Gather around, if ya think the poser on pledge story was funny, you'll love this one. Lemme buy ya'll a round while I spin this here yarn, might take awhile so make it two please, tarbender.

Down in N'awlans ya'll have an event called Mardi-Gras, well up here in slug land (the PNW) we have a version of it called Fat Tuesday. In the Pioneer district of downtown Seattle, there's a big ol' festival with Jazz and blues blasting in all of the bars, good food, lottsa wimmen, and yer basic big assed party for all to enjoy.

The Dinks Gang MC is made up of a bunch of my homey's (a nuther story) and us being the geniuses that we are, we decided to blast uptown and partake in the festivities. Little did we know... Anywho, about a dozen of us fire up the bikes from the local bar (Pat & Ron's) in West Seattle and blast out at dark thirty to par-tay.

We make it to Pioneer square and proceed to look for a place to park the bikes. Finally find a lot back off the main drag a few blocks, but figure "fuck it, we'll leave a dink er two to guard the bikes while the rest enjoy, switch and repeat as necessary". So, with the precision that *only* the Dinks Gang can perform, we proceed to park.

The first 11 bikes pull into the parking lot, turn clockwise around some cars, around a lightpole and park in formation. The last bike is Bitchin' (usually is) 'cause he had a side hack on his '82 FLH. He gracefully maneuvers around the cages, comes around to park alongside us but kinda, sorta misjudged the light pole. Now's when the fun starts.

Yup, you guessed it, the fuckin' side hack gets hooked up on the lightpole and he starts going around in circles, stuck on the damn lightpole. Yes, we had been drinkin' a *little* too. By now most of us had our bikes shut off and were watching our brother of the Dinks show us how this was *supposed* to be done. Most of us thought this was a new Bitchin' trick (he has lots of 'em) and had no idea of what was gonna happen next.

When brother Bitchin' went flying off like a matador thrown by a bull we knew sumpthin' was up (can't fool us). The fuckin' bike just kept idlin' around the lightpole, making a surrealistic strobe light effect in the parking lot, with Bitchins' face being illuminated every 360 degrees or so. Most of us started clapping, thinkin' this was part of the show, Bitchin' wasn't one of 'em.

It didn't take long before there was a pretty good sized crowd, clappin', whistlin' and just having a good time watching the show. 'Bout then Big Glen figured he'd stop the dastardly shovel from doing the domino thang to the rest of our bikes (his was closest). Just for the record, we don't call Big Glen, Big Glen fer nuthin'. He stands all of 7' 2" in his bare feet and nobody knows what he weighs but, he's a big fuckin' boy!

The Dinks Gang have now gotten Bitchin' off his ass, made a circle around the lightpole and are waiting for Big Glen to do his thang. Big Glen times his jump with the precision of a Montana sheep fucker, grabs the side hack, the bike slows down, Big Glen starts sliding a bit, the shovel starts pickin' up speed, Big Glen gets a strange look on his face, and becomes an integral part of the dastardly shovel from hell.

Picture this, the bike picks up speed again with this monster hangin' on to the side hack, flying horizontally behind it like the tail on a kite and about a hundred people cheering. We're yellin' "TURN OFF THE IGNITION" like the Dinks that we are, "NO SHIT" says Big Glen every 360 degrees 'er so. Bitchin' mentions that he just fueled up too, but judging by recent mileage, Big Glen only has to hang on for another 3 1/2 hours. Big Glen is pretty happy about that and so is the growing crowd. I popped a cold one out of the battle sags and gave my big brother a thumbs up.

Well about now this midget feller shows up and sez he knows how to shut the bike off, but will only do it if he gets to take Bitchin' home with him. The Dinks Gang have a quick meeting and agree to the terms, (Big Glen was a major influence by the way). The crowd boo's.

A hush draws over the mob as the little guy prepares to tame the shovel from hell. He has Dickhead ('nuther Dink) get on his hands and knees, climbs up on his back and leaps onto the gyrating mass of man and machine. With the stealth of a king crab, the little fucker pulls a plug wire. The bike sputters, he grabs the other plug wire with all of his strength, and the mighty shovelhead slowly comes to a stop.

Big Glen gracefully hits the ground (3.4 on the Richter scale), the midget held the plug wires triumphantly in his little paws, and Bitchin' got a weird look on his face. The crowd dissipated with most of us following, but I just had to see how this was gonna play out. Besides, if I didn't give Big Glen a cold one, he'd a ripped my thumbs off.

The little guy walked over to Bitchin' clutching the plug wires and grinnin' like a Cheshire cat. Bitchin' asked him how he could repay him for his help. Me and Big Glen drank coldbeer and watched, wondering how in the hell our Dink brother was gonna get outta this one.

To be continued...

Snarl...the "what, ya don't believe me?" Asshole(tm)

Snarl AH#67, BS#37