My life, in a nutshell, is this post.
It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend.
This particular Friday started out just like any other day:
1) I woke up
2) I heard my wife downstairs making coffee
3) I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and masturbated furiously before she came back upstairs
4) 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?”
Me: “I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!“
Like I said.
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.
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.
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 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.
Yeah..it’s Rod again.
Seriously. You’ve had your fun.
Cut the fucking shit.
Guy who’s going to convert to Judaism soon
…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:
A FUCKING DENT.
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.
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 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.
My right ball is hanging out.
I give up.
So, here I sit at my desk…
…with a nut hanging out of the hole that remains.
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.