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.
I’m relatively sure that you’re not supposed to ride a motorcycle off of a ski jump, but I’m no science-tician, so I really couldn’t tell you.
To my knowledge, it’s simply something you’re not supposed to do. It’s not on the same level as kicking the elderly or setting fire to an orphanage, but that doesn’t mean an angry mob won’t descend on your house if they catch wind of your ski jump tomfoolery. They’ll be armed with petitions instead of pitchforks, and they’ll politely ask you to stop instead of riding you out of town on a rail, but the threat is just as real.