My Sucky, Dented, Tipped Over, Ripped Open Friday

Posted: June 11, 2009 in motorcycle, pain and suffering, rants

My life, in a nutshell, is this post.

Here goes.

It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend.

This particular Friday started out just like any other day:

1) I woke up

I heard my wife downstairs making coffee

I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and masturbated furiously before she came back upstairs

pretended I was sleeping when she came back up

Me: “Morning, hon.”

Wife: “Hi. Why are you out of breath?”

Me: “Um. Bad dream. Scary. Had spiders and Rachael Ray. Don’t want to talk about it.”

Wife: “Well…what’s with the tissue stuck to your shirt?”


Like I said.

Typical day.

The forecast for that day called for 80 degrees and sunny.

This means “Harley time.”

I got ready for work, and went back to the shed and took out my motorcycle.

She’s black and she’s beautiful.

Like Oprah Winfrey.

Except, you know, beautiful.

I started her up, then turned back to the shed to close the doors.

Behind me, the engine STOPPED.


I turned to see my that my Harley Davidson had decided to flop over on it’s right side, crash to the ground and shut itself off.

That’s. Just. Awesome.


Dear God,

What the fuck? Seriously?

You gotta pull this shit on a fucking Friday!?


Not a happy disciple right now, dude. Not even a little bit.



I went over to the bike, grabbed it’s handlebars and pulled it upright.

I realized , at about a 30-degree angle to it’s LEFT, that my kickstand had decided to go back to it’s little home under the bike.

Kickstand’s mom: “Kickstand! Time for dinner!”

Kickstand: “Coming mom!”

My bike, without a kickstand to rest on…

…began it’s descent to the opposite side.

It’s at this exact moment that the right mirror caught the pocket of my leather jacket.

And the bike…

…with me now attached to it…

…fell over on it’s LEFT side.

Taking me with it.


Dear God,’s Rod again.

Seriously. You’ve had your fun.

Cut the fucking shit.


Guy who’s going to convert to Judaism soon


I finally managed to pick the bike up, readjust everything that had bent or moved…

…and went to work.

It’s about halfway to work where I look down at my gas tank.

There…on the top right of my tank:


Me: “Kill me.”

My throttle linkage apparently drove into the gas tank with such force that it caused a small dent in the tank.

So far…this Friday?

Not the best.


Dear God,

Please forget about the ‘converting to Judaism’ thing I said earlier.

I was kidding. I know I shouldn’t be fucking with you.

Plus, I don’t look good in beanies, so I don’t think the Jew look is for me.


Your humble servant, Rodney


Please stop now.


I get to work, completely bummed.

I immediately start researching ‘how to pull out dents’ and ‘Harley Davidson body shops’ and ‘how to slit my fucking wrists’

…when suddenly I have the urge to pee.

I walk into the men’s room and step up to the urinal.

That’s when I notice it.

Apparently, in one of the two efforts to pull my bike back up from the ground…

…something had caught on my pants…

…and ripped a four-inch hole in the crotch of my goddamn jeans.


Looky there.

My right ball is hanging out.



Dear God,


I give up.



So, here I sit at my desk…

…with a nut hanging out of the hole that remains.

I say ‘remains’ because I tried to staple it shut.

Some fucking hairy moments doing that, my friends.

I leave work in about an hour.

I wonder how God will finish me off.

Death by Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?

Trapped in a hot elevator with an unshowered Rosie O’Donnell?

My money is something messy done by a steam roller.

It seems like it’s gonna be a steam roller death kinda day.

Pray for me.

‘Cuz it doesn’t seem like mine are working.

Moog out.

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