Apparently I’m a miserable misogynist bastard who needs to get a life.  I know this because of the hate mail I got from my Jenny Craig and Loose Nuts rant posted a few weeks ago; but after looking up what misogynist means, I still don’t see how it fits me exactly.

Now, I want you to understand some stuff.  It wasn’t my intention to piss off all the sisters who I pointed at as making our (collective description of men generally) lives miserable; but I’m glad it did piss y’all off because the truth can sometimes sting a bit.  But, I’ve been instructed by the editor to make a formal apology and some lawyer prick told me to advise some shit about my views not being representative of something or another (Close enough. Ed.).

So, here goes.

 

For pointing at womankind collectively and accusing you all, I’m not even a little sorry.  However, there is an exception, and to you I formally apologize.  The rest of you can hold your breath.  So; the exception.  My buddy, (we’ll call her Lay Down Sally), is the one exception.  I mean, she can still throw tantrums, and she’s emotional and a pain in the ass one week a month, and she’s moody as hell when it comes to all her knives being oriented in the correct direction in the knife block in her kitchen; but she’s top notch because she’s willing to give it a go despite the lifelong handicap of having OCD.

She’s the only woman I know who can bump start her useless fucking bucket racer, a banana yellow two stroke symbol of mechanical recalcitrance.  In fact, she’s the only person who can start the temperamental piece of shit, period.  Weighing in at about 50 kilograms dripping wet, she’s the only chick to have ever jumped on Scoot and give it a good nudge.   The fact that she dropped Scoot on her side and destroyed the previous virgin crash bung while trying to do a tight u-turn is actually funny, and not even a bit annoying.  Me laughing my ass off at her pissed her off, and I almost dropped her GSXR750 from laughing so hard.  The boys had to pick Scoot up, I was doubled over guffawing at her misfortune.  Next time, wear high heals so your feet touch the ground.  And a mini-skirt, although I can’t find a good reason without more emails about being a sexist pig and the inevitable roasting from Vincenzo for writing shit.

Putting this in perspective, most hairy assed biker dudes I know with balls the size of grapefruit look at the ground and mumble, or make excuses about the time when I offer the keys to the Evil Bitch (aka Scoot).  Lay Down Sally actually asked for the keys.

She crashes with monotonous regularity.  So much so that Mike (the best parts guy next to Tony, I’ll explain in another rant) keeps K8 GSXR750 mirrors and crash bungs in stock specifically for her.  But she does it with elegance.  She gets her knee down.  And her elbow.  And her other knee.  And then her other elbow.  You get the picture.  But, she gets up, dusts herself off, and then gets her skinny ass back on the bike.  She doesn’t make excuses, and she can ride rings around most of the guys I know.

And before you get a mental picture of some short haired, butch biker chick, she’s hot, slender, and very good looking.  She’s smart, she has a master’s degree, and she can talk in actual sentences about stuff that matters, for example, bike set up and where to find the best porn.  She’s great to go shopping with because she actually knows where to find the best prices on Yoshimura.

She’s pretty much the perfect woman.  Well, almost.

She does have one problem.  Well, two if you count her being married (damn, you had me pretty much convinced to steal a diamond ring and propose. Ed.) and her husband being small minded about swapping parties.  The problem is she’s the only woman who you can’t baffle with bullshit about why something works the way it does and that’s just plain annoying. So, to you, Lay Down Sally; I apologize.  As for the rest of the sisterhood, keep holding your breath.