and fuck a belt drive when a $2 master link will get you home. But that is the preppy way, have something like nobody else has, spend needless money out the ass on it, stile & profile their asses off, and when it is all said and done a few will wake up and make it to the real biker world as I see it.

Don't get me wrong now, the Preppie's and Rub's are my bread and butter and I love them for their ways but I always try to save them some grief from the git go when they WANNABE in the biker world. What the hell, we all started somewhere, some made it some didn't.

 Fuck a hard tail, fuck a belt drive, fuck a 300 rear tire, fuck a chopper with long down tubes and a front end sticking out like a collapsed wrecker boom. They look different, look good, but take a long trip on one and tell me it didn't beat you to death 10 ten times worse than a stock soft-tail and I will believe you if you have a gold halo over your head.

 Give me a soft-tail with 34/38 degree rake 250 rear, 4 up 2 back with a good gel seat setting over a 96 inch engine and I will ride all day but wont even try it on a hard tail, hell I'm damn near 70, there may be snow on the roof but there's plenty of fire in the old house yet. Back 40 years ago I had a custom hard-tail, been there & done that and wouldn't advise a hard-tail to any until I told them why, but we all have to learn when we are full of piss & vinegar, I didn't listen then either. Some like the hard tail and wouldn't have it any other way, but not for me.

PJ

I Am Your Worst Nightmare. I am a BAD American.

I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family, not some mid level governmental functionary be it Democratic or Republican!

I'm in touch with my feelings and I like it that way, damn it!

I think owning a gun doesn't make you a killer, it makes you a smart American.

I believe that if you are selling me a Big Mac, try to do it in English.

I think fireworks should be legal on the 4th of July.

I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.

My heroes are John Wayne, Babe Ruth, Roy Rogers, and whoever canceled Jerry Springer.

I don't hate the rich. I don't pity the poor.

I know wrestling is fake and I don't waste my time arguing about it.

I think global warming is a big lie. Where are all those experts now, when I'm freezing my butt off during these long winters and paying, paying, paying?

I've never owned a slave, or was a slave, I didn't wander forty years In the desert after getting chased out of Egypt. I haven't burned any witches or been persecuted by the Turks and neither have you! So, shut-up already.

I want to know which church is it exactly where the Reverend Jesse Jackson practices, where he gets his money, and why he is always part of the problem and not the solution. Can I get an AMEN on that one?

I think the cops have every right to shoot your sorry butt if you're running from them.

I also think they have the right to pull your butt over if you're breaking the law, regardless of what color you are.

I think if you are too stupid to know how a ballot works, I don't want you deciding who should be running the most powerful nation in the world for the next four years.

I dislike those people standing in the intersections trying to sell me crap or trying to guilt me into making "donations" to their cause. These people should be targets.

I believe that it doesn't take a village to raise a child, it takes two parents.

I believe if she has her lips on your Willie, it's sex, and this applies even if you are President of the United States.

And what the hell is going on with gas prices... again?

If this makes me a BAD American, then yes, I'm a BAD American.

Have another cold one and think about it

And if you don't know what your real rights are click HERE and find out the real deal.

Politics

WHERE THE HELL DID IT GO

A couple of brothers and myself were on the way back from Daytona and was about 100 miles from home. We had been riding all afternoon and part of the night and was tired as hell, we stopped took a piss and decided to find a room and crash for the night and go on home in the morning. After checking we found that we only had $10 left apiece and decided to pool it and crash for a few hours.

We finally saw a sign, "2 doubles phone & cable $30.00" so we pull in and take the room which was the last one left. The manager was an old biker and we chatted for a few and went to the room to crash in front of TV for a while.

Well the manager being a good dude decided to give us a break and gave the bellhop five $1 bills and told him to give it back to us as a discount. Well that was all good but none of us had any money or change left and couldn't figure out how to split five $1 bills evenly so we decided to take $1 each and give the bellboy a $2 tip and that settled it all.

After getting home and relaxing with a good joint I got to thinking somebody got screwed but couldn't figure out who and still cant to this day. It all worked out like this, now see if you can figure it, could be I just got real good pot and cant think.

Lets see now, we each had $10 and pooled it for a $30 room, we each got $1 back which made each of us pay $9 for the room = $27 and gave the bellboy $2, that's $29 any way you look at it, where the fuck did the other dollar go?????

Hmmmmmm good shit, so our total output for the room was $9.00 each x3 = 27 + $2.00 for the bell boy = $29.00

PJ

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