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Damn!  These inbred redneck stump fuck hill scoggins really do grow on trees!   Check out Beefong's email to me, now I'm not sure if "Beefong" is some kind of nickname, or if it is like the name brand for some kinky homo-erotic ass toy for lonely truckers who have a spare can of 40 weight and no lot lizard to bang.  Either way, this is one scoggin that has been skinny dipping in the gene pool and who is guilty of diving head first into the shallow end.

 ______________    TO WHICH I REPLIED     _______________

Sorry. I don't answer to "dumbshit". "Asshole" and "motherfucker" are acceptable, but "dumbshit" is not. I crap smarter than you.

Oh for the love of Arlen Ness. Take that hay seed out of your mouth and pay attention. I listen to my father quite often. He's worked with money all his life, and one of the things he told me was "Son, don't ever buy a Harley. You'll just wind up like those bumpkins that stand up in that cornfield on Hee-Haw and shout out "Saaaaloooot!" "

You aren't my father, Mr. Collier. How do I know? Because my father isn't an illiterate, illegitimate, back woods, neighbor down the holler corn holing, banjo playing, ass farmer. Nope, you don't fool me for a second. Plus my father doesn't dress in overalls, go barefoot, carry a corn cob pipe, a straw hat, and a jug of shine when he's going into town.

Hmmm. I think I would probably work on it myself, like I always have. I got to where I could tear my Ninja down to the cylinder block in under 20 minutes. Using basic hand tools. The only time I took my import bike to the shop was for a scheduled valve adjustment (I didn't have the time and it was under warranty so...) and to mount tires (not cattle like you are used to doing), a task which I did not have the equipment in my garage to handle. As for my import bike breaking down, the only thing that ever seriously went wrong with my bike was getting some bad watered down gas at a redneck gas station out in the middle of BFE. That took maybe thirty minutes to tear the bike down to the plugs, gap and install new plugs, clean out the ram air box, install new fuel and air filters (while I was at it) and put it all back together again. I didn't even break a sweat. All this talk of plugs and boxes is probably making the front of your overalls bulge, isn't it?

And as for "pay out the ass", is that some form of local barter in your neck of the woods?

Uh, weren't you supposed to finish that sentence in a coherent manner, or did your moonshine pickled brain just spontaneously reboot?

Fux?  Oh, you mean "fucks".  I see, the letters "K" and "S" must have had a head on collision, just like your father and his sister's DNA did 9 months before you were born.  So, you're saying "What will you do when they fucks up?"  Damn, are we seeing the emergence of some L337 scoggins?  That would be scary!

Well, Jethro, like I said above, if the carbs goes and gets themselves like all damn fuckeded and gummeded the hell up, then it might takes me about the better part of half an hours to removes all that there purty colored Jap Crap body panels and shit, grab my tools, gap and change da four (count it out on your fingers) spark plugs, wash out real good them four Kheins carbuhmahraiders, change the fuel filters, done go and replace back everything the way it was before like, then fills up that there gas tank with some high test, and then I'm flying on the road again.  Did you understand it the second time around, you straw hat wearing donkeyfuck?

You are correct, all machines do break. However, machines invariably represent technology.  The more complex machine, the high the intellect required to both understand it and repair it.  When you are working with cutting edge modern technology, technology that requires you to have a highly advanced brain to understand it, there is far more of a challenge. Your Harley XL doesn't require much of a brain to work on and can't be that much of a challenge.  I bet it originally came from the factory with a five pound sledge hammer tucked up under the seat. If your damn joke of a bike ever stopped running, you were supposed to beat on it randomly with the hammer until it started running again. Hell, you've probably even adapted your XL to run on moonshine, seeing as how that "goat piss as an alternative fuel source" experiment just really didn't work out, now did it?

Why do you keep doing that?  Trailing off an otherwise promising sentence?    Man, you seriously need to stop staring at the sun without blinking and chasing passing cars on the dirt road that goes through your four trailer hollow, that or you need to back off free-basing Skoal(tm).  A simple bike needs a simple man.  You're not related to that funny, big, kind of retarded guy in the movie "Swingblade", are you?

(sigh)

"Walk softly and carry a big stick."

"Walk softly and carry a big stick."

"Walk softly and carry a big stick."

Repeat this until you learn it!   Power on reserve = power on demand. Having a bike that does 180mph doesn't mean that you ride 180mph all the time, it means that you can, if you need to. If you ride 180mph any where but the race track, you are a Darwin award waiting to happen. It surprises me that repeat K-Mart shoppers like yourself think that because you have a fast bike, that you therefore must ride it fast all the time. I guess that comes from years of owning a slow ass bike, that you have to ride slow all the time.  The only way your tired old XL would do 180mph was if we dropped it from orbit.

Of course, if we did drop something as huge as a Harley from orbit, it would probably be like the Earth getting hit by a big old asteroid and would inevitably lead to an Extinction Level Event.  This ELE would result in the death of all higher forms of life (the city of Milwaukee wouldn't have anything to worry about, their population would stay pretty much the same since there is no trace of higher life forms anywhere inside the city limits).  The only ones left after the genocidal impact would be giant mutated five foot tall stinky cockroaches riding around civilization's ruins on HD Road Kings and Dyna-Glides.  Come to think of it, I guess nothing really would change after all, would it?

Of course, we don't have to worry about this.  I don't think any civilized nation has invented a chemical rocket booster powerful enough to lift a Harley from surface to orbit.

And your line of lemming logic would also dictate that no automaker in the world should produce a vehicle that can travel faster than 70mph, since that is the maximum U.S. legal speed limit.  Lemming logic, gotta love it.  It makes no sense, but it sure is funny to wade through sometimes.

Damn!  120mph!  I honestly didn't know that old slapped together dogshit could go that fast!  Was it greased or did it just have a really good tail wind?  Of course, there are always two sides to every story; like yours, and the truth. The reason you were harassed is not because you were doing 120mph, but because at 120mph, your Harley XL was more of a threat to other innocent people who didn't want an unexpected high speed Milwaukee suppository inserted rectally as they sat unsuspecting in their car at a stop light in traffic.

120mph on a Harley XL?!?!

Man! What did you do to get it to go that fast, throw it off a cliff? And another question, why would you want to go that fast on a Harley? Going 120 mph on a Harley is kind of like trying to use a blow torch to dry your hair.  It may seem like a good idea at the time but once you get things really cooking...  My theory is that your ignorance clouded your poor judgment.

Now that is one of the more colorful metaphors that I have heard, and coming from a backwoods tree licker like you, both plausible and scary. Everything has to involve sex and fecal matter with you, doesn't it? If you are referring to advanced technology, then be my guest and shun it in favor of embracing stagnation.  Hell, your family line has been stagnant since Sherman marched through Atlanta, why change any family tradition now?

Fuck advanced technology.

I say let's just go back to rubbing two sticks together to make fire as well.   Have you ever tried to light a HD brand cigarette for a beautiful woman when you reached in your pocket and pulled out two twigs and started rubbing them together faster than a bunny fucks?  Not very pretty or impressive.

Embrace technology, you scoggin.  We have machines today that would have warned your mother of your advanced mental retardation before you were ever born.  See what technology can do and what happens when we don't use all the technology that is available to us.

We get people like 'you'.

Ah! The traditional ignorant Harley rider insult to a police officer.  Canned.   Clichéd.  Tired.  Or maybe you are referring to the fact that you've already got your Saturday date lined right up. Yep, here comes the token rural community bestiality scene, right on cue. Soooweeeee! Nothing like the squeal of a fat little pig to get those man juices flowing, huh?! Hey? Do you know what scoggins like you call it when you get together to go see the brand new pig on your neighbor's property? Gang bang!

Another reference to your odd hobby of giving loving attributes to fecal material. Or maybe "Disgraceful sack of shit I call Son" is just your way of saying that you and your sister are having problems with your mongo-tard hillbilly love child. I suggest counseling. And castration.  For both of you.  Now would be good.  Doctors are standing by.

That's nice. I bet they wave at the crazy inbred redneck donkey fuck, too. We (my fellow officers and I) wave to a lot of people, Jethro.  Just because we wave at you doesn't mean we like you.   We have a few people like you down where I live. One lives in a old circus tent down by the river. He talks to himself all the time and says things that only he can understand. He rides a beat up old Schwinn. It has a Harley Davidson car tag duct taped to the front. He says that the Schwinn is his Harley.

I bet he's related to you.

Who's your daddy now?