[Herewith, some of my friends amusing themselves at our expense. Offered as a tension-breaker. I laughed so hard I had to clean my screen. BTW the quickest way to see that desirable 56 for sale is to have somebody start a lunatic project with it. Yet one more "only requires assembly" blue-sky bus.]
<<Btw, I was stuck behind a VW bus going up a hill yesterday, and I know why you guys have to have "support" groups--for protection.>>
Down Ken's way they travel in huge caravans. The Hell's Angels and the Bandidos are completely terrified of them, which is why both gangs have moved to Sweden or Denmark or some place like that. The ringleader is this shadowy guy named Mad somebody-or-other who owns a chain of Denny's where they won't serve _anybody_. His bus has a bored-out Deux Chevaux engine in it that runs on pure Regular. Mad whoozis has also been known to chew dioxin gum and spit the juice at little children recuperating in hospitals. Pam, do _not_ mess with these people. Trust me on this. I think it's been on Hard Copy. (I've been trying to interest Women's Wear Daily in a story about it but they aren't returning my calls.)
The only good news is that when you pass them on your bicycle you can usually outrun them. But they say that once you've passed by the caravan, your days are numbered--sort of like being under the shadow of that kindly old neighborhood elephant when it's thinking about sitting on you once and for all. (You laugh, but this happens all the time in my neighborhood.) They remember everybody and forget nothing. One day you'll think you're in the clear and you'll look behind you and see off in the distance that familiar Robin's Egg Blue and rust-colored bus--it's real rust--covered in McGovern and Don't Buy Grapes stickers and dioxin-spit stains.
Comes, for you,
On wings of a thousand colors
And rings of pure carbon
A pale rider, feral eyes ablaze with
The madness of a thirty-mile-per-hour
Event horizon and an 8-track
That worked only once.
Be _very_ scared.