Wednesday, November 14, 2007

THE SPORT BIKE OF DEATH

A while back I decided that I needed, not wanted needed a sport bike. Yes, I know what you just thought; He's going to kill himself. I know this because everyone I have told my dream to has said, " Ooooh- are you sure, you could kill yourself." Maybe this is because my friends have witnessed my.... physical prowess. Like this pridefest when Carl had to contain himself when I fell off a stone wall at Civic Center. Carl was nice enough to say, " I did the same thing." That's what friends do; they lie to make you feel better. Although there has been no sugar coating the motorcycle and I've come to realize that I'm just like Ralphie. Remember A Christmas Story? All Ralphie wanted was that Red Rider be-be gun with a compass in the stock. He dreamed of Christmas morning when He'd rush down stairs to find his new trusty rifle to keep the house safe from bandits. He dreamed of all the great things he'd do with his rifle. Well I have a dream just like Ralphie, a gay motorcycle dream. I'll rush down stairs to find a Yamaha R6 under the tree. I dream of taking my new bike for a spin around Cheeseman Park down then to Daz Bog. As I park right in front and all the muscle guys stare as I take off my helmet to let the wind blow through my long luxurious hair. Uh.....sorry, I don't have nor do I want long luxurious hair. That and Muscle guys don't hang out at Daz Bog. Here's a side note, what happened to all the Muscle guys in this city? Welcome to Steve off topic, I'll be your host. 
A Christmas story keeps coming back to me, I feel like I went to talk to Santa and sitting upon his lap I blurted out " I want a Yamaha R6s sport bike in cherry red. Santa shakes this head and said " You'll kill your self kid" as he pushes me down the slide with his boot (am I the only one who feels that was sort of Homo-erotic?)

I have to say Dalton was the best when he said " I really don't want to come just for your funeral" to which I stated that I was going to be cremated and have myself mailed to him so he could keep me under his sink next to the scrubbies. Can you just picture it, years from now Dalton comes home from the Gallery and his hunky bear of a lover greets him stating that he tried scrubbing out the tub after his title win of Mr. Bear NYC but the cleaner wasn't very good, to which Dalton replies "oh that's not Ajax that's my stupid Ex that bought a sport bike" then Mr. Bear says " He died on a sport bike? Didn't you tell him he'd kill himself?" They then both just shake their heads. 
Even with the threat of Mr. Bear NYC using me for Ajax I still lay in bed at night dreaming of lassoing varmints from the back of my Yamaha. Making matters worse Fuzzy and I were to get bikes together, although he is more sensible and is getting another cruiser, a Yamaha Roadliner, 700 pounds of red and chrome. Fuzzy now has his bike and I'm still sitting here like it's Christmas eve, tormented by all the dreams of my bike and yet having all the swarms of friends hovering around singing "you'll kill yourself - you'll kill yourself."

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