Liar's club story

[Bonehead9]

Just a fun thing I take part in. Subject is given and those participating write what comes to mind. Here's my most recent.

Topic: Third time I blew up my chop and Bob Barker put the fire out.

A couple months ago I took a ride out south of town. Now, getting south out of town around here is no easy chore like it may sound. First, you have to putt out of the neighborhood so the neighbors don't get offended by the safety features I have built into my chop. You see, riding a chop is dangerous business even on the best of days. There are the usual, everyday hazards that affect all drivers; rabbits, squirrels, dogs, cats, bratty children, that you must avoid so that you don't squash them flat. Although I do tend to miss the bratty children by a much smaller margin than the other creatures, but that's an issue I'm starting to deal with. My aim is improving. See, there are other things that need consideration while riding a chopper. First and probably foremost is the fact that people have a hard time noticing a chopper unless it's a multi-thousand dollar unit that is sitting in a showroom or public show someplace where they can be amazed at the amount of dollars.....I mean "workmanship"....someone has put into this vehicle that spends countless hours being rolled from the trailer it came in on, to the showroom floor. Trust me, this procedure is very demanding on the rider/owner as well as wear and tear on the machine itself. So to be able to be seen on the public streets and byways, we must also be heard. Therefore, I have made certain safety alterations to my chopper so that i will be heard.......for blocks, possibly miles....but it tends to make neighbors upset, dogs bark, and small children cry.
Easing my way out of the neighborhood, I finally make it to the second leg of my journey, the main streets leading haphazardly southward out of town. As I gently ease my way up through the revolutions of the engine and then back down again for the first of the 237 stop lights and stop signs I need to pass by on this part of my travels, I hear a sudden BANG....shudder....CLANK....clackety clackety....SHIT !!!! This last noise, of course, was me realizing I hadn't done my normal precheck of the chop before riding. I neglected to check for minor things such as loose bolts, all lights working, brakes functioning, tightness of the drive chain and, oh yea, oil. Basically, I just exploded my engine.
After getting the chopper hauled back to my multifaceted, totally purpose built, tools strewn every where, grungy floor, oil splashed, custom, two and one half car garage; I finally get the chop rebuilt after a few weeks and I'm ready to head out on my adventures once more. Feeling greatly satisfied with my workmanship and great ability to overcome life's sense of sick, evil, mean, and nasty ability to throw a monkey wrench in any thing that remotely resembles any kind of happiness that I may seek, I head out of the neighborhood once again. Neighbors kindly presenting me with the affectionate one-fingered salute, dogs barking joyously, children weeping uncontrollably with the happiness of seeing me begin my travels once more.
As I pull out onto the maze of city streets leading southward, I'm going over the things that I did to be ready for this voyage. New cylinders, new pistons, wrist pins, gloating proudly over the ported and polished heads, spotlessly cleaned carburetors, new oil......oil.......oil !!!!!!! The drain plug !!!! BANG....shudder.....CLANK....clakety clackety.....MOTHER FKer !!!!!!!!! Forgot to tighten the drain plug. Tighten? Hell, I didn't even touch it with a wrench, just turned it in a few turns with my fingers when that 17 year old neighbor girl just happened to stroll by in her cut-off short shorts and barely staying on mini tube top, I mean who can blame me for my lack of concentration, right? Bitch !!!
Back in the glorious, ultramodern, pleasing to a blind man's eye, almost functional, garage. A few weeks later and feeling the 20,000 ton, industrial use only press, squeeze on my credit card from doing yet another engine rebuild, I'm headed out once again. Yes, the one-fingered wave, the barking dogs, the blubbering children of satan, and I'm on my way. I'm out onto the main streets, I pass stop light number 237 and I'm out on the great two-lane strip of excitement headed southward.
Now I always have a destination in mind whenever i leave on one of my excursions, it's just that I don't always make it there. OK....I rarely make it there. Fine.....I made it there once, OK? Today, I'm going out to see a friend of mine, that works for a mining company, that told me they would be doing some minor blasting and asked if I would be interested in watching stuff blow up. Does the Pope wear a funny hat? Do bears crap anywhere they want to? What a stupid question. Of course I want to watch. He also said there would be some bigwigs out there watching too, so I was to park around on the back side, away from the main entrance, and he would meet me to give me the usual hard hats and hearing protection required in these situations.
I finally wind my way around to the back side where he has informed me to park the bike near a yellow construction trailer so that it won't be seen and attract unwanted attention by the high-hats strutting around like they own the place. Yea OK, they do own the place but there's no reason to strut around like an ostrich with a dildo up it's ass and high on Panama Red, now is there? After parking the chopper by the said yellow trailer, I walk to the gate in the fence that is our designated meeting place. It's a rather lengthy walk and I could have ridden the chop most of the way here, but if it will keep my friend from getting in trouble for offering an opportunity to see shit blow up, I can deal with it.
I'm a bit early in my arrival so I know I will need to wait a little while. After burning a half a pack of cigarettes in my "bit" early waiting, I finally see him coming from the opposite direction I arrived. I ask him where the f**k he has been, to which he replies, "I been looking for you asshole".
"I parked where you told me to", pointing in the general direction of said parking spot.
"I told you to park over there", pointing in the opposite direction of said parking spot.
BOOM !!!! BOOM !!! BOOM !!!! FUCK !!! SHIT !!!! SON OF A .....!!!!

"You told me to park over there."
"I told you to park over THERE."
"Do you have any idea who owns this mine?"
"Who?"
"Bob Barker."
"Really?"

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It's just a motorcycle......not an icon.....nothin' special......chop it!!