The sun is setting last Wednesday night and I am jumping in my manly as possible Nissan Rogue, which J. Black Hairpiece has duly named the “Silver Bullet”. My Rogue tries to be as tough and intimidating as a Coors Light can that’s used to kill werewolves. I don’t think it got picked on at Nissan Elementary. My speakers are blaring with Queen’s “Somebody to Love”. That’s manly isn’t it? It was either the great Freddy Mercury or Elton John.
I am donning the collared shirt, dress slacks, parted hair, business professional look that I am usually sporting at any of the recruiting visits I attend. Intimidating, I know. This was the backup look that Brad Pitt was going to be sporting in the movie “Fight Club”. However they thought that no shirt, no shoes, was a little bit more “tough”.
Heading southbound on I-15, I am feeling as masculine and intimidating as any other collared-shirted, flaming music listening, mid-size SUV punk would ever feel. William Wallace might have backed away from me on the plains of Scotland if he saw me. Either that or fed my pink-lined ovaries to the female dogs that he used to scrape up the flakes of men that tried to be tough, but in all reality weren’t even close.
As I am speeding away into the night, I see something to my right that makes me swallow my man-producing parts and feel like I’m going to need another pair of panties. It is the BAMF Biker. For the record, if you do not know what the acronym BAMF stands for, look it up on urbandictionary.com.
This was one tough dude. This man had chest hair on his chest hair. He had a black bandana and a matching moustache that put Burt Reynolds to shame. His polished silver Harley Davidson roared away going 80, while his leather chaps, tight skull and crossbones t-shirt were about to get torn off his body by his bulging biceps. For a moment, I thought I was going to get beat up by this man’s exhaust alone.
For a split second I turned and looked at the BAMF Biker, letting him know that I would give him my lunch money without him even asking, when unexpectedly and out of nowhere he does the ‘nod-and-wink’.
Wait, what? Did he just do what most stereotypical creatures in his clan’s facial structures aren’t physically capable of doing? The head nod of respect, and have-a-nice-day-sonny wink with his left eye? Did I see that correctly? There had to have been something wrong with the world. Something was awry, didn’t make sense. Was this National Don’t Beat Up Weaksauce Recruiters Day? How could this stand-in for The Hulk give me the nod-and-wink?
With that, the BAMF Biker sped off into the sunset as I sat perplexed in the passing lane at what had just happened. I started wiping the petrified sweat from my forehead, and reached into my bag for my third pair of undies that ride home alone. I will never know what initiated the nod-and-wink from that dangerous and hard-hitting Hell’s Angel. All I know is, after that I found that even the toughest guys have a soft spot for Glee watchers such as myself.
0 comments:
Post a Comment