I have never been a fan of “bikers”: assholes on Harleys. Since the moment I realized motorcycles could be transportation, this bunch of idiots has made motorcycling less fun, more dangerous, and their existence reflects poorly on everyone who rides a motorcycle.
This week, they pushed the limits of my intolerance off of the Monopoly board, “Donald Trump and Bikers Share Affection at Rolling Thunder Rally.” Now, in their reflection and in many eyes, all motorcyclists are racist, moronic, fascist, and (still) excessively childish and noisy. What that rally always needs is an Eric Cartman to shout “Hey assholes!” And to remind them that they and 13-year-old girls are the only people that needy for attention.
“Look at all these bikers,” said the Donald. “Do we love the bikers? Yes. We love the bikers.” Just like he loves the uneducated.
“He speaks what’s on his mind and means what he says,” said Tom Christian, one of the unwashed Thunder Blunders. “And that’s what a biker does. That’s the way we are: We say what we think. If you like it, you like it. If you don’t, go the other way.” Another description for that would be “tourette syndrome.”
Of course, to actually say what you think you have to first think. None of that going on in this rally. These wannabe-patriots pretend that being racist assholes is something noble, “Just like asking Jane Fonda to show up, it’d be a very, very bad thing,” said one of the douchebags who also wore a button that read, “Hillary for Prison 2016.” Where was this idiot when Trump denigrated John McCain’s service and sacrifice when Trump said, “I like people that weren’t captured, O.K.?”
Trump was disappointed that there weren’t more assholes out to celebrate his bullshit, “I thought this would be like Dr. Martin Luther King, where the people would be lined up from here all the way to the Washington Monument.” Trump, you’re no Dr. King or Bernie Sanders. There is a shitload of idiots out there, but most of them killed themselves riding poorly on incompetent machines without helmets or brains inside their skulls worth protecting.
You want to know why I don’t like Harleys or the gangbangers who ride them? This is it. My father wasted four years of his life fighting Hitler’s gangbangers so we could grow our own. That is a grudge I will never let go of.