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The Water Cooler
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Rival Motorcycle clubs shoot out at Twin Peaks Waco
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<blockquote data-quote="RidgeHunter" data-source="post: 2749229" data-attributes="member: 4319"><p>...but the highway hurts my butt and where do I keep my gear?</p><p></p><p><img src="https://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/journey.jpg?w=700" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>Bikers used to be scary because they lived a scary life. They rode dangerous bikes too fast, their hands were oil and greased stained from working on bikes that wouldn't stay running, not greasy from chicken wings at the local Hooter's rip-off. The very image of them was scary. They slept in bedrolls strapped to their bike on trips to bike week, not hotels with omelet bars. </p><p></p><p>Now they're just scary because they may or may not be unhinged murders. Like the guy at the office that shoots the place up after he gets canned. He wasn't scary the day before pulling up in his Honda with his khakis on, but when he steps into the breakroom with a rifle he's a pretty terrifying dude. There's no art to that kind of scariness. If it wasn't for colors nowadays you couldn't tell a 1%er from the Brookside crew. Same dudes, same bikes. No art anymore. Art is dead now. My dad remembers vividly seeing a group of terrifying bikes blast pass his family station wagon on the freeway in the late 60s in Philly. He didn't know what club (I'm guessing Pagans), but he remembers the matching patches and remembers the impression they left just by rolling down the highway. You think that Twin Peaks crew scares anybody when they roll by? I can't tell them from all the other F150 HARLEY DAVIDSON EDITION driving rednecks around here. The world gets sadder every year. Where's the poetry? Wal-Mart outlaws. One size fits all.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RidgeHunter, post: 2749229, member: 4319"] ...but the highway hurts my butt and where do I keep my gear? [IMG]https://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/journey.jpg?w=700[/IMG] Bikers used to be scary because they lived a scary life. They rode dangerous bikes too fast, their hands were oil and greased stained from working on bikes that wouldn't stay running, not greasy from chicken wings at the local Hooter's rip-off. The very image of them was scary. They slept in bedrolls strapped to their bike on trips to bike week, not hotels with omelet bars. Now they're just scary because they may or may not be unhinged murders. Like the guy at the office that shoots the place up after he gets canned. He wasn't scary the day before pulling up in his Honda with his khakis on, but when he steps into the breakroom with a rifle he's a pretty terrifying dude. There's no art to that kind of scariness. If it wasn't for colors nowadays you couldn't tell a 1%er from the Brookside crew. Same dudes, same bikes. No art anymore. Art is dead now. My dad remembers vividly seeing a group of terrifying bikes blast pass his family station wagon on the freeway in the late 60s in Philly. He didn't know what club (I'm guessing Pagans), but he remembers the matching patches and remembers the impression they left just by rolling down the highway. You think that Twin Peaks crew scares anybody when they roll by? I can't tell them from all the other F150 HARLEY DAVIDSON EDITION driving rednecks around here. The world gets sadder every year. Where's the poetry? Wal-Mart outlaws. One size fits all. [/QUOTE]
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