Fresh out of Prozac, Billy takes his chewed-up keyboard out from behind his ear and spoils us with this little gem. It even has a poem and everything (well, sort-of).
Stay off the Prozac Billy , we love you in this mood!
A poem by Billy Badass
I’m thinking of a number between 457 and 500.
This is the number of times I’m going to kick you in the head.
End of poem.
Look, it is easy for me to relate to people who spend more money on their motorcycles than the GNP of some messed up third worlds country. My dad spend more on his bikes than on my education and I love the old bastard for it.
I’ve seen all the movies about “The Brothers,” ranging from that one where the bikers murder the guy, to that other one where the guy dies because he’s murdered to death by the bikers.
Maybe there’s something about a Biker that appeals to the most basic of my human instincts?
A lure that attracts and pulls?
An intangible quality that mystifies and amazes me?
Nah, forget all that crap; biking is cool because bikers get to beat up people.
In the past, whenever you watched a movie and saw a phalanx of biker type guys in leather slowly riding into a town, you just knew somebody somewhere was going to get his ass kicked. People elbowed each other and snickered behind their hands. That’s how the bikers worked, see. If you pissed off a biker, your teeth got kicked in. If you did it again, then you and your best friend got kicked into a pulp. If you pissed them off three times, then they kick and shoot you, your dog, and that guy who bagged your groceries the previous week.
People knew, you don’t mess with bikers if you’re not prepared to be kicked on an hourly basis, kicking people were pretty much a given form of entertainment to bikers. That’s why most people in bars that were frequented by bikers had broad, wide noses; they spend all day bashing themselves in the faces with No 11 Caterpillar boots so when the biker boys come around to drink a beer or get some ass, they’ll be prepared for the inevitable kicking.
No-one messed with bikers.
Bikers ruled.
Life was good.
Then, at some stage this didn’t happen too often anymore. Just as beating up people started becoming “passè” and it was time for a new, improved method to deal with people that pissed bikers off, what happened?
Pansy assed office workers started buying bikes!
That’s what.
Fcuk. Now you’ve got people riding around on motorcycles that doesn’t even own a gun, let alone ride their bikes with it within easy reaching dstance!
What the hell isTHAT all about??!!
These sorry assholes let people cut in front of them without looking for instant revenge in the form of a bullet lodged in a otherwise useless brain. Theyeven advocate bashing side mirrors as a form of revenge!!!
If a cager don’t show proper respect to one of these bikers he gets away without being shot or followed home and getting his house burnt down and his bonzai trees on the porch thrown through his neighbours bay windows.
In my days no-one would have tried to cut of a biker because he would have been dealt with severely and on the spot - in front of his screaming wife and wide eyed retarted offspring.
Those were the days, man.
Brothers were killed due to natural causes - doing headbuts with lamp poles, drunken wheelies off cliffs, riding into eachother up one-way streets and shot by the cops for pissing in public.
These are heroic ways to go, man, and true bikers expected to die in a alcohol and drug induced fireball - not being run over from behind while sitting at a traffic light by some old fart with purple hair in her Toyota.
However, now these coffee-drinking, muffin eating maggots have the balls to dress in leather and call themselves bikers! They ride shiny machines and hang out at side-walk cafes over weekend, drinking coffee and talking tuff.
Ba.
They’re the reason why so many bikers die on our roads.
It’s not the alcohol, drugs or wheelies down main roads that kill them - it’s those crazy ass mothers in their cars that doesn’t respect bikers anymore.
And they’re not scared of bikers because there are too many people on bikes riding around willing to turn the other cheek.
We’re digging our own graves.
Wake up bikers!
These mf’s are a disgrace to bikers all over the world. If you come across one you should beat him up and set fire to his fancy motorcycle. Kick his ass all the way to his pantsy house in the suburbs than piss in his garden and shoot his parlour-cut fancy-ass poodle.
It’s time for us real bikers to get those guns cleaned, invest in a quick draw holster, go and fetch that chain from the garage and start putting in to it’s intended use.
Yeah, fcuk I’m outta here to go and find me some ass to kick.
Tags: Billy BadAss, The Blog
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