Monday, November 1, 2010

Dispatches From The Front... Again

Heart-rending letters from readers seeking advice, absolution, or social alignment befitting an Ostrogoth... And answers straight from the Jack of Hearts. Each note reflects the diverse backgrounds of Twisted Roads readers, and represents a part of the broad mosaic of biking. Twisted Roads does not offer licensed therapy but a common sense approach to a balanced life.


Dear Twisted Roads:

So I did exactly what you did... I went out and got myself one of the remaining few, low mileage, BMW K75’s. And its a real beaut... Owned by a guy who was a real douche... Who had no friends and stood no chance of getting laid... And so this bike spent most of its life on the center-stand in the garage. So now I got it and I buffed it up real good. I do exactly like you do, and replace all the chrome with Jet-Hot black... I put snazzy lights on it... I even boost the electrical system so I can torture political prisoners in Chile...

Does even one broad lift up her shirt when I ride by? Not once. Does even one hot cookie come up to me and ax for me to ride her? Nope. My point, what the fuck?

Sincerely,
Pissed Over Spending More On This K75 Than Charm School

Dear Pissed Over Spending More On This K75 Than Charm School:

While it is apparent to me that you lack nothing in style and panache, you may require an additional piece of gear to bring out your true profile (clearly evident with good riding technique). Try inserting a large baking potato into your riding pants. When you pull up to a likely candidate for romance, say something like, “Look what you bring out in me?”

Got that?

Sincerely
The Editor



Dear Twisted Roads:

You are full of shit.

I did exactly what you said. I went to Mr. Baccagaloupe’s vegetable stand (Hoboken) and bought a fucking huge potato. I mean, it was really fucking huge. This was the hugest fucking potato I ever saw. My friend Tommy C. was with me. (The “C” stands for “pussy” cos he’s always talkin’ about how much he gets. But I told Tommy I didn’t want the pussy he gets. I want the other kind... The visible kind.) He thought it was the hugest fucking potato he ever saw too. Like he said to me, “You know, that is one huge fucking potato.” I said to him, “I fucking know that.”

So I shoved the fucking potato into my pants, like you said. I’m cruisin’ around with Tommy C, who’s got a Suzooki. I said, “Tommy, get the fuck away from me on that fucking Suzooki. I want a hot broad, not Snooki from Jersey Shore.”

Then I see her. She is smokin’ hot. She’s got tits bigger’n my head and Tommy C’s head too. “Lookie that,” I says to Tommy C. But Tommy C. can’t talk... He’s dividing those tits by our two heads and coming up with double digits. She’s stannin’ on the corner with holes in her jeans with those tits jammed into a tee shirt.

So I pull up to her and jazz the engine on the K75... But she can’t hear it as there’s a toothless old lady gummin’ a hot dog on the same corner, and the sound of her chewin’ was drowning out the bike... So I blew the horn at her.

“What the fuck,” she says, actin’ real coy. But I can see she’s looking at the potato in my pants.

“This is what you make come outta me,” I says. Then I stood with my feet flat on the ground. The fucking potato slid down my thigh. That made her eyes open real wide. Then it slid down my pants leg and came out the bottom. The biggest tits I ever saw ran down the block laughin’.

I’m gettin’ rid of this piece of shit K75 and going back to my Sporty. So fuck you. You can shove that potato up your ass.

Sincerely,
Pissed At Spending More On This K75 Than Charm School


Dear Pissed At Spending More On This K75 Than Charm School:

Thank you for writing to us at Twisted Roads. Your opinion is important to us. Your letter has been forwarded to our “Readership Service Department,” where it will get the kind of attention you’d expect from us. If you require further satisfaction please contact us here.

Fondest regards,
The Editor
Twisted Roads



Dear Twisted Roads:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary over old forgotten lore. The diagrams in this Clymer manual really suck. Are all these wires really important? My bike is a 1971 Triumph T1000C.

Sincerely,
E.A. Poe
Baltimore Forever More



Dear E. A. Poe

Not if they are the originals.

Sincerely,
The Editor



Dear Twisted Roads:

My husband was incorrectly diagnosed as having something fatal. He asked me, “Honey, I’m dying. But I have to know something. Did you ever cheat on me?”

This was breaking my heart, but I felt I had to tell him the truth. “Remember when you lost your job and we had no money,” I asked. He nodded silently. “I slept with the manager of the bank so he’d lose the foreclosure papers.” My husband just nodded, and said “Thank you.”

Then I had to tell him about the time his backhoe blew a major hydraulic pump, which paralyzed his landscaping business. Again we had no money and I slept with the parts manager and blew the mechanic over at the shop. My husband understood this and squeezed my hand.

Finally, I said to him, “And remember when you wanted to be the president of your local Harley club, and you only had five votes out of 72...”

Well guess who’s not dying anymore and is really pissed?

Sincerely,
Margot
Lately Of Windsor Castle, Pa
A town of 11 people and one party line


Dear Margot:

Men tend to get territorial after surviving a near-death experience. Yet there does reach a point where this level of behavior is not only unacceptable, but short-sighted. Please send a picture of yourself (if you weigh less than 130 pounds) to the email posted on this blog. Mark it “Twisted Roads -- Personal from Margo.” I may be able to help.

Sincerely,
The Editor



Dear Twisted Roads:

In one of your previous blog episodes, you mentioned laying back in a tent, while a naked honey dripped hot candle wax on you at the point of climax.

Whatever you do, don’t try this with hot solder.

Moose
Harleysville, Pa


Dear Moose:

If you say so...

The Editor



Dear Twisted Roads:

You recently entered a contest in which participants were asked to complete the following sentence: “Living in Philadelphia is closest to...” Your response was, “Shoving your head up Saddam Hussein’s ass.” Could you please clarify that before we send you the prize for “Most Original.”

Sincerely
Althea “Alley” Fistula
“The Living In Philly Is Like... Foundation.”


Dear Althea “Alley” Fistula:

Not if the prize is shredded beef, covered with Cheeze Whiz, on a fucking Kaiser roll, or a sweating pretzel, commonly found at the airport for $11.

Sincerely,
The Editor



Dear Twisted Roads:

I’m a hot-looking transsexual standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see (not my real city) when a guy pulls up on a K75 (which makes a noise like an electric toothbrush), points to his crotch, and shits a baked potato. Two hours later the same guy pulls up on a Sportster and asks if anybody saw his “potato?” Have I missed a new transcultural riding trend or something? Generally I read about these things in my favorite blog “Riding with Riepe and Other Indiscretions.” (By the way, there is a cute picture of you from kindergarten in this week’s episode.) I like how your mother dressed you. You may not know the answer to this question as you are not affiliated with this blog, but does the author of “Riding with Riepe and Other Indiscretions” take it up the ass?

Sincerely,
Harriet Reed
Nevada

Dear Harriet Reed:

Only figuratively and only since the last Presidential election.

Sincerely,
The Editor


Dispatches from the front are drawn from real letters “To Twisted Roads.” Letters for consideration must have something to do with motorcycles, though communications that deal with emotional issues (stemming from motorcycles), or are accompanied by topless women sitting on motorcycles (must be taken and owned by sender) are also eligible for consideration. A grand prize (a Cycle Pump) will be awarded to the individual who submits the best letter prior to December 31st, 2010. Letters should be sent to:
JPRiepe@aol.com, marked “Dispatches From The Front,” in the subject line.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac-Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamnerlain — PS (With A Shrug)

21 comments:

Anonymous said...

This is worse than answering 9-1-1. Anyone who asks riepe for advice is a douche out of the gate. Call Triumph USA at 1=800=FUCK BMW for sensible precautions to take when puttinga potato up your arse.

John said...

Motorcycles absolutely can get one laid. Even ugly, fat guys like myself. I once took a girl, well in reality a hot nurse, on her maiden motorcycle ride. I nice little jaunt of 40 miles or so on my Triumph Bonneville. The vibrations of the parallel twin and undulations of the back roads of Bucks County had the causative effect of making her hot to trot. It was the start of a nice, long relationship. But soon I went back to college and had to sell one of my bikes, the one I sold was the Bonneville. To say that the R60 BMW was not as exciting to her was an understatement. We went for a 100 mile ride and at the end she looked at me and said "whats the point". She packed up and moved to San Diego and wound up married to a douche with a Harley. Figures.

Allen Madding said...

For the record, I've never lived in San Diego

-Peace

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Anonymous:

How brave we get yelling from the shadows, where our remarks rise like the bastard children of the crowd.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear John (Clauss):

And how did that make you feel then?

(Thank you for reading my blog and for contributing so liberally.)

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Mr. Madding:

Yet still you felt compelled to offer an allibi... I think you know more about this little tale than you're letting on.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

BeemerGirl said...

AAhhh!! So that explains the smell of baked potato around those K75 machismos, snugging those potatoes up to that burning hot tank. :)

Thanks for the laughs! -Lori

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Beemer Girl:

It explains the smell of baked potato around BMW K75 posers. I'm glad you got a laugh out of the distress of my readers.

Fondest regads,
Jack • reep • Toad

682202 said...

I really thought I knew where that spud was going, but still couldn't keep from laughing. But when it landed in Winslow, Arizona, I thought I would shit a baked potato. Thanks for getting me sent home from work.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear 682202 (Gordon):

I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to get a letter from a bone fide BMW rider (like Nikos, Lori, Charlie6 — and yourself). It makes me feel qualified on some highly unqualified level.

The potato "letter" was a bit of a tease, because it is a well-known gag — to an extent. The sender played right into my hands with a variation on a theme. Naturally, I'm sorry my advice did not work for him.

The music of the Eagles happened to oozing out of the desktop speakers when I edited the last letter from a real reader. I am genuinely delighted that you laughed.

If you are a membner of the BMW MOA group, their magazine — The Owners News (ON) — is running a story of mine this month, which details a love affair with a K75.

Thank you for reading my tripe and for leaving a comment.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

John said...

Jack,

I you do not know how getting laid made me feel, I can not help you, and you are probably not qualified to help others. :0)

Jack Riepe said...

Dear John:

I am an authority and an advocate of getting laid... alaso know about getting fucked too. How did it make you feel when your former paramour ran off with the Harley Rider?

By the way, Mike Evans knows about male senasitivity and druming circles.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

BeemerGirl said...

Dear Jack,

A laugh at the distress of your readers that are posers...it would seem. If they were better "equipped" they wouldn't be having these problems. :)

-Lori

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Beemer Girl (Lori):

You're right. To hell with them.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

BeemerGirl said...

Well...at least you are trying to help these men improve their chances in the gene pool. Without your guidance and gentle understanding they would be absolutely nowhere. :)

-Lori

Nikos said...

Jack

One of my favourite pub dishes used to be a hot baked (jacket) potato covered in baked beans and melted cheese. I would not go anywhere near shoving it down my pants even when wearing asbestos panty liners.

Yours as ever from England, N

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Beemer Girl (Lori):

I am the lifeguard at the gene pool for many guys. My advice has been geeting fat guys laid for years.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

One of my readers, from Winslow, Arizona, wants you to taste a baked potato they've prepared.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Shannon T Baker said...

Damn you Jack!

You made me bust out laughing as Wonderful Wife was putting the grand baby to sleep!

He woke up...she got mad...I tried to show her the thing about the potato...now I am having trouble sitting down...she found another use for a potato...


-Buddha

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Shannon:

I'm glad the distressed lives of Twiasted Roads readers were able to make you laugh.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Chris Luhman said...

Dear Jack, my keyboard will never be the same. reading this blog + drinking = broken keyboard. thanks.

PS: pass the BMW koolaid. ;)