"CAFE RACER - 131" JIM'S SPEED EDITION H-D" ['HARLEYRACINGBIKE'] . . . . BEEN OUT SEEKING PIPE INSPIRATION LATELY, GOT A YEARNING FOR TITANIUM BUT IT'S SO FUCKING EXPENSIVE FOR THE CORRECT GRADE TUBE . . . . HAVE LOVED THE SEGMENTED LOOK FOR AGES, ANYTHING THAT SHOWCASES THE CREATORS TALENT AND ART GIVES ME THE HORN . . . . FELL ONTO THIS BIG INCH MISSILE AND THOUGHT IT PRETTY BLOODY COOL . . . . BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE !!!

. . . . AND THE MORE IN THIS CASE IS ALL ABOUT LESS.

I RECTION IT'S ONE REALLY COOL LOOKIN LOW LEVEL LAND ROCKET, MONSTER JIM'S MOTORVATOR WITH OPEN PRIMARY NEATLY JAMMED IN BETWEEN THE MONOSHOCK FRAME RAILS, GARGANTUAN, PIGEON SUCKING BELLMOUTH, NICELY THOUGHT OUT AND SEEMINGLY BEAUTIFULLY EXECUTED, TOTAL HORN PIPES AND CANS, WHEEL SELECTION THAT SUITS, SCHMICK LINES ON THE CUTE SEAT/DUCKTAIL CAPER, TANK PROFILE THAT HARMONISES PERFECTLY ATOP THE BIG TWIN, FULL TILT RACE POSITION CLIP-ONS, FRONT ANCHORS THAT COULD PULL UP THE USS NIMITZ, A FUCKING TOTALLY COOL THING INDEED . . . . WHAT ELSE COULD YOU WANT ???

HOWEVER, THE THING THAT REALLY IMPRESSES ME THE MOST . . . . HIS STARTING TECHNIQUE . . . . PUSH THE BUZZER, A COUPLE OF GENTLE BLIPS ON THE TWIST GRIP AND IT'S AWAY, GROWLING LIKE A SASQUATCH ON STEROIDS AND AMPHETAMINES, ALL LATENT, RELAXED MUSCLE, READY TO BE UNLEASHED IN TYRE DESTROYING OUTPUT SHOULD THE OCCASION ARISE . . . . YOU KNOW IT'S THERE, IT'S IMPLICIT BY VIRTUE OF UNDERSTATEMENT RATHER THAN ANY OVERTLY 'BLOKEY', SIXTEEN YEAR OLD SCHOOLBOY, PREMATURE EJACULATION, MINE'S BIGGER THAN YOURS, STYLE OF FIRING THE FUCKER UP, WINDING THE THROTTLE ON UNTIL VALVE BOUNCE IS ACHIEVED, TOP-END COMPONENTS ARE INITIALLY STARVED OF LUBRICANT AND EVERYONE WITHIN EARSHOT IS DEAFENED AND LEFT MUTTERING, 'WHAT A FUCKING KNOB !!!' . . . . WELL, THAT'S WHAT ALWAYS GOES THROUGH MY MIND.

I LOVE EXCESS DISPLAYS OF HORSEPOWER  AS MUCH AS THE NEXT BLOKE, IT'S THE MOST SIGNIFICANT AND VISCERAL PART OF THE WHOLE BIKE/CAR EXPERIENCE, THE KNOWLEDGE THAT BETWEEN YOUR HAIRY, WHITE LEGS SITS AN ENGINE THAT COULD PEEL PAINT OFF THE NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR'S CEILING AT THE FLICK OF A WRIST OR STAB OF THE HOOF . . . . BUT ISN'T THE INSTANT CANING OF SAID POWERPLANT JUST TO HAVE ANY SURROUNDING LIFEFORMS EITHER FLY, RUN OR CRAWL AWAY, OR THINK OUT LOUD OR TO THEMSELVES, 'WHAT A FUCKING RETARD WANKER' JUST A BIT OBVIOUS . . . . ARE YOU NOT CONFIDENT IN THE POWERFULLY SUBTLE NOISE AND ALARM STARTING BOTTOM END THUMP OF YOUR PRIDE AND JOY TO IMPRESS THOSE WHO GIVE A FUCK WITHOUT HAVING TO NAIL IT INTO MOTOR DESTROYING REDLINE BEFORE THE FUCKER IS EVEN CIRCULATING ITS LIFEBLOOD PROPERLY, IS THE FACT YOU LOOK LIKE A COMPLETE COCKHEAD NEVER ENOUGH TO CONTAIN THE FLOOD OF SEMEN INTO YOUR TROUSERS . . . . I THOUGHT NOT. LIKE I'VE SAID ON PREVIOUS OCCASIONS, LESS IS NEARLY ALWAYS MORE, DON'T GIVE THE GAME AWAY BEFORE THE KICK-OFF . . . . WALK SOFTLY AND CARRY A BIG STICK . . . . OR JUST CONTINUE BEING A COPYBOOK ARSECLOWN . . . . WHATEVER.

HEAVY METAL . . . . THESE ARE TWO OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS . . . . I LOVE IT WHEN SILVER STARTS TO GET OLD AND BEAT UP, PATINA AND BEYOND . . . . NEVER BEEN ONE FOR LOTS OF JEWELLERY, TWO RINGS, AN EARRING AND A WATCH, THAT'S IT . . . . PURPLE'S ALWAYS BEEN MY FAVOURITE COLOUR . . . . AMETHYST JIGGER FROM 'THE GREAT FROG' IN LONDON, PINKY BAND FROM A FLEA MARKET THIRTY YEARS AGO . . . . FINGERS FROM A BUNCH OF FUCKING BANANAS

Weird, first thing I did when I left school at the end of 1979 was get my ear pierced properly instead of jamming safety pins in it, obviously I was instantly a 'poofta' or a queer, cause only a homosexual would wear an earring, in fact if you had it in your left lobe you were most definitely riding the chocolate cha-cha, or so the sadly misguided urban, macho man myth would have had everyone believe . . . . the weird shit is that these days I feel like I don't even have my ear pierced when I see folk with multiple things hanging off and outta them, body mods and all the other stuff, back then ink was pretty fucking rad as well, real social outcast stuff, bikers, sailors, rockers, sharpies and a few other counter-cultural sub-groups, even when I got my first work done in '92 . . . . thank fuck things have changed as far as perceptions and acceptance goes . . . . it's a bit of a bummer though when you got librarians, ballerinas and accountants emblazoned with body art, not cause they shouldn't . . . . it's just lost its impact I guess . . . . whatever, fuck it, be free, do your thing . . . . we're all sheep one way or t'other in the final analysis . . . . baaaaa, baaaaaa . . . . maaaaaaa.

EVERY BLOKE SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO PICK HIS OWN RING . . . . IT'S NATURAL

MY 88 YEAR OLD MOTHER CALLS IT A 'CORGANANNY' . . . . MUM, WHAT THE FUCK ???

"SMALL CITY CYCLES: BORN FREE 4 VIDEO" . . . . THIS VID WAS CIRCULATING IN THE LEAD-UP TO BF4 AND IT'S POPPED AGAIN JUST NOW . . . . WHY HAVE I GIVEN IT AN AIRING HERE . . . . BECAUSE TODD ASIN, THE BIG WHEEL AT SMALL CITY CYCLES, BUILDS SUPER SANO TRUMPY CHOPS THAT MAINTAIN THEIR SENSE OF BRITISHNESS WITH TOTAL PANACHE . . . . THE BIGGEST MISTAKE SOME BUILDERS MAKE IS TRYING TOO HARD TO TURN EM INTO HARLEYS AESTHETICALLY.

Mr Asin has definitely got a bead on getting it wired when it comes to cutting up and reconstructing classic era Trumpies and Brit bikes, all of the work done by his own talented paws, the end results are always lithe and lean and very much reflective of their lineage, as opposed to their Yankee V-Twin cousins, from the heart of the donk to the choice of front end, frame and wheel/tire selection, they are always clean, uncluttered and proudly of Pommy extraction . . . . along with practitioners such as Mike Davis, Kim Boyle, Pete Stansfield and some other supremely gifted dudes, these guys are consistently capable of respecting the nature of what it is that delineates a Pommy parallel twin in all it's mid sized splendour from the far more sizeable presence of the Milwaukee marvel, instead of those who do their very best to attempt prostituting the former into a pissweak interpretation of the latter . . . . it's always been a observation of mine that many British bike chops ultimately end up looking like a bag of shit simply because the owner/builder really wanted a Harley in the first place and had difficulty getting their heart and head around the fact that the Twain shall never meet. It is what it is, let it be that way and work with what you've got rather than what you haven't, each separate sickle to be taken and evolved on its own merits, it'll always yield the best end results . . . . love your work Todd !!!

"MORE CHINS THAN A CHINESE PHONE BOOK - THE RETURN OF THE ROUND COUNT" . . . . SO, LATE LAST YEAR ONE OF MY GOOD MATES WHO I'VE KNOWN SINCE WE WERE AT UNI TOGETHER CELEBRATED HIS 50th . . . . DOCTOR PIERRE BODIE, THE KING OF CAUSTIC, THE SUPER CYNICAL SCIMITAR, THE DOYEN OF DEADPAN AND ONE TIME SINGER IN MID EIGHTIES SUPER GROUP 'THE ZOO MUSIC GIRLS' . . . . HE WAS A DRIPPY DICK DOCTOR BY DAY . . . . ULTRA GROOVER BY NIGHT

TWO KIDS FROM THE CLASS OF '79 START QLD UNI IN 1980, ONE DOING MEDICINE, THE OTHER A HISTORY AND ENGLISH B.A, ONE FINISHES, GRADUATES, BECOMES A SPECIALIST VENEREOLOGIST, THE OTHER DROPS OUT AND BECOMES A FAIRLY SUCCESSFUL INDEPENDENT MUSO. THE PEARBODY WAS, AND IS, A CRACK UP DUDE, CYNICISM AND SARCASM A HOUSE SPECIALTY, FUCK SERVING IT COLD, THE PEAR ALWAYS HAD IT GO OUT ON A RED-HOT PLATE OF SIZZLING, EGO CRUSHING VERBIAGE THAT NEVER FAILED TO FIND ITS TARGET . . . . WE SAW HUNDREDS OF BANDS TOGETHER ALONG WITH MY DEAREST MATE, I.B, OVER A PERIOD OF A DECADE AND MORE, HE HELPED ME OUT WHEN MY BRAIN UNRAVELED AFTER DOING TOO MUCH OF EVERYTHING FOR TOO FUCKING LONG, HE WAS AND IS A TOTAL ONE-OFF UNIT AND IT WAS GREAT TO HOOK UP TO HELP HIM CELEBRATE HIS 50th.

IN THE SHOTS BELOW I'M JAMMING WITH THE DOKTOR ON JOY DIVISION'S 'TRANSMISSION', OR AT LEAST I THINK, THE PEAR LEADING THE VOCALS AND ME ON THE KILLER CHORUS, IT WAS A MONSTER HOOT AND FOR EVERY INCH THAT HE LOOKS SUAVE AND SVELTE, I LOOK THE FULL FAT COUNT, BUT A HAPPY ONE . . . . IN THE OTHER SHOT IS MY 'BROTHER' I.B AND HIS GORGEOUS LADY WIFE JANE AND AT THE BOTTOM . . . . SOME FUCKING OBSCURE SHOT OF MYSELF AND THE BODY OF A PEAR AT SOME GIG IN 1991 WHERE I HAD TO BORROW A JACKET TO ATTEND, NOT LONG BEFORE I HAD TO ABANDON LIFE FOR EIGHTEEN MONTHS TO 'GET WELL' . . . . BUT THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER BUCKET OF SHIT.

THE DUDE WHO WROTE THE TUNE I GUESTED VOCALS ON FEATURED ON THE PAGE FROM WHEREVER IT IS, THE EVIL TWISTED DR ADAM INGLIS, IS THE GUY ON THE RIGHT OF THE PARTY SHOT ON GUITAR, STILL THE LEFT FIELD, UNDERGROUND FREAK AND STILL ON CALL AT THE LOCAL A+E DEPARTMENT SAVING THE LIVES OF FUCKED UP RIDERS AND PARTY CRITTERS ON A WEEKLY BASIS. WE ALL WERE, AND ARE, TOTALLY DIFFERENT PEOPLE BUT NOTHING REALLY CHANGES WHEN IT COMES TO THE STUFF THAT MATTERS AND THE FOLKS WE LOVE, REAL, ENDURING FRIENDSHIP IS TOUGHER THAN DIRT . . . . PEARBODY, YOU ROCK !!!

SNOOP DOGG - "WHO AM I" (WHATS MY NAME) [HD] . . . . WHAT'S MY MUTHAFUCKIN NAME, YEAH, YEAH . . . . ODDLY ENOUGH THIS TIMELESS HIPPIN-HOPPIN, RIGHTEOUS RAP DROPPIN, KILLER RHYME POPPIN GEM ALWAYS REMINDS ME OF MY EX-WIFE . . . . GO FIGURE, BUT IT'S ALL GOOD, SHE WAS COOL CHILLIN BACK THEN, FO SHO . . . . MAN, TIME FLIES BY AT LIGHT SPEED THE OLDER YOU GET, HEARD THIS TODAY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YONKS . . . . I'M A SNOOP FAN.

Kinda funny, having had the nickname of 'Dog' since 1976, just how many of my friends started calling me 'Snoop' back when this was first released, peeps be frontin me, all up in ma grill, be bustin rap caps all over my ass . . . . a few of em still be throwin down twenty years later . . . . what's my muthafuckin name . . . . it be Whitejizza linenizza to the Psychoshizzle mawhizzle . . . . muthafuckin-A, ma wigger !!!

Seriously though . . . . I still get off on the 'Crosstown Traffic' sample at the start and the Snoop rap style was a real breath of fresh air, stick that alongside some legit, righteous grooves and melodic loops, some hip-hop legend cameos and it was an instant winner in my list of cool shit . . . . The Snoop, he be a certified playa, yo !!!

THE CLASH - "STAY FREE" [IN STUDIO] . . . . A GORGEOUS AND COMPELLING TUNE FROM THE COOLEST BAND EVER TO WALK ON STAGE . . . . THEY WERE AT THE EPICENTRE OF THE PUNK MOVEMENT YET QUITE SEPARATE FROM IT AT THE SAME TIME . . . . ENCOMPASSING SO MANY DIVERGENT STYLES AND INFLUENCES, TEE NUMERO UNO WITHOUT A DOUBT . . . . IF I COULD HAVE ONLY ONE ALBUM FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE . . . . "LONDON CALLING" WOULD BE IT.

FILE THIS UNDER EITHER OF THE FOLLOWING TWO CATEGORIES . . . . "HOW TO BE A MAN AND GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR SOFTER SIDE" OR "IT'S ALRIGHT TO LIKE 'NICE', CALMING TUNES, IT DOESN'T IMPINGE ON YOUR MASCULINITY AND WON'T TURN YOU GAY" . . . . FREE YOUR MIND AND THE REST WILL FOLLOW

MY DAD . . . . WAS AN OLD SCHOOL SEADOG IN THE ROYAL AUSTRALIAN NAVY . . . . HE JOINED UP IN 1939 AS AN ORDINARY SEAMAN AND WORKED UP THE HARD WAY TO COMMANDER, RETIRING IN 1976 . . . . HE COULD DO EVERYTHING HIMSELF, MAKE FINE FURNITURE, INSANE CALLIGRAPHY, FIX OLD CLOCKS, REBUILD ENGINES, DESIGN HOUSES, INCLUDING THE ONE I LIVE IN, FREAKSHOW MATHS, A MASTER OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE . . . . A TRUE SELF MADE MAN.

His life of seriously hard yakka afforded me the 'ability' to do what many accidentally ungrateful kids do and choose to be a lazy little fucker early on in life, if it involved hard work, I wasn't interested, if it required dedication, it was too hard, if perseverance was part of the equation I didn't have the 'gumption' as he would call it . . . . no wonder he was always on my case, "you're as good as ten men short !!" he'd yell at me while I was drifting off into dreamland while holding a spanner or a piece of wood, or "if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand bloody times !!" if my shoddy, half-arsed attempt at doing something ended in a shoddy, half-arsed result . . . . like a lot of blokes from working class backgrounds growing up in the Depression, fucking about wasn't anything they could tolerate, his old man had dropped him off at school one morning in the early thirties and just fucking split, never seen again, leaving dad and his two brothers to look after his mum and gran . . . . what a cunt !!! The thing I regret so much now is not paying attention, always thinking of how soon I could 'escape' Stalag Williams and piss off and ride my bike or go and skate with my friends, make my military models, anything other than having to "apply myself to the job at hand", one seriously lazy little bastard for sure . . . . I knew it too, but it didn't make no nevermind.

Anyways . . . . dad was pretty much the all-round genius, drawing, painting, whatever, and it was always brilliant, it was pretty damned intimidating for an only child of the male persuasion, my sister, who I never knew, was killed in a car wreck four years before my year of manufacture, lucky for me, my mum survived, dad was at sea. I knew by age seven that I wanted nothing to do with discipline, uniforms, application, dedication, any of it, maths, science, engines, all the shit I grew to love required hard work and concentration, fuck that . . . . how I wish all the things he said had actually stuck in my tiny, self absorbed mind, I might be able to do so much more with all the things I love than I can now, but, you live and you learn, sometimes though it's all too late.

When the President of the good ole U.S of A, Lyndon Baines Johnson, visited Australia in 1966, my father, who by this stage had become the Fleet Communicator and heavily involved in ultra secret spying shit at the very pointy end of Naval Intelligence and Communications, was given the task of organising and co-ordinating all of LBJ's links back to the U.S via satellite and land line hook-ups for his entire trip . . . . Vietnam was becoming enormous and our Prime Minister had made his arse sucking 'all the way with LBJ' speech, so that's how the country rolled, even after Harold Holt went missing having a dip in the ocean . . . . 

I guess the old man musta done his usual brilliant job with it all because at the end of his southern sojourn to the land of Oz, the man who succeeded JFK personally presented my dad with this Zippo engraved with his signature and the Presidential Seal, along with a bottle of Johnnie Blue [dad gave it to his best friend because he hardly ever drank] before he got on board his seven ought seven and flew back to plan sending more young men to their deaths . . . . he probably had hundreds of em he used to flick to anyone who did the man from Texas a favour . . . . but this one he gave to my father. 

I used to use it after I lost my old 'Camel' brass model until I thought one night when smash drunk after a dinner, "what if I lose this one ?", when I got home I put it up on my bookshelf and that's where it's been for the last three years . . . . funny really, because of all dad's stuff he left behind when he died in 1995, his officers cap, his 'Wilkinson' ceremonial sword, his medals, the signed parchment from Queen Liz bestowing upon him the last Miltary O.B.E awarded to an Aussie serviceman, all his tools . . . . it's the lighter that I cherish the most, he never used it because he smoked a pipe mostly and Zippos suck at lighting pipes, but I can hold it whenever I feel like it and that feels really good, it reminds me of the wonderful father he was to me and also the lazy, stupid kid I was and how I should've listened a bit more when I had the chance.

"SOUNDWAVE 2013 - THE POST GIG ANALYSIS" . . . . FOR SOMEONE WHO SPENT MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS PLAYING LIVE MUSIC PROFESSIONALLY IT WAS A BLOODY INCREDIBLE EXPERIENCE . . . . I'VE DELIBERATELY AVOIDED FESTIVALS FOR THE LAST FIFTEEN YEARS, GETTING FUCKED UP DURING THE DAY AND SWEATING AND JOSTLING IN HUGE CROWDS HAD LOST ITS APPEAL . . . . THIS WAS A DIFFERENT "FIRST" . . . . I WAS TOTALLY SOBER FOR A START

In case you've never picked up on it, I've never been a huge fan of heavy metal, sure, I like it and have a soft spot for Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Pantera et al and even back to the punk inspired NWOBHM with the likes of Iron Maiden and friends, not to mention even further back to the granddaddies, the likes of Purple, Sabbath and Zep, in fact the only HM act I'd ever seen was when my first band supported Twisted Sister and they don't even count, sorry . . . . so, to get the opportunity to witness Metallica, Anthrax and Slayer in the one day was pretty fucking exciting to be fully honest, Red Fang, The Vandals, The Gallows and the mighty Cypress Hill also made the anticipation climb into redline zone . . . . rock and fucking roll!!!!

We got away from home late so tragically we missed not only Red Fang but Anthrax as well, no matter, plenty more time and stuff to check out. Clearly, God loves live music because after a week of pissing rain and overcast skies it was a stinking hot, sweltering Bris Vegas day as 50,000 punters swarmed into the showgrounds, another confession from an aging punk rocker, it was the biggest, most dense mass of inhumanity I've ever been part of, and in the fairly close confines of the venue it was wall to wall youman beans . . . . seeing as we missed the Fangers and the Germ Warfare Specialists, next on my hitlist of 'must see' musical mayhem was me dear friend Timmy's pick, The Gallows, inside the only proper indoor stage they were fucking full-on from the first note, given I have no real history with this outfit I was totally impressed with their take no prisoners blend of punk/metal full frontal attack, would love to have seen them with the original red headed frontman though, the punk edge has been left behind a tad from what I've seen and listened to on PooTube . . . . but being a bloodnut, I would say that though.

I gotta say that the real highlight of my entire day was the one band I have often been guilty of taking the piss out of, not hating on them, just putting shit on my mates who have been into em since "Show No Mercy" days, maybe because I'm not a skinny type has always been against me as well . . . . yes indeedly, it was the mighty Slayer, what a fucking show it was, daytime slots can be a pain in the arse for many reasons, different feel, the band don't rise to the all exposing reality of broad daylight gigs and not headlining, lighting shows become redundant, and for an act who rely on dazzling visuals it can be a killer . . . . not with these veterans from Cali, Hanneman, Araya, King and Lombardo took the gig and the crowd by the balls as soon as they walked on stage, they then proceeded to demolish a set that frankly had me kicking myself in the fucking head for never having actually bought any of their catalogue of nitrous propelled, prototypical death/speed/hyper metal before . . . . tight as the nun's proverbial, exceptional playing and with Tom Araya lookin like the smiling Devil himself, his obvious level of stoke was immediately infectious, I became an instant devotee, admittedly, 30 fucking years too late. In one incredible set the crowd was given an object lesson in the power of truly great rock and roll, forget the old barriers of genre, forget the bullshit Satan thing, it means nothing in the end, this was just a rock gig of mothefucking killer dimensions and I'm blown away by its magnitude still . . . . can't wait until they tour again, fuck yeah !! 

Other exceptional performances were, in no particular order . . . . Metallica, wow, what can I say, two and three quarter hours, monster show with all the bells whistles, Hetfield looking like he was actually having a great time, Robert Trujillo dominating on bass, so much menace, delicacy and warmth all at the same time, Hammett, legit modern day guitar god/virtuoso, Lars the beatmaster ruling the roost from behind the kit, fucking wicked show to break my virginity and close out the festival . . . . Cypress Hill, Danko Jones, Blink 182 and The Vandals all oozed class, honesty and a desire to really give their all on a day when the heat alone could have killed lesser bands in the head . . . . even Dragonforce, who Mikeey Rat introduced me to only four weeks ago, were a shitload of awesome, Garbage were wonderful with Miss Shirley Manson doing it up for the girlies present . . . . it was a fucking brilliant day and for me a huge way to get my first real taste of the metal thang, and superb company made it all even more special . . . . consider me won over . . . . GWAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR !!!!!!

***** Thanks to those whose footage I have stolen . . . . it's rough and ready but as real and as visceral as the bands themselves were, warts and all !!!

"LOW PIPES SCRAPE NICE" + "EVERYTHING NEW IS OLD AGAIN" . . . . TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS SINCE I ACQUIRED THE MOTORCYCLE MARQUE I HAD SWORN I'D NEVER OWN . . . . 40,000 KLMS, NO UNFORESEEN ROADSIDE DRAMAS, THE PURPLE PENIS HAS PROVEN ONE TRUSTY STEED . . . . I DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE HATERS WHEN I PUT DOWN THE DEPOSIT AND I CARE JUST AS LITTLE NOW . . . . MOST FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTION . . . . "WHAT MODEL IS IT ??"

TAKEN FROM THE "IT IS WHAT IT IS" FILES . . . . LOCATED IN BETWEEN "FUCK YOU VERY MUCH" AND "PATINA COMES OVER TIME AND WITH USE, NOT IN A CAN" . . . .

Haters and piss-takers, you've never worried me, neither face to face nor across the wide, faceless unknown that is the ether of the interwebnet, I knew exactly what I was gonna do to the 'Farty Eight' from the moment I first clapped eyes on one in 2010 just as surely as I was aware of the derision and scorn that would be poured upon me for buying the little fucker in the first place . . . . furthermore, I've never deluded myself with the bullshit fallacy about it magically turning into a 'custom bike', modified is what it is, I've only ever owned and ridden basically stock bikes over the last thirty odd years, four of them Trumpies, that have had a heavy dose of personal modifications inflicted upon them, same shit with cars, and I've always ended up being totally stoked on the end result . . . . I ain't no guru of custom building like so many of the crew out there whose skills and creativity I admire and respect so much, and have never claimed to be such a bloke, I have never chopped anything except food and illicit substances, and I only indulge in one of those anymore . . . . I'm just a guy who's confident [some might even correctly assume 'arrogant' is more appropriate] in his aesthetic sensibilities and abilities, I have a decent eye for things, always have, plain and simple, and just know I can achieve something that I'll totally love because it looks cool and functions properly . . . . but also, what happens as an accidental bi-product is it becomes something others generally dig as well, which is what we all kinda want, if you don't admit to that, you're telling fibs, the Penis Mobile is just another example of my ongoing history of tweeking shit and showing my influences of the last forty plus years.    

Mods inflicted have been, bars, pipes, Power Commander and commensurate re-map [?], Progressive Suspension front and rear, chrome rims and S/S spokes and nipples, BCM airfilter and Willis Bolts, 4.5 gallon tank and my paint design by Von Pato, H.D shift peg, H.D grips, Speed Merchant derby cover, Death Machine non points cover, stripped and polished fork brace and fork legs, ditched belt guards, output shaft pulley cover, L/H mirror, two tons of extraneous factory plastic shit and reflectors . . . . 'consumables' include, three rear tires, two steer tires, two L/H peg rubbers, one derby cover seal, one complete set of swingarm bearings, bushes and spacer, five oil filters, however many litres of oil, two fork oil changes and three sets of plugs . . . . not too shabby for a skirtster that has covered forty thousand kiloflogs in a bee's dick over two years.

Next on the agenda, speaking of customs and chops, is my much anticipated '74 FXE, code named, Project Shoveller . . . . stay tuned, or not.

"SLEEPERS . . . . THE ULTIMATE EXPRESSION OF LESS IS MORE" . . . . SITTING DOWN OVER LUNCH WITH MECUM AUTO AUCTIONS ON THE BOX . . . . UP ONTO THE PLATFORM COMES A VERY PLAIN, SUPER SEDATE, BOG STOCK LOOKIN CHARGER . . . . EXCEPT FOR THE FLUSH FIT GRILL, REAR SCREEN AND THE 'RIBBON' CIRCLING ITS ARSE END . . . . EVERYONE WANTED THE FLASHY VERSION WHEN THIS MODEL WAS BRAND NEW . . . . WALK SOFTLY, CARRY A BIG STICK

THIS SORT OF CAR HAS ALWAYS GIVEN ME THE HORN, UNDERSTATEMENT MADE REAL IN STEEL, NO "HEY, LOOK AT ME, I'M BIG AND BUTCH AND SUPER BAD", MORE LIKE, "HI, HOW YA DOIN, NICE DAY FOR IT", JUST ANOTHER MOPAR LAND BARGE, BIG, BULBOUS AND UNDERPOWERED, BLOW IT INTO THE CURB IN YOUR SS CAMARO OR BIG INCH 'STANG . . . . OR . . . . MAYBE NOT . . . . PLAIN JANE BECOMES PSYCHO GIRL ONCE THE LIGHTS CHANGE, 426ci OF HEMI ELEPHANT GRUNT UNDER THE BONNET, 4 SPEED MANUAL, TRACK PACK OPTION AND ALL THE OTHER KIT TO LEAVE ANYTHING OTHER THAN ANOTHER MOPAR MONSTER CRYING AT THE LINE . . . . LESSON #1, NEVER JUDGE BOOKS BY THEIR COVERS AND #2, LESS CAN BE SO MUCH MORE.