To:           blackecho

Subject:         YOUR SITE

Sent:          Tue, 24 Sep 2002





To which I replied



Hello, Tom,

Thanks for lifting your knuckles up off the ground just long enough to peck out this inexcusable example of self-degenerating, non-erudite excrement.  I particularly like how you slobber out what eventually amounts to, at best, an incoherent dribble of stupidity all the while making it look so easy on your part.  I’d say it has to be sheer natural talent only because you do it so well however I’m afraid that you are about to find out that ounce for ounce, chrome is not a substitute for brains, contrary to what Milwaukee would like you to believe.

I would also like to take this time to point out that it is slack jawed, limp wrist, puff chested Harley advocates like yourself who are what this site is all about, Tom.   This site is dedicated to those of who aren’t afraid to bravely step forward to show the rest of the world what the so called “Harley Experience” really is.

And what is the “Harley Experience”?  That’s an easy question to answer.  The so-called “Harley Experience” is nothing more than simple ignorance that is for sale at a ridiculously inflated price and in quantities large enough to feed an entirely developed subculture of carbon copy, conformist sheep who choose to spend their lives grazing languidly in the pasture of mediocrity.  This simple ignorance is made available to and marketed for the lowest fucking common denominator in today’s society, all through an ingenious scheme designed to enforce brand recognition through strong arm product advertising and brand / logo placement overkill.

Harley sells ignorance but it is an ignorance that you can be proud of, an ignorance that you should feel proud of, and an ignorance that you aren’t supposed to feel complete without owning.  Milwaukee sells an ignorance that is draped in red white and blue, an ignorance portrayed with a bald eagle, its hook clawed talons and wings spread wide, screaming in majestic, patriotic flight, beckoning you to dumb yourself silly.  The Harley Experience is an ignorance that makes you a willing part of a much larger ignorance, an ignorance that claims to set you free while secretly shackling your mind and spirit, and an ignorance that no red blooded American should be without.  No wonder you have chains on your wallet, you willingly put chains on your mind so the leap from one to the other wasn’t that surprising.

Ignorance is normally free for the asking, Tom, in fact, most people inherently want to better themselves by getting rid of as much ignorance as they can from their lives.   You people, on the other hand, are the direct opposite which is an interesting contrast to be sure.  You operate under the foolish notion that the more ignorant you are, the more ignorance that you can openly display that the better a person or more powerful you are.  Milwaukee wants you to pay through the nose (and probably the ass, depending on your local dealer) for their own special house brand of highly concentrated ignorance, and they’ve found a huge market that’s always hungry for their particularly stale product, no matter how old that product is.  This market is so hungry for Milwaukee’s stale old product that individual segments of the market will buy products totally unrelated to the primary product!  As long as the sub-product has that stamp of well recognized stale old ignorance on it, then it just naturally has to be good.  After all, if it’s got the officially licensed and endorsed stamp of approval on it, you can bet that someone, somewhere is going to buy that piece of ignorance just because of the brand recognition.  Milwaukee is counting on that, nay, banking on that because they make their living off of the stupidity of others.

Ignorance is a shackle around your mind, Tom.  The difference between you and I is that I have spent the majority of my life avoiding ignorance while you seem to have spent a good deal of your life actually collecting and embracing it.  The fact that ignorance is free for the asking, yet you have willingly paid a hefty sum for your own ignorance shows that not only are you a slave to mediocrity, but that you actually paid someone else in order for the privilege to be so.  This pretty much guarantees that you are not one of the brightest slaves to ever be indentured for life to some inbred rednecks.

People like you eat, breathe, sleep, fuck, shit, and dream in prepackaged trademarked ignorance.  It is a symbiotic part of your core existence.  You couldn’t get rid of it if you tried because without it you are basically and inherently nothing.

Ignorance may very well be bliss, Tom, but no human being has a right to be as happy as you are in life.


If it is one thing that I really, really hate, it is an indecisive flamer who can’t even create a decent insult, observe proper sentence structure or use the correct fucking punctuation.  I expect more from those who try to heckle or belittle me, Tom, I really do.  After all, I’m giving you 120% of my effort, why can’t I expect the same courtesy in return?

Oh, that’s right.

The reason that I can’t expect that kind of effort on your part is the simple fact that most of you Harley owners are lazy, pathetic, completely unoriginal, retarded, spastic ass-muppets.  Not only do you rent your make believe, put-on-when-its-fair-weather, bad-ass wannabe attitude that you flash around so proudly, but you can’t even back it up with strong language or any original content when the situation calls for it.

I find you as disappointing as you are inept, Tom.  If you are trying to insult me, then you’ve not only done it incorrectly, you’ve also done it very badly as well.  That pretty much makes you one hell of a fucking rank amateur, now doesn’t it?

Let’s have a short lesson in Insultology here.  I’m going to give you some free points so pay attention and take notes.

The retort “fuck you, asshole!” isn’t that hard of an insult to master, not that it was when it first appeared on the insult scene and became rather trendy about two centuries or so ago.  Hell, there are barefoot, Kool-Aid mustache wearing four year olds living in dirt road trailer parks and even some domesticated parrots out there who have already mastered this one simple phrase, a phrase I might remind you, which you seem to have real trouble using correctly.

You could have just said “Fuck you, asshole!” (note proper sentence structure, perfect retort form, and proper punctuation) and started off with that, but you didn’t.  You made a big explanation of how you had to correct your own attempt at an insult because you forgot to add in a critical part of the insult.  In an email?!  What’s up with that, Tom?  Do you not understand the basics of digital media, of cut and paste, of type and delete?  Do you not understand the advent of spell check?!

Apparently not and in my humble opinion, that’s pretty weak for someone who calls their self a human being.  I mean, you almost go and outright apologize from the start for being lame and inept at the art of insulting someone and your message continues to degenerate from there.

Tom, how can I take your insult seriously if you can’t even get it right the first time?  It’s not like you blurted out this insult and then realized that you had forgotten a critical part and had to correct yourself in public.  No!   You pecked out this tepid pile of petrified Neanderthalic dog shit one finger tap at a time (while the other finger was probably stuck up your nose).  You had every opportunity to correct it before you ever sent it, but did you?


That’s not just weak, Tom, that’s utterly fucking retarded, on your part I might add.

Also, just a tiny bit of advice: when you attempt to communicate with another human being via Email and you type in ALL CAPS while you rape and pillage the English language as you misspell even the simplest of everyday words in a lackadaisical manner, it really, really makes you look like a complete twinkle toed numbfuck.


Jesus Chrysler!  I swear one day I am going to spontaneously evolve into a state of complete supreme omnipotence and the first act of righteousness that I shall engage in will be to smite all of you greasy, bondage clad, outdated cockroaches in one giant karmic bitch slap of enlightenment…

“If you rode a Harley…”  Note- I had to snip the rest of that statement due to professional courtesy to my viewers as that particular statement, if read twice within a five day period, has been emphatically proven by Underwriters Laboratory to cause spontaneous brain aneurisms in humans and eventually lead to irreversible mental retardation on a genetic as well as cellular level.  If you do read that statement again and wake up a week later drooling all over yourself and eating out of the cat’s litter box, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Damn.  That statement alone has to be one of the oldest, most ignorant, and most clichéd responses in the Harley play book.  Thanks again, Tom, for being even more unoriginal than I gave you credit for.  Have you ever ridden anything but a Harley?  I doubt it, otherwise you wouldn’t make such asinine statements like the one you just made without realizing just how plebian it makes you sound.

If I rode a Harley, Tom, and that’s a mighty big fucking existential IF, then I wouldn’t really know the first thing about what riding a motorcycle is all about, now would I?  How could I know what riding a motorcycle is all about unless I had the chance to actually ride a motorcycle.   A Harley isn’t a motorcycle, Tom, it’s the world’s best selling motorized wheelchair for hippies, yuppies, posers, wannabes, and people with far more money than common sense.  People apparently like you.  A Harley is for people who don’t have a life, who can’t figure out how to have a life, but yet somehow have found enough money to go out and rent a life from some twelve toed, three tooth inbred hill scoggins, a life to call their own all in the name of being an original and an individual.

A Harley is a cheap façade for shallow minded, knee walking, commode hugging, cold white stained yellow porcelain licking, mental midgets who want to pretend to be bad, but don’t want to have to break a sweat to earn that reputation or prove that they achieved it legitimately through any physical exertion of their own.  You are the kind of people who were probably the target market for rub on temporary tattoos.  It’s the same concept, basically, as owning a Harley.  Rub on temporary tattoos, that is.

A Harley is just a big pretend scooter with an even bigger price tag, it’s something you keep in the garage and ride on sunny weekends when you want to make the kind of people who take NASCAR and line dancing seriously go “ooooooh!” and “aaaaahhhh!” when you roar past them at 100 decibels and 20 miles an hour.  Grab a hefty handful of throttle, and these easily impressed sheepeople will usually perform the dual miracle of rubbernecking while tremble-moistening their crotches in a similar manner as Pavlov’s dogs.

So, Tom, if a Harley isn’t a motorcycle, then how can riding a Harley let me know what riding a motorcycle is all about?  Think about it.  Your pathetic attempt at logic is weaker than diet decaf coffee.

And while you claim that riding a Harley would let me know what riding a motorcycle was all about, who exactly rides a Harley?  I’ve seen way too many typical Harley riders and they aren’t pretty, that’s for sure.  When I see one of you chronically flatulent troglodytes ride by all decked out in all your officially licensed and endorsed B&D fuckclown gear, I don’t have the first thought of envy or jealousy.  No, I feel sorry for you and deep down in my jaded old soul I laugh my ass off at you because you all remind me of those palsy afflicted geriatric retards who freebase a dangerous mixture of Centrum 7, Geritol, and Metamucil.  These retards are the ones driving around in their big Cadillac Sevilles that have those ridiculous hydraulic carrier racks on the back bumper to transport their asinine little “Rascal” electric mobility scooters.  You know, the kind of palsy afflicted geriatric retards that wear those huge, smoke black clip-on sun shields over their regular half inch thick eyeglasses, all of which just goes and makes them look like some 70 year old Florida Snow Bird version of “The Terminator”.  What’s worse is that these geriatric retards usually refuse to ever take these clip-on sun shields off, even when these scary Medicaid experiments somehow manage to get their scooters over the curb and actually inside the mall.  This, of course, causes them to be rendered immediately legally blind when they go indoors so they end up terrorizing the people in the mall by driving their stupid buzzing electric mobility scooters around and knocking shit over and making small children leap out of the way at the last second to avoid being crushed to death under the freedom loving rubber wheels of smiling, waving “Robopawpaw”.

 wpe1B.jpg (10352 bytes)

(Oops!  Looks like some parts fell off the Harley already.)

That’s what all of you Harley riders remind me of, Tom.  Self-propelled geriatric retards who haul your ridiculously big artificial mobility Milwaukee made scooters around attached to the back of your cars or trucks and then use that artificial mobility, when you finally get to where ever it is that you are going, to annoy the ever living fuck out of the rest of us when you do get there.

In case you haven’t been paying attention to this site and the history that I’ve given so far (and apparently you haven’t), let me bring you down close for a good old fashioned team huddle and fill you in on the current play.  I know it has to be hard being nothing more than a bench warmer in the big game of life, but that’s a decision you’ve made so you will just have to deal with it.

I’ve ridden a Harley before, Tom.

In fact, I’ve ridden several Harleys, all in an attempt to have an open mind and maybe to catch just a small tantalizing taste of some of this highly vaunted “Harley Experience” that all of you redneck scoggins constantly blabber about having like it was some kind of honest to God religious turning point in your life.  I don’t know what all the hype is because I didn’t get the first tingle of this so called “Harley Experience”.  No clouds parted, no rays of light shone up from Milwaukee and back down from Heaven, no golden gates appeared to open on the eternal road to freedom.  Maybe my Harley was broken; it wouldn’t be the first time that a test model failed to crank on the showroom floor when a potential buyer asked for a test ride.   Mine, however, did crank, and it actually made it out of the parking lot, which surprised the hell out of me even in the absence of the whole host of Heaven singing “Halleluiah!” which I probably couldn’t have heard anyway over the roar of that dilapidated V-twinkie that masqueraded as a power plant between the legs of my five foot twelve, two hundred pound frame.  Where was all the incredible, big throbbing erection producing power that all of you scags blabber about?  Where was all of this glory, this freedom, this grace that I had heard so much about.  

It was AWOL and I didn’t have much time to go searching for it either.

Maybe all of these ideals were extra cost, dealer installed options that the dealer simply hadn’t installed yet.  The Harley that I rode didn’t have any of those options or ideals installed.  Instead, I felt like I was trying to urge a pregnant yak out of a deep coma and to get a move on. Nowhere during the test ride did I get the faintest sense that I was somehow being bathed in the glory of the “Harley Experience” and all that it supposedly entails.  I felt like someone was genuinely pissing on my parade.

Did I achieve the “Harley Experience”?


The real Harley Experience might be easier to catch from a urine covered toilet seat in a public restroom than it can be purchased at the dealer, IMHO, and at least then medical science might be able to provide some type of relief for the infection, if not readily identify it and provide a cure.  What did I feel when I rode a Harley, Tom?

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing except that I was in the slap dab middle of what I would call a BFWOT, that’s a big fucking waste of time.  I mean, life is short and every minute has to count for something otherwise you aren’t really living, you’re only existing and there’s a big difference between living and existing, I can assure you.  Now, I don’t know how much of an intrinsic value that you put on your own personal time, but I tell you that my time is pretty precious and the time I spent aboard that piece of brand new junk was time that I could have better spent doing something constructive, creating and rewarding.  Something enjoyable like masturbating with an industrial grade Black and Decker electric belt sander and a loop of high traction forty-grit, an act which I believe would have felt immensely better and been far more enjoyable in the long run than enduring that languid test ride.

What did I feel when I returned the big, noisy pretend-to-be-a-bike to the dealer?   I felt an immense and immediate sense of relief when I climbed off that dilapidated old piece of antediluvian junk.

That’s relief, Tom.  Not pleasure, not jealousy, not envy, but relief.  R-E-L-I-E-F.  Relief that I wasn’t about to start making huge cash payments on something that you would truly have to have the IQ of a bowl of luke-warm, milk drenched, soggy old Coca-Puffs to appreciate, let alone think about even buying in the first place.

What is the “Harley Experience”?

That’s a good question.  As near as I can tell, it’s all about having your ass endlessly bounced up and down with all the gentle, tender loving kindness and fluidic grace that a group of over zealous 12th century European Crusaders using a battering ram to break down the front gates of a Saracen held fortress in the Holy Land could have emulated and produced.  How any of you can look at this type of insidious mechanical orgy of metal and flesh and possibly consider it to be ‘pleasurable” in any stretch of the word escapes me, but it does show some decidedly masochistic tendencies on your part and it certainly identifies very clear sadistic tendencies on the part of those who slapped that piece of junk together in the first place.

Are you riding your Harley, or is it riding you?  I asked myself that question each time I got off one of those rattletraps.   It all went to prove my observation that a Harley is nothing more than a huge rolling strap on, only I think it’s the first strap on in history that you wear backwards in order to achieve the desired effect.

All the Harleys that I rode, from used to new, including a so called “Sportster” (what a fucking joke) and even a brand new Buell, were simply lackluster pieces of tired, hashed together, stinky old dried up troll shit that shook worse than an epileptic hippopotamus having its first multiple orgasm, with all the accompanying grace and style and twice the noise.  Trust me, that is being both generous and polite in my description of the Milwaukee end product. 

The Buell was the worst of all, because I actually expected the most out of it and got the least in return.  American sportbike, my ass, which is the exact region of my body that ached the most after I had thrashed the test bike for more than twenty minutes on my favorite stretch of road.  I should have known that when you take a visionary like Eric Buell, and you handicap him by forcing him to use the worst possible engine in the world for high performance, you aren’t going to get anything that could remotely resemble an erection during any part of the test ride.

If riding a Harley doesn’t make you impotent, riding a Buell surely will.  That tired old Sportster engine just neuters an otherwise promising bike design.  After having ridden the Buell, I think I finally understand the target market for Viagra.

Maybe if Eric Buell can slam that new Porsche designed V-Rod engine into one of his modern frames, my generation might just get what we have been asking for all these years, but then I guess we’ll have an American made frame with a German made engine topped off with French made heads.  It won’t be so much an American sportbike as it will be a runner up to be the next charter member in NATO.


Tom, if you honestly think that riding a Harley is what motorcycling is all about, then you are even more retarded than the federal government allows by law.


Tom, it is my expert opinion that you are not a very deep thinker.  Hell, I bet I could measure your IQ with a dipstick and a shop towel and I'm guessing you're several quarts low.  People like you probably have real trouble answering even simple questions in life, you know, questions like “would you like to super-size your combo for just thirty-nine cents more?” and “do you want pie with that?”  And why must rinky-dink shit zippers like yourself persist in chronically sodomizing the English language, and without the God-given decency of giving a courtesy reach around while you are doing it?

Once I figure out Harleys?! 

Oh, come fucking on!   You have got to be kidding me, Tom!  I have figured out Harleys.  That is what this site is all about.


I figured out Harley Davidson a long time ago.  Maybe it is you, Tom, that hasn’t figured out what motorcycling is all about.  If you own a Harley, you certainly don’t know the first fucking thing about motorcycling because you don’t really own a motorcycle.  You own a Harley.  You own a rolling strap on dildo that is a membership card to the flock at large.

I long for the day when you redneck plebian testicles actually begin to understand that owning a Harley and understanding what motorcycling is all about are two mutually exclusive concepts.


If you can successfully diagram that sentence, I’ll give you five extra points on your next quiz, but since you can’t, I’ll just stamp your test with a big red “IGNORANT” and fail you for the entire course.  Tom, the last time I checked, I’m not from the jungle and my bike wasn’t made in a jungle either, nor was it intended to be ridden there.  I’ll ignore the quasi-racial overtones of the jungle comment and proceed to the meat of the argument. 

My motorcycle was intended to be ridden on asphalt and concrete, hard packed planes of existence, to completely dominate all artificially constructed, man made flat surfaces whether straight or curved and to do something that Harley simply can’t do; compete.  Oh, yeah, my motorcycle was intended to do something else that Harley obviously can’t do either and that’s win.  Your excuse for a motorcycle was specifically designed to be big, shiny, and loud, all aspects of people who are trying to compensate for a lack in some other part of their life.  Your Harley was designed to be particularly loud enough and to carry a very specific sound so as to impress the more non-erudite members of the bewildered herd.

My motorcycle was produced in a heavily industrialized sector of the island nation of Japan, a culture rich in tradition and history.  My motorcycle was produced by a contemporary, forward thinking industrial zaibatsu that has put lots of money into making their product better, not in making it louder or flashier or by sticking their head in the sand and trying to pretend it is 1940 all over again as an excuse to their inability to enact change in their core designs.   The production facilities of this zaibatsu use modern, nay, cutting edge technology in a heavily automated factory complex the likes of which Milwaukee only wishes it could build, let alone understand how to operate.  Suzuki’s research and development center alone is probably as big if not bigger than Harley Davidson’s entire factory layout there in Milwaukee. 

That says something.  In fact, that says a whole fucking lot.  That says that Suzuki puts more effort into long term forward thinking than Harley Davidson puts into its entire retro-crap production process and since Harley is all about retro-crap production, that doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for forward thought, now does it?  Research and Development; two words which mean that Suzuki actually uses their brains to look for new ideas and new ways of making a better product instead of trying to use the same tired old methods like Milwaukee does.  There’s only so many ways that you can reshape tepid dogshit, Tom, and by God, I believe that Harley is going to discover them all eventually and do their best to try to trademark them in the process.

What does the Harley Davidson R&D complex look like?  I imagine it looks like this:

hdresearch.jpg (44204 bytes)

Of course, that was before the government bail out grant allowed them to build a more modern version like this one shown here.

 wpe6.jpg (10335 bytes)

You will notice that the Marketing Department is located on the upper level, and the R&D department is located on the lower level, which more than amply explains Harley’s business strategy, why we have more trinkets than motorcycles, and why all of their designs are based on shit.

Ever seen an outhouse, Tom?

Of course you have, your trailer park is probably full of them because scoggins like you are still two steps behind the Renaissance and heading in the wrong direction.   Not that you would be familiar with the operation of an outhouse, since personal hygiene isn’t a strong point with most of you Harley riders.  I hear that wind dried piss cures new leather with a quickness, but I wouldn’t know personally. 

What would you find in a modern day Harley Davidson research and development center?   Take that image above, throw in a big Sears catalog for recommended but still highly optional personal hygiene purposes, add a well stocked collection of old issues of Hustler, Barely Legal, Easy Rider, Tattoo, High Times, WWF, and American Iron and you will probably be pretty close to duplicating not only the entire Harley Davidson technology library but their major source of inspiration as well. 

What do the Japanese have in comparison?

Well, how about the actual Suzuki manufacturing complex where they build their wonderful motorcycles, off road vehicles, ATVs, cars, small water craft and outboard motors.   Does Harley build ATVs?  No.  Does Harley build watercraft or outboard motors?  I mean, besides the outboard boat motor that they laughingly call the EVO engine?  No.  I mean, think about it.  There are some Johnson and Mercury outboard motors out there packing more horsepower than the biggest Harley.   That’s fucking sad and pathetic. 


Because Harley only knows one trick, and that trick is producing stale old designs and getting dumb asses to buy them through a deluge of marketing and propaganda that preys upon the general patriotic guilt felt by weak minded Americans.  If Harley ever built a personal watercraft, it would cost $60,000, sink the first time you put it in water, and would probably leave an oil slick on the surface that would have the environmental whackos coming out of the woodwork to screech about the ecological pollution..  Either that, or it would be designed after and look like the two Civil War ironclads Monitor and Merrimac and the line would be sold under the description “nostalgic water craft”.  Speed on the open water wouldn’t be a major design factor, but it sure would make a big wake, and you could hear it coming from three miles away.

So, what’s inside the Suzuki manufacturing complex?

I’ve not seen it personally, though I would love a tour of the facilities one day, especially their R&D department and their test track facilities (Milwaukee only has one test track and it’s closed when they are busy loading gravel out of the pit during Monday through Friday daylight hours).  After having seen numerous pictures and read numerous articles, I’d would guess that you will most likely find powerful high end computers, dedicated mainframes, highly complex and advanced industrial robots, vast automated assembly line processes, close tolerance production procedures, and a host of technological achievements that would have most of the barefoot, overall wearing scoggins in Milwaukee standing around dumbfounded, cowering in fear of powerful magic, or just staring off into space as they pick their noses and dig in their ass cracks in utter confusion.

Suzuki has always been on the fore-front of technology, it wasn’t until recently (like in the last decade, IIRC) that Harley Davidson got a state of the art (if you call inbred technology ‘state of the art’) manufacturing facility and for what?  To hammer out the same tired old designs only with more efficiency and some noted increase in production volume.

Boy howdy.

Now where did all that famous American ingenuity go, Tom?  When did it become unpatriotic to do any forward thinking or come up with something new and different, to approach the problem from a different angle?  When did America become afraid of change?  Oh, right.  That happened about the same time that America started getting dumbed down by the liberals and when we started learning that sound and image were direct replacements for performance and power.  When we learned that it didn’t matter if you were actually powerful, just that you said that you were powerful.  Remember, today in America it’s not if you can do something, it’s how you feel about what should be done.  It’s not the walk that you walk, it’s the talk that you talk and Harley is full of hot air. 

Harley is a perfect example of what is wrong with this country; image with no substance, sound with no fury, size with no strength, obese and lazy but loud and proud. 

I don’t think my bike was produced in the jungle any more than it burns rice or was manufactured by some slant eyed commie gook bastards intent on undermining the economic stability of this great nation.  What a silly pubic wart you are, Tom!  My bike was produced by engineers, real engineers, not some inbred shade tree mechanics with chronic incestuous tendencies and odious personal habits.


“They.”  Who is “they”, Tom?  When you say “they”, who exactly are you referring to?  Are you referring to my parents who taught me not to foolishly waste my money on junk and not to be like everyone else but instead to stand apart in the crowd and make a name for myself rather than renting a reputation from someone else?  Or, perhaps, you are referring to the various teachers and professors that I have had in my life time of professional education, all of whom reinforced the deep running and staunch conservative vein of common sense that my parents gave to me with regards to money and investing.

Or are you perhaps referring to someone else entirely?

If, by your use of the pronoun “they”, you mean “Harley Davidson”, then I should tell you that I don’t listen to “them” because “they” are a bunch of ignorant inbred redneck stumpfucks who still think that fire is magic and who would slather their name and brand logo on tampons if they thought they could make money doing it.   I would wager that most of their corporate decision making process involves drinking lots of high octane moonshine while dancing around barefoot in overalls to harmonica and fiddle music, with a poisonous snake in each hand all the while speaking in tongues, staring at the sun, and dribbling tobacco juice all over their chins.

I’ll take my Japanese engineers with their multiple degrees in technology and their clean, pressed white lab coats and tiny little Hello Kitty sake cups any day, thank you.  That sure beats seeing the three tooth, meth abusing, nervous twitching scoggins who designed your bike drinking home-made liquor out of an empty Hellmann’s mayonnaise jar while randomly shouting “Goot!  Goot!  Goot!” or “Gawtdamn!” for no apparent reason.

At least the Japanese know more about motorcycles than those rednecks that you look up to in Milwaukee do.  That much I thought was rather obvious as Japan (and every other country that produces a marketed motorcycle) has been whipping Harley’s ass in races for decades, on the track and off.  You want me to take Harley seriously and invest some of my hard earned money into their pockets, then you get Harley to get off their ass and start winning instead of whining.

Nobody likes to support perpetual whiners, Tom, that’s called welfare and Harley has made a living off of taking last place to every other brand of motorcycle in the world, of backsliding in the face of stout competition.

Harley calls it ‘heritage’.

You call it ‘patriotism’.

I call it ‘losing’.


“People like you is…”? 

Oh, ahahahahaha!  Please tell me that you did not just use a plural subject with a singular verb.  Please tell me that you didn’t.  Oh, what a silly little uneducated Lego monkey you are, Tom!  The English language begs for mercy to no avail under your relentless assault of ignorance.

 First of all, your continuing rampant sodomization of the English language brings tears of sorrow to my eyes and a feeling of deep and utter disbelief to my professionally educated soul, really, it does.  People like you are the reason why home schooling never has really gained much acceptance, and why the manufactured housing industry manages to stay in business and turn a marked profit.  The blatant fact that someone as dumb as you can continue to survive in our society is proof positive that the herd needs to be culled and that welfare is a very, very bad thing as it completely violates the law of natural selection.  People like you should be amputated from the human race before it’s too late and the still raw nub cauterized with an acetylene blowtorch then treated to a rather liberal splash of industrial strength Bactine which should be applied in order to prevent any further infection of the kind of insipid ignorance which you display.

I don’t care about this country?  How did you come to that conclusion, Tom?  Do you base your argument on the fact that I don’t spend lots of money to buy a total piece of crap and that somehow makes me un-fucking-American?  Did your assumption of my political and patriotic views take into the account that because my choices were different than yours that I was therefore not an American?   What laughable store bought and spoon fed artificial patriotism you propose, Tom.  The collective IQ of where ever you live must have gone down seven whole points the instant you took up residence.

Where in the hell did you learn about what constitutes and does not constitute patriotism?  It certainly wasn’t out of the same book that I learned it from.  Here’s my take on it, numbfuck.  Part of being an American is having not only the freedom to make decisions, but also the responsibility of casting your vote for what you believe in by making those decisions and in doing so in an informed manner.  The problem with this country is that somewhere along the way our brains atrophied and we started thinking with our hearts, not our heads.  This has lead to a great deal of trouble the likes of which this country may not be able to resolve.

Harley, through begging, whining, knee walking, and French ass kissing, has somehow escaped the law of natural selection with the help of divine government intervention.   It was a good thing that their prayers were answered as the knees of their coveralls were starting to wear a little thin there in the early ‘80s however, such was the begging that ensued that their tongues are still brown to this day.  I don’t believe in Harley Davidson, it is an embarrassment to me, and in my opinion, an embarrassment to my great country.  I personally feel that Harley Davidson represents the very worst that Americans can possibly build with regard to motorcycles and it projects the image that Americans are fat, lazy, loud, and have no balls.  It projects the image that America is obese and underpowered, that we are concerned with image over substance, that we rather pose and act tough rather than actually do anything.  If that’s what America is all about and what it means to you, then you don’t live in the same United States that I do because I remember a better America, and Harley Davidson is not a representation of what I remember.

You question my citizenship, you silly little plebian straw-hat donkey-fuck? Part of being a responsible American is working for change when you see something wrong.  That is what I’m doing, Tom.  I’m trying to bring about some much needed change in my country, change for the better because I recognize that one part of America is not only stagnant, it is decadent and obsolete.  You, on the other hand, are content to sit around and do nothing about it because you have been brain washed into thinking that this is the best that it can be, that there is nothing better and that change is inherently wrong.  You won’t stand up and go against the grain because if you stood up and said something, those you have surrounded your pathetic pretend self with might not like you anymore, and that would be the end of “Tom: American Freedom Rider” now wouldn’t it?  You’d have to go back to being just plain old “Tom” and you can’t stand that because that guy is boring as fuck, works in a cubicle five days a week, and probably never gets laid without a sizeable cash outflow from his pocket.

I’m more of an American than you could ever be, Tom, and I casting my vote with a big thumbs down, Roman Emperor style, for Harley Davidson, because Harley Davidson, in my humble opinion, is not worthy of representing America to the world.

Didn’t your parents tell you that spending three times as much money for a product that was only one third as good as the next comparable product wasn’t only a really bad decision, it was a really fucking dumb idea as well?  I guess not, otherwise, you wouldn’t own a Harley.

Apparently, while you are trying to tell me that I should have been listening to someone else earlier in my life teach me about some inbred form of outdated pseudo-fantasy nationalistic economics and easy opening canned consumer patriotism (which has nothing to do with real or true patriotism not that you would understand patriotism in the first place), you, in turn, should have been paying closer attention in third grade English language studies.

If you had paid more attention to the studies that were (arguably) preparing you to be a useful member of society, then you wouldn’t sound like such a fucknail mongo-tard when you spoke or wrote, now would you?  However, since you were too busy daydreaming about one day owning a Harley and becoming a life-long career loser roaring down the open road to mediocrity, we’ll just have to accept that my Bachelor of Science degree in business administration carries far more weight than your two gold stars from the Simpletonville Extra Love and Care Kindergarten for Special Kids, which apparently, is the highest level of education which you ever managed to obtain through your own rather ineffective efforts.

 You won’t find mediocrity on a road map, Tom, no matter how hard you ride in that direction.  The sad truth is, you’re already there.  You arrived the moment you bought your Harley and you’ve been a rent paying resident ever since.

I find it interesting that you introduce a new word to the English language, “termoil”.  Now, I’m not exactly sure what “termoil” is, since I couldn’t find it in Webster’s current contemporary dictionary, either my well used hard copy or the online version which is updated far more often.  My guess is that it is some kind of new, recently discovered petroleum product that I haven’t yet heard of, or maybe it’s a new officially licensed and endorsed mystery ‘snake oil’ additive sold by Harley Davidson.  Maybe you add this product to your motorcycle to either stop your oil from leaking out the crankcase or to stop your piece of junk excuse for a motorcycle from smoking like an industrial factory exhaust stack when you flatulently throttle your way through traffic.

 The word that I believe that you are looking for, you ridiculously ignorant ass staple, is “turmoil”, and if the economy is in turmoil, it isn’t because of me or people like me, I assure you.  It is because stupid, ignorant people like you who don’t have the first hint of a basic education are willing to spend their hard earned money on total shit, at the drop of a hat, all so that they can be carbon copy, ass snorkeling, cock munchkins instead of using that money in a far wiser fashion.  People like you buy trademarked shit instead of items that might require more mental power than a pack of dried out Sunmaid raisins to own, understand and operate.  Simple machines, simple minds.

 What helps the economy more, Tom?  You tell me since I’m the one holding a business degree and you apparently know so much more than I do.  Enlighten me, dear scoggin.  How does spending $24,000 for a Harley and then putting another ten grand into it for accessories compare to spending $8,000 for an imported motorcycle (sold at an American store, owned by an American business person, located in an American town) and then spending the other $26,000 elsewhere in the economy to help other businesses, buy other products, etc.  You know, spread the wealth around, oh, but I forgot, “they” don’t want you to know that because that would mean less money for “them”, now wouldn’t it?

If you buy a Harley, you might as well wipe your ass with the American flag and flush your money down the toilet.

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Didn’t “they” ever teach you not to put all of your eggs in one basket?   Apparently not, and that leads me to believe that “they” aren’t very smart, which leads me to believe that you are indeed talking about Harley Davidson.

To use your own curious form of English, “They is stupid.”  That is why I don’t listen to “they”.


The whole argument of America vs. Japan is ludicrous and is really based in the glory years of the first half of the 20th century, which is about as highly developed technologically as Harley ever got.   Tom, I’ve been an American since 1969 when I was born here.  33 long years I’ve been an American, living in America, going to American schools, working in American businesses, watching American television, listening to American music and driving American cars and trucks.  Not once have I side stepped my responsibility of being a citizen of this great country.  I’m happy to be an American right now, thank you, always have.   As an American, it is my civic duty to point out stupidity and to advance the nation when and how I can, to help guide the ship of state and steer it clear of the jagged rocks of ignorance and stupidity before it dashes itself to pieces.  Since crunchy panty-wastes like you aren’t strong enough to stand up for what is right, or are too brow beaten to care, it is therefore the responsibility of the younger more active generation, the generation that will inherit all the shit that your generation has left behind in your carefree abuse of this country and its core foundations.  It is up to my generation to put things back in order.  I’m not an American because of what I ride, Tom, I’m an American because of what I believe in; capitalism, power, and God and the only liberal part of that is in how I apply those three things to life, which is quite liberally.   That’s what makes me an American, that and my birthright.

I’m curious as to what makes you an American, Tom?  Or rather, what do you think makes you an American.

Is it what you ride?  Apparently so since that is the only prerequisite that you have listed in order for me to consider you to be an American.  So, exactly how does your Harley make you an American, Tom?  What laughable logic you spout.  You are proof positive that citizenship in this country should require an IQ test to receive.  Hell, there are people sneaking in over the border who know more about what it takes to be an American and you do, Tom.   I swear, there are salad croutons out there with more logical reasoning capacity than you exhibit.

Your mother must have either free-based the hell out of Elmer’s brand adhesive paste or ate paint chips when she was pregnant with you to have produced such an utterly retarded example of what passes for a human being.  And what is it with you cranially challenged plebiatards that you think that IF you ride a HARLEY DAVIDSON that in turn makes you a REAL AMERICAN?  Using your own logic, again, according to you, anyone in the world who rides a Harley is an American by default, regardless of where they live or what country they were born in, simply because they throw their legs over a real American made Freedom Machine and yank on the throttle like a rabid masturbating monkey.

Sorry, I don’t buy that ridiculous logic, if I did, that would automatically pretty much invalidate the naturalization process of becoming an American citizen right then and there, now wouldn’t it, Tom?  The last time that I checked, there were different ways to become a naturalized American citizen, but owning and riding a Harley wasn’t one of them.

Oh!  And since about thirty percent of your so called “American made” motorcycle is actually made in other countries, with the carburetors especially being made in Japan, where do you figure that 30% of your money is really going to, thumb-dick?  Can you say “other countries”?  Probably not because then your make believe world would explode.  Do you really think that Harley isn’t passing that cost onto you, the American Consumer™?  Where is Harley getting the money to pay these other countries for the parts that it needs to build your American bike?


You people are so damn trusting and so damn naïve that I could sell you one of my turds if I just put the thing in a red, white, and blue colored box and called it a “Pet Shit”.  Hell, you people would really line up to buy it if I stamped it “Made in America” and put a little “as seen on TV” emblem on it.  That, of course, would be a first, since you would then own something with more brain cells than you can honestly claim to currently have.


Tom, you are living proof that semen can go stale and even curdle while still inside the reproductive organs of the human male, even before it is ever deposited into the reproductive system of the human female.  Thank you in turn for the spelling error ridden, logic poor, ignorance rich, invalid-like spastic attempt at an email.  I would have to say that your email truly approached the descriptive adjective of “thought revoking” as I think I am actually dumber for ever having read it.  You have more than gone out of your way to prove once again that the typical Harley rider has less mental prowess than a pack of Hostess Ding-Dongs with about one quarter the personality.

 Do try to use your brain every now and then, Tom.  It’s the little things in life that really count.