This article can be found in Easyriders no. 86, August 1980.
And there’s one hang-up after another
It was Friday afternoon. I was just packin’ it in and gettin’ ready to cut out early for a long weekend with my ol’ lady when Renegade, that creep, came struttin’ in and informed me that I hadda write this bike feature. This was one of the first good weekends we’d had since all the rain stopped — blue skies, sun, warmth — the whole good trip. Time to putt.
Renegade told me that he met this new honey on the way to work, and the way he talked, you’d think she was a 12 on a scale of l to 10. They had bunches of hot plans for the evenin’ — but that’s another story. Anyway, I guess he felt that what he had in mind was much more pressin’ than what l had planned. You can imagine the attitude that began to accumulate in my beard and spread all over my fuckin’ face.
I called my ol’ lady to deliver the news, and listenin’ to her bitch and moan, I got even madder. After I kicked a few engine crates that were sittin’ around the office and punched out a couple of walls, I felt a tad better — but not much. So I sat down to groan, piss, and ponder
on what to write for this fuckin’ article.
‘Cause I was so fuckin’ pissed off, I couldn’t think of a goddam thing — ‘cept wantin’ to split. So after a couple of reds (to enhance my anger), followed by a few beers so I could concentrate, suddenly, brilliance struck somewhere in my flaming skull. Maybe I should look at the slides of the scoot I was commanded to write about —— fuck.
Okay, so I gazed at the is shots briefly, very briefly. It just got me to steamin’ Fuckin’ Renegade, the fuckin’ pussy hound, I was gazin’ at this pretty Sportster, when I flashed on all the shit I had to do to my 45 so l could go puttin’ this weekend.
Renegade wasn’t about to hang me up any longer. I snuck outta the garage and hit it to the sled. Screw that guy. You bros enjoy the Sporty and I’ll get my 45 on the road for the weekend.