This little tale may take a while to tell so y'all have a couple on my tab.

A little back ground is in order for this story. Scott is the young fella that lives across the street from me. Those of you that were at RFFRII last year may remember him as the guy on the red crotch rocket. Since that time the boy has traded up to a 1200 sporty. Now old Scottie is a good lad with a couple of drawbacks. 1) I am spending about as much time working on his bike as I do my own (which I really don't mind too much) 2) He has managed to scoop up just about every available stray wench in a 3 county area ( which I mind quite a bit more but hey. wadda ya gonna do) On the plus side we watch out for each others stuff when the other ain't around and he is a truly funny SOB too.

Last night after I got done working on the old bike I rode down to the licker store for a bottle of Heaven Hill. Stopped by a couple of the local beer joints to see what was going on and got back to the house just after dark. I poured me a good tall one, grabbed a parts catalog and started writing down some stuff to order.

A while latter I was working on another tall one I heard the Sporty roaring in the distance. About 30 seconds later I says to myself " Damn... the lad is really twisting on it. That is unusual... wonder if the law is after him?" Ya could hear the pipes growling through a 3 gear down shift and around the corner he comes. Full up on the redline and rowing the shifter like a frigging boat oar up the street.... compression braking back down through the gears with the rear wheel chirping on the edge of a lock up and turns into *MY* driveway. Well by this time I have decided that whatever the fuck is going on should be a good show and am heading for the door. Scottie locks her up in the gravel drive way. The dog is barking, the motion detector spotlights are coming on and I am heading out the front door. Scott throws down the side stand, jumps off and goes for the saddle bags while his legs are kicking around like a break dancer on amylnitrate. Out he comes with a paper bag and tears it open revealing a pint of whisky which he starts to open while spinning in circles. When the top comes off he bends forward and fucking *pours* about a cupful on his face and is rubbing it in with his other hand then pours the same amount in his mouth shakes his head around and spits it out.

This naturally led me to ask. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SCOTT???"

I manage to catch a few words while the gyrations continue. "FUCKING BAT...................... RIGHT IN THE MOUTH...... ON MY BACK.............. ALMOST WRECKED!!!! All naturally accompanied by the correct sign language for the statement.

Well all this typing is making me kind of thirsty.... lets all have another one.

By this time as ya can imagine I am just about to piss myself laughing. Scott gets inside and calms down enough to get the whole story out which has me gasping for air. I look at his face and say. " Yeah I think that it split yer lip, ya got a bit of blood in the corner of your mouth." " Where" says he starting to get wound up again. "Are you sure?" "Well I think so.... it is either blood of some bat shit, can't really tell"

This last statement kicked off round 2 of the bat dance which was accompanied by a mad sprint down the hall to the shitter for more face washing.

A half an hour latter we were sitting in the living room when Yeller Dog decided to sniff the back of Scotts neck and we were treated to a sitting version of the bat dance.

I'll tell ya folks, as many of you know when Big D. does his reenactment of the bat dance at parties it is enough to leave yer sides hurting from the laughter, and that is without the adrenaline.

If yer lucky one day you will get to see an original, eyes bugged out, hyper ventilating, spitting and choking version.

Bill B
60FL
94FLHTC