Things I don't understand....

The more I think about it, the more I realize there are a lot of things I just don't understand.  I try not to spend much time trying to figure these things out.  I really do, but some of them just get stuck in my head.  This morning's stop at the convenience store brought a few things to my attention that I really am having a hard time putting away.

I've gone off on "bikers" before, but its because I don't understand today's bikers.  I've tried to get it.  I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said, "Harley, if you have to ask you wouldn't understand."  I find that a tad bit pretentious...  If I understood, I wouldn't ask, right?  So me being me, I felt obligated to ask.  "So you're a biker, eh?"  I mean, he had the dumb ass, brand new t-shirt I described above which made the insinuation that he was indeed a biker.  He nodded.  He was also trying to avoid eye contact or any further interaction with me.  "I noticed your shirt.  You ride a Harley, eh?  I couldn't tell because you are driving a brand new motor coach, dragging a trailer that could be filled with anything."  He again nodded.  "So its safe to assume that when you are not driving this motor coach, you are actually riding what you are hauling around in the trailer?'  Then it happened.  He said, "Why are you asking me these questions?"  I said, "I'm inquisitive, I guess.  Perhaps I don't understand."

The guy got mad, and honestly that is what I was trying to get to.  I hadn't had coffee yet, so I had to do something to get the blood pumping.  Anyhow, the conversation did progress.  "Why are you fucking with me?" they guy asked.  "I'm not fucking with you.  I am asking questions, making small talk.  You might say that I am a town ambassador.  I want you to feel comfortable, welcome even, in our sleepy little mountain town."  At this point his head tilted like a dogs does when it hears a high pitched noise.  I continue, "So you're not so much a "Sons of Anarchy" type of biker as much as you are a "Sons of a Middle Aged Crisis" type of biker, right?"  Now, he's fully mad and I am almost fully satisfied.

Now let me back track a little bit.  Here's this guy who is claiming to be a biker.  He is wearing the dumb t-shirt that his dumb girlfriend bought for him right after he bought himself the likewise dumb "If you can read this, the bitch fell off" t-shirt.  With that, he was wearing black designer jeans, a big ass silver concho belt, and naturally.... silver tipped cowboy boots.  All of his attire screamed "asshole", not biker.

"I ride all of the time", he said.  "All of the time?  Like when you are not hauling the bike around?" I ask.  He was mad or embarrassed.  "What in the fuck do you want from me?" he said semi-confidently so I asked, "Explain the dumb slogan on your dumb shirt...."  He shook his head, finished pumping diesel into the motor coach, hopped in and fired it up.  He left without answering my question.

All of that brought me to this.  The reason why some assholes wear shirts that say "Harley, if you have to ask you wouldn't understand" is because they can't explain themselves.  Now I do understand.

Other shit I don't understand:
     *Why won't God heal amputees?
     *Why doesn't gum keep its flavor like it used too in the old days?
     *Why would you use Coca Cola (a corrosive beverage) to clean rust (corrosion) from metal?
     *Why do some women wear low cut shirts that show off their cleavage and then complain when
       men look?
     *Why are lap dances better when the stripper is crying?
     *Religion
     *Relatives
     

Jack Daniels, if you please...

Jack Daniels.... What a legacy!  Not the man nor the liquor, but me drinking the shit.  I've always been capable of questionable acts, but this fact has always been exemplified by consumption of this distilled wonder.  Honestly, I gave up drinking this particular libation because of where I often woke up.  Not necessarily in jail or anything like that, but in a position of where I would have to spend that next day trying to relive the previous nights actions and then make some kind of reparations.  If not reparations, good solid excuses....  If not good solid excuses, sincere apologies.

Anyhow, I decided to put my relationship with Jack on hold after one evening a couple of decades ago.  Perhaps many of you have witnessed this.  People who tend to over consume Jack Daniels always end up being the loudest and smartest people in the room.  This is a given and this was exactly the case in this particular story.

A couple of buddies and I were walking a nondescript street in Las Vegas drinking horribly cheap beer and of course, Jack Daniels.  For some reason, those who partake in Jack D end up being rather philosophical.  I was no exception and as we discussed the finer intricacies of prostitution, I professed that all prostitutes needed were a few more hugs to boost their self confidence.  Naturally the company I kept disagreed and I embarked on a mission to prove my point.  (I think a bet may have taken place.)  So as we walked I further professed my position.  "These women lack self confidence.  They lack love, not sex from a man.  They have no male support system in place and what can say "i love you as a person and support you", more than a hug"?

We entered a more congested area and I was set on proving my point (pointlessness).  Soon we stumbled upon such a person necessary in order to make my point.  I walked up to her and said, "Hey, what's your name?"  I imagined she would have a stripper like name, something like Cinnamon or Sparkles... she said "Ruth".  I was amazed because (I was drunk) I never met someone as young as she was, whose name was Ruth.  I went on... "Ruth, my colleagues and I are conducting a study on the oldest profession in the world, one in which I believe you are employed."  Ruth said, "Wait a minute...  You think I'm a hooker?"  I nodded and said, "well, yes..."  Ruth said rather convincingly, "I'm a Black Jack dealer, mother fucker!" and she promptly shoved me as hard as she could and made that clicking noise only a woman can make when they are disgusted.

Of course, my case study took a shot on that one.  It was obvious because my friends were laughing.  That only made me more determined.  After another slug of "liquid smart" I described where I went wrong and began to discuss not making another mistake.  (Turns out, that was my very next mistake.)

We rounded a corner on the way to a side street and standing before us was exactly the person I had been looking for.  Her name was "Jewels" and I found the name fitting.  It fit within the guidelines I set forth earlier in the evening, so how could I go wrong now?  Before I could ask her name she said, "you wanna party?".  I held my hand up in a waiving fashion and said, "I'd much rather ask you a question or two."  "Man, I really ain't got time for this shit" she said.  "What do you want to know?"
"For the record" I said, "are you indeed a prostitute?"  She answered my question with another... "Are you a fucking cop?"  Following suit, I then asked, "Do I look like a cop?".  She too made the clicking noise and rolled her eyes.  "What do you want, man?" she said in a demanding fashion.

"My colleagues and I are in the middle of a case study regarding the oldest profession in the world... the profession of prostitution."  She began to laugh before I could go on and interrupted with, "You mother fuckers ain't no doctors." She laughed when she said that, and I took a good bit of offense.  I stammered, "We feel something went wrong in your life and we stand in disagreement on what that something is..."  Again, the clicking thing and she began to mess with her finger nails.  "Man, you better hurry up before Delmonte shows up."  She added, "I need to be making money!"

I looked her dead in the eye (as well as someone half full of Jack Daniels can) and said, "I think you need a hug."  She laughed and opened her arms in order to let me give her a hug.  I stepped up, gave her a hug and then I heard an unfamiliar voice say, ''You're paying for that, boy."  I turned around to see an aggressive young man only slightly older than me, double stepping it in my direction.  "Oh shit, that's your ass", Jewels said.  "That's Delmonte and he's gonna want money for you wasting my time."  "Looky here" he said, "I gotta have some money for you wasting her time." 

Now, looking at Mr. Delmonte... I didn't have him pegged as a man who was big on conversation nor negotiations but I didn't think it would hurt to give it a shot.  "My good man..." was as far as I got before I found myself in a fist fight with Mr. Delmonte.  By some miracle, I was freed from the level of intoxication I had landed myself in.  I think it was getting punched in the mouth by a pimp that did it, nonetheless I had managed to begin to get the upper hand. 

Typical for a guy being half full of whiskey, I begin talking as I try to administer an ass whooping.  "I was just...(punched him in the nose) trying to...(punched him in the mouth) have a con...(punch) ver...(punch) sa...(punch) tion...(punch) with this young lady and you show up demanding money."  I honestly felt that I had the upper hand now....  then it happened.  BLAM!  I got hit over the head with Jewels' purse which was apparently filled with rocks and condoms.  I have to let go of Mr. Delmonte in order to deal with Jewels.  I briefly look around and my constituents are curiously missing... that too tends to happen when things like this occur when one partakes in the whiskey.

Jewels was doing her best Jackie Chan imitation with her purse, hitting me with every strike.  Out of no place I think... "Punch the hooker...."  That was the last thing I remembered until waking up the next morning in my front yard.

I don't know if I got a good shot off.  I don't know how in the hell I got home.  I had no idea what happened to my friends, Delmonte or Jewels, but it was at that point that I figured I had probably ought to stop trying to do case studies, street polls, or drinking whiskey.

I'm not for sure if there is a moral to this story, but if I had to choose one it would be... "nothing good comes from punching a hooker.... or drinking jack Daniels.... or trying to fight a pimp"

First Annual Pocket Gopher Hunt!