Jeff Wysaski
Oh wow, that is quite a Harley you’ve got there, Mr. Hell’s Angel. You know, I’ve always been drawn to hogs. I’d probably have one myself, but my wife won’t let me have one. But hey, don’t let that make you think that I’m not the one wearing the pants in the relationship. Because I’m the man. What I say goes.
It’s just, you know, I promised her I wouldn’t buy one. And what good is a marriage if you can’t keep promises, right? Plus, she’s the one with the job (I’m a stay-at-home dad), so if I wanted to buy one I’d have to ask her for the money.
But wow, that sure is a sweet ride. Say, I don’t suppose you’d let me ride on the back of it, would you? Oh, that would just be a dream come true! Out there on the open road with the wind in my hair and my arms wrapped tightly around a real-life Hell’s Angel! Oh man, all the other mothers at the PTA meeting would be so jealous!
Of course, if I had my druthers, I’d be driving that cherry ride all by myself. But I couldn’t possibly ask you to step off your own hog. That probably violates the Biker’s Code or something.
Plus, I promised my wife I would never even drive a motorcycle (let alone own one). So, technically I can’t get behind the steering wheel. Is that what it’s called? The steering wheel?
But she never said anything about riding ON a motorcycle. So what do you say, Mr. Hell’s Angel? Can I ride on the back of your Harley?
I could hold your machete for you so you wouldn’t have to hold it in your teeth like that.
I’m going to go ahead and take your silence as a “yes.” So let me just go ahead and straddle the bike seat here. Oh wow! The vibrations of the motor are tickling my fanny! Oh, this is just wild!
Say, do you have any sunscreen? I promised my wife that I would always put sunscreen on when participating in outdoor activities. And as you can tell from my extremely short cut-off shorts, these thighs of mine are going to need some extra protection from all those dangerous UV rays. Something 30 SPF or above would really be ideal.
Or, if you don’t have any, maybe I could just drape that leather jacket of yours over my thighs? That would work, too.
That’s a nice jacket, BTW. Is it real leather? It feels like real leather. Where’d you get it? The Wilson’s Leather at the Galleria? Probably.
OWW! Hey, let go of my neck! Put me down! Geez man, what is your problem? If you didn’t want me to ride on the back of your hog with you, you could have just said so.
And you didn’t have to throw me into the dirt like that. Oh great, now I have dirt all over my cut-off shorts. I promised my wife I wouldn’t get these dirty. Great, now I have to go home and try and get these stains out before she gets home from work.
Thanks for nothing, buddy.
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