Not that anybody really reads this but I was bored one night and thought I would throw this old story up for y’all to have a laugh at. It has nothing to do with crazy masks but everything to do with being a biker. Originally this was posted on the forum for Suzuki M109 riders, the bike that I ride. My bikes color is affectionately known as “burple” as it is called blue by the manufacturer but it lights up purple in the sun. So it’s big, it’s purple and has entirely too much power for a dumb ass like me to even stand within ten feet of it let alone riding the damn thing. And we M109 riders just call it…the 9. A lawyer would call it an attractive nuisance. It means something that is quite dangerous but very enticing to flirt with.

Read and enjoy.

Here is a little story about how I am an idiot and owning a 9 must lead to brain damage.

Last week I had to run a little errand. The weather was begging me to ride the battleship Burple 109. So I set out to enjoy a little cruise while knocking something off my honey-do list.

A few blocks from home I pull up behind a pickup truck. There is a large group of guys standing at the corner, next to a convenience store, presumably buying beer or what-not. One guy turns around, looks at my 9 and lets out a remark of astonishment. Then all the other eyes turn and you’d think a stripper was walking by. Then someone begs for a burn off. Everyone chimed in. I shook my head no as it’s a $300.00 tire and, just like being a celebrity, sometimes you just get a little tired of pleasing the fans.

They wouldn’t let up.

Somewhere in the back corners of my dormant adolescence something stirred. Something dark and menacing. Something seething with teen aged, hormonal angst. As I squinted my eyes to peer into the darkness I was unsettled to see a pair of pinpoints of light gazing right back at me. Then they sunk low and slowly bobbed back and forth. It was approaching. Just outside of the firelight cast by my conscious mind the predator stopped, frozen. I was being sized up. A low guttural rumble rolled across the space between us as the pinpoints suddenly gleamed. I was declared prey and there was no where to run. In one massive leap it sunk it sickle like claws into my mind and brought it down with careless effort. It was over. My inner child was going to feast.

I said ok and prepared to give them a show. I gripped my hand brake, grabbed the clutch and revved the dragon to life. Then I let go…..

There was a sudden shock as the beast bucked in anger and aggression. This wild animal had no intention of being caged. Like any fool who believes he can control a deadly creature I thought, “I can hold this”. But this day the dragons heart was fell and raging, the strength of his hind quarters uncontrollable. I found myself creeping forward. I never imagined it could have such power and traction.

But like any good rat on a sinking ship…..

I freaked…. the bike was going…. the truck was not….something had to give…. and it was me. I stumbled from danger like a wino chasing a half empty bottle of Night Train along the sidewalk as his shoes keep kicking it out of reach.

What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object? Well the force falls over on it’s side as it’s right front turn signal is snapped off by the bumper of the immovable object and then proceeds to land on the left front turn signal and snaps that one off too. But not before the force pounds it’s headlight bezel into the immovable objects bumper as well, just for good measure.

So there I stood over the fallen beast. It’s days at an end. The circle of life has come around as the Valkyries descend to escort the dragon to the happy hunting grounds. The onlookers rush to offer their condolences and apologies for their selfish requests.

It was totally “Spear and Magic Helmet”….. Elmer Fudd walks into the sunset with the dead bunny. Cue the string section and the water works. The audience offers to lift the great dragon upon their shoulders to bear it to it’s viking funeral.

They lift….

What’s this….. The beast rights itself?!?! It’s only a flesh wound! NOT A SINGLE SCRATCH, NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY SCRATCH ON IT’S SIDE!!!!

Cue the choir!

Yes folks, just a couple of busted turn signals and a cracked headlight bezel. And as luck had it when I switch out my rear factory signals for the Kuryakyn silver bullets I never threw the old signal housings away. In three hours I switched out the guts from the front signals into the rear housings, reconnected the wiring and BINGO! BOOYAAA!! HOW YA LIKE DEM APPLES SISTER!!!

Back in business…. well except the the headlight bezel that’s on order. 100 shells for that piece of bling.

Of course I have learned my lesson. Never do a burn off right behind a pickup truck. Which is why I am an idiot. The fact that I have a 9 and am prone to childish acts of immature gratuity leads me to believe that I have brain damage which of course must be from the bike. I am a poor unsuspecting consumer. I wonder how much I could get in the settlement from Suzuki for the pain and suffering of owning a machine that is far too dangerous for the average moron to operate.