March 28 2009
Well, there’s typical news this week gang.
Jack Flannelmouth, one of our biker members, had friends worried about his drinking, and then riding a motorcycle.
He’s a single malt and real hoppy beer drinker, and has only one word for camera, and that’s Nikon.
He buys his lenses because he likes the way that they look, as opposed to what they see.
You know the kind.
He’s a blunt contentious kind of guy, always mouthing off about something, likes hockey, and thinks that "Pudge" Rodriguez is the greatest baseball player that ever lived.
Sort of a "yuppie" in the rough kind of guy.
At any rate, his bike, that has a name that sounds a lot like "Amelia", is the love of his life. And while his friends shouldn’t have worried about his drinking and driving his bike, they should have been worried about his drinking and parking the bike.
The way Jack tells it, after a few snorts of Old Tanglefoot with the boys, he got home safely enough, only to experience difficulty in operating the kick stand on "Amelia". Which is understandable enough, considering how devilishly complicated those damn things are.
Well, the bike fell over, and probably could have sustained serious damage if Jack’s ankle hadn’t been cleverly placed to break the fall.
His ankle wasn’t quite as fortunate as the bike, however. And after a few days of hobbling around, a visit to the doctor resulted in putting a few screws in places that weren’t called for in the original design.
Now when sweet young things ask Jack for the umpteenth time "what happened?" He’s gotten to the point where he looks at his ankle and starts off with something like, "Well, there was this three hundred pound hooker. . ." and then lets himself get a little more creative with each telling of the tale.
Most folks chuckle.
The problem is that lately, a garishly dressed woman, wearing industrial strength perfume, and weighing at least three hundred pounds, has been asking for him at the bar.
Kinda makes you wonder.

Till next week
Helga Biermeister
Secretary