Last Friday, Lucifer hit what's to become the monthly bike-night at the Tri Co., in Hollywood. Looks like cold beer self-service, so why not hit it. When I find some date(s) on this, I'll post it in the Bean Pot.
Once upon a time there was a man who had a blog about the magical mystical hypnotically driven Sportster motorcycle(s). Built by a giant galaxy spanning evil empire of hot oiled leather dread for purposes not fully understood by modern man or sentient machine, possibly for off road purposes originally, but through modern technological improvements (at least through the early eighties) now a terror of the road disguised as only a queen could pull it out and off! The learner bike. The girls bike. The first Harley you ever owned. A little known fact; the Soldiers that captured Saddam Hussein after the gulf war did so tracking him down while riding Sportsters for Operation Red Dawn (or as those in the know remember, "Operation Quad Dawn."). The final conflict fast approaching, the Sportster has remained true to it's design regardless of how many times the empire has attempted to church it up, chap it down, or flake it out. Sportsters not dead, they just suck new. What does Chuck Norris not fight? Sportsters. What do Sportsters pity? Mr. T. o' snap. If Sportsters ever die, John Denver, Jeffry Ross Hymen, and Jerry Garcia, may they all rest in peace, would come back from the dead to sing the eulogy, unleashing a deadly zombie virus upon the earth, but still able to make sweet sweet country love on that acoustic guitar, belting out the tooth chip'n hits, and one more eternity long chorus of trucking for the greatest bike in the world! Remember, there are only three kinds of motorcycles in this world, (a.) Evo Sportsters, (b.) Ironhead Sportsters, and (c.) Those Less Worthy.
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