Buckster

I didn’t used to, like you I had decided it was silly, but here we are, my personal experience and objectivity have led to my belief.

Oh fuck off!

They will be burning all sorts of shit, the news will be entertaining for a while and the government will wax on about violent biker gangs and France will turn into a shithole for anyone that rides a bike.

Exactly what I was thinking.

Disappointed to see no mention of torsional deformation.

Good to see government protecting people from themselves.

The problem of course is that you have already decided what you want to believe about this so you are entirely subjective and are quite prepared to ignore any and all evidence that does not agree with your desired narrative. You have zero objectivity. Of course it is all rooted in your desire of self worth where you can be seen as “enlightened” or “wise” to your peer group. However once outside of that group you just look like a crackpot and a stupid cunt.

This is what the dampener looks like.

Shitting in the garden?

It’s a form of hero worship.

Harold Shipman would have sorted that out.

It’s always worked for me.

Not as much as a lobotomy.

Now even you lot can look cool.

You posted this elsewhere yesterday you senile ginger twat.

Lazy twat.

I stole a chicken in his memory.

He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank. He soon found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts. After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" She replies, "I rowed over from the other side of the island where I landed when my fishing boat sank." "Amazing," he notes. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you." "Oh, this ole thing?" explains the woman. " I made the boat out of some raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm tree branches, and the sides and stern came from an Eucalyptus tree." "But, where did you get the tools?" "Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. " On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found that if I fired it to a certain temperature in a volcanic vent I found just down island, it melted into ductile iron and I used that to make tools and used the tools to make the hardware." The guy is stunned. "Let's row over to my place," she says "and I'll give you a tour." So, after a short time of rowing, she soon docks the boat at a small hand built wharf. As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is a long stone walk leading to a cabin and tree house. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, It's not much, but I call it home. Please sit down." "Would you like a drink?" "No! No thank you," the man blurts out, still dazed. "I can't take another drop of coconut juice." "Oh, it's not coconut juice," winks the woman. "I have a still. How would you like a Jack Daniels neat?" Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they exchange their individual survival stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There's a razor in the bathroom cabinet upstairs." No longer questioning anything, the man goes upstairs into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet is a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he muses. "What's next?" When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but a bandana around her blonde locks and some small flowers on tiny vines, each strategically positioned. She smelled faintly of coconut oil. She then beckons for him to sit down next to her. "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've both been out here for many months. You must have been lonely. When was the last time you had a really good ride?" She stares into his eyes. He can't believe what he's hearing. "You mean..." he swallows excitedly as tears start to form in his eyes, "You've built a Motorcycle?”

We are expecting snow.

Don’t, you will turn him gay.

No, she is still a piss head.

I think you will end up using the bike a lot, I have seen a couple around Edinburgh and they seem to sit on the road in a way that the Enfields just don't.

and suddenly the busa makes sense..

I’d need a fucking microscope, not binoculars.