There really isn’t any practical reason to ride a motorcycle, is there? While it has more legroom than a Honda Fit, and more horsepower than a Lexus, it’s not really a practical mode of transportation for most people. For instance, when you’re coming home after being out shopping, where are you going to carry your bacon, whiskey, shotgun shells, and cans of Beefaroni?
English is a funny language. It’s a polyglot thing. Words come and go, depending on how useful they are. English steals whatever it can’t make up on its own, too. With apologies to Moe Szyslak, we don’t call it a carhole. We stole the word garage from the French. Or the French surrendered it, I guess. Whatever.
I suppose it would be profitable to own a motorcycle dealership in Karachi. I don’t think you’ll get a lot of upsells at checkout for helmets and leathers, however. Our hero is impeccably dressed, however, and with apologies to Warren Zevon, his hair is perfect. He’s obviously on his way to some high-powered job somewhere in Pakistan, like water buffalo wrangling or tea smuggling. …
If you’re ever in rush-hour traffic, be sure to lean out the window and hold hands with anyone hanging their arm out of the driver-side window. You’ll have a nice moment together. If they immediately ram into the car in front of them in a terrified fit, you should probably lock your doors and pretend like nothing happened.
…sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s the Chariot Motorcycle Man, in North Dakota. And even if he’s a lazy man — and the Chariot Motorcycle Man was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest in North Dakota, which would place him high in the runnin’ for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there’s a man, sometimes, there’s a man.
Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But — aw, hell. I’ve done introduced him enough.
(Many thanks to Charles Schneider for sending this one along)