Bikers and Easter Carnivals

Bikers and Easter Carnivals

After a disappointing lack of outrage over my last couple of boob blog entries I figured I’d go other after other prey.

I took my daughter to the local Young Men’s Christian Association Easter Carnival Fundraiser this past weekend. Let me tell you, I find most bikers in the bars I frequent during my riding months to be ten times more polite and enjoyable to be around than the flotsam that comes out to frequent these things. Most of the kids that attended the carnival were great. It’s the parents of the kids I can’t stand for the most part. I’ve prepared a little comparison list to illustrate my obvious bias. For the ease of posting, I’ll use the abbreviation YSF in place of Yuppie Scum Fucktard.

Situation: One of them cuts in front of you.

What they are thinking:
YSF: My kids, my life, my situation is so infinitely more important than your kid, life, and situation that if I can get away with cutting in front of you so that my two boys can enjoy the infinite pleasures of a homemade plywood Plinko board one minute earlier, then I’ll do it and I won’t even know that what I did was wrong.

Biker: I really didn’t see you there. I don’t really care that I cut in the beer line in front of you, but if I had seen you there, I’d be just as likely to buy you a beer and shoot the shit for a minute or two in order to be sociable. I didn’t cut because I think I’m better than you. I just really like beer.

You’ll notice that the biker isn’t perfect either, but he has no illusions that his presence on this earth is any more or less important than yours.

Situation: Someone randomly asks, “Do you know where your kid is?”

YSF: I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since I loaded him up with Pez and Mountain Dew. I’m not worried, since he is 78 pounds overweight at the ripe old age of 9 because I let him sit in front of his XBox all day long. I’m sure he won’t be that hard to find. Just follow the scent of impending diabetic death and it will lead to him. Please don’t talk to me again unless it is really important. I’m busy updating my fantasy Lacrosse league on my blackberry.

Biker: He should be about halfway back from that keg with my beer or he’s gonna get a steeltoe up his ass.

Notice again, although not perfect, the biker assigns his kid some responsibility in an effort to mold his offspring into a functional member of society. The task did involve physical activity and consequences to aid in motivation.

Situation: Child is obnoxiously misbehaving.

YSF: For male children, this usually starts and ends with the parent constantly repeating whatever vaguely gay sounding name they gave to their kid while still trying to uphold a conversation. For example: “Calgary, stop that. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary. I don’t know why he does this. Calgary. Calgary. He must get it from his mother *giggle*. Calgary, you know Daddy told you that was something you should do in private. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary…”

Biker: “What the hell do you think you are doing? Jeeez-esss. Go wash your hands. Bring me back a beer when you are done. Oh, you’re not going to do that again are you *arches eyebrow*. “

Notice how efficiently the problem was solved. A real parent doesn’t need to raise his voice to get his point across. Especially if enough discipline has been previously administered in the privacy of the home. No repeated threats. No bargaining. It’s just done. Again the child is given another beer errand to give him something constructive to do. Idle hands and all that.

Situation: Individual is accosted about why they didn’t attend some friend or another’s barbecue/birthday party/christening/ass waxing.

YSF: Well, that was the same weekend that I was having my teeth whitened (lie) and having the Escalade waxed and then Richard wasn’t feeling well (lie) and little Calgary was being grounded (lie) so it really wasn’t good timing. Well I have to get off the phone. Aunt Liza is in rehab again and my call waiting is ringing.(lie finitum)

Biker: Nah, I didn’t really feel like going because I was up all night drinking the night before so I just said fucket.

Again, the brevity and honesty of the biker can only be admired. After all, haven’t we all done or wanted to do that at some point? I’m not really insulted if someone doesn’t come to one of my gatherings. I truly have a “more beer for me” attitude about that sort of thing. It might be a little embarassing if I was throwing the party in their honor and they didn’t show, but that hasn’t happened to me yet so I won’t worry about it.

According to my scorecard, the bikers shut out the fucktards four to oh. So, the next time you are traveling through some town and in need of a beer and burger rest stop, try a biker joint. You’ll be glad you did. They’ll be glad you did, too because they’ll probably spend most of their time laughing at you and pissing on the tires of your Civic. Relax, that means they like you. If they didn’t like you, they would piss on the door handles.

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