Thursday, October 2, 2014

Another Weirdo Seeks the Magnet

This morning The Pony and I were right on schedule during our trip to school. We take a winding two-lane blacktop route past the lake, over the tracks, down a long curvy hill, over some more tracks, past the shooting range, over the river, and through a residential neighborhood.

We caught up with a slow green SUV between the tracks. By the time we crossed the river bridge, a line of four cars had piled up behind us. The slow green SUV actually started scooting along at 40 mph in a 30 mph zone, going up the long gentle hill though the neighborhood. I kept an eye on the traffic behind me. You never know. Like this morning.

A guy on a motorcycle came flying out from behind all those cars. He must have been going 65 or 70 mph. VROOM! VROOM! VROOM! He made sure all of us six cars knew of his displeasure as he blew past us. He wasn't quite straddling a crotch rocket, but neither was his hog a Harley Davidson tricycle. It was really more of an off-road kind of bike.

Let the record show that this guy was not your typical motorcycle rider. He was a bit rotund. No leathers for him. He was wearing a shirt and light jacket that flapped in the wind. His tail-wind, one might term it. Because it flapped his shirt and jacket, leaving nothing to the imagination about his tail. As he passed, I was treated to the sight of his enormous fish-belly-white buttocks jouncing jollily under the overcast sky. His sans-a-belt slacks, after sans-a-belts ceased to be cool, did little to impede the unencumbered buttocks. Where are the police when you need them?

Somebody should have thrown the book at him, with the understanding that it might become wedged in his canyon-like crack and never be seen again.

7 comments:

  1. Gee, I hope he is not headed here to sleep in a tent ......

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  2. Our son refused to wear a helmet or proper gear while riding a motorcycle, until he had an accident. He's an experienced driver and was only going twenty-five miles an hour when his engine seized and he layed down his bike. He was picking gravel out of his hands and arms and legs for days. This guy will be picking gravel out of his ass sometime soon.

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  3. So the book could have gotten cracked open...in his crack?

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  4. Maybe he was a plumber? Believe it or not, I see the same thing in young teachers who wear hip huggers and should be wearing high waisted pants.

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  5. "Enormous fish-belly-white buttocks jouncing jollily under the overcast sky." Val, you do know how to paint a scenic picture with your words.

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  6. Kathy,
    That motorcycle seat weeps for a respite. You have given it false hope.

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    Stephen,
    As a matter of fact, he DID look like an a$$-picker.

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    Sioux,
    Yes, I think that was humanly possible.

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    joeh,
    Everything but the lights and sirens!

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    Linda,
    We can't all be plumbers. Some of us just have to be fat-a$$es.

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    Leenie,
    Thank you. Let the record show that the ONLY way I can paint a scenic picture is without using painting materials.

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