How Life Turns to Shit in 12 Months or Less OR How to Loose Friends, Alienate Family and Make a Pathetic Ass of Yourself OR Pathetic Confessions to Sins Every One Knows. Part Le Deux

The next day I was up at 7AM and the first of the nicotine withdrawals kicked in. I knew they were in the post but they always come in the first post, the post that hurts the most. 

Since they confiscated my smokes and I couldn’t bring myself to speak to the fellow detainees due to fear I was proper fucked.

Waking up at hours 700 also poses another problem. Its hours to bloody early darling! It also means I have to deal with everyone with no way to pass the time – sleep was not an option because I didn’t want to be molested or attacked before the hacks came to save me. No phone, laptop, PSP or Nintendo to pass the time.  All those little toys that are part of our life support system are stripped away. I may have been at a hospital but remember dear readers. It’s their job to detain you. DETAIN.

Imprisonment with “nurses”. Nurses is in quotes there because they did not nurse or rehabilitate, they were paid baby sitters. They sat in there little glass booth in the middle of the common area and made sure we didn’t get up to mischief.

So there I was, 7AM, in a ward of 25 fellow loonies and I am sitting in a corner crying, sweating and shaking. It was 30 degrees by the time I woke up and it was getting hotter and to compound the issue further there was… wait for it.. NO AIRCON! 

How the hell can a hospital ward have no bloody air conditioning or fans or anything to cool down the crazies. No fans, no water fountains but a Coke machine that you had to pay for yourself!

Just think for a moment about the situation – You are locked away from your family, you are in a room full of 25 “people” who are a danger to them-selves or others, 30 degree temperature, no personal entertainment, no free water (aside from the showers), no cordial or sports drinks or fizzy unless you have some money from day release, you have the shakes and are on edge from the nicotine withdrawals, you are TERRIFIED, no way to contact friends and family without money and even if you did have some coinage you better remember the number from your head because you don’t have your phone and therefore no contacts or address book, you are experiencing fear like you have never known and you are ALONE. 

You have all above running thru your head and then you have the reason why you are there in the first place – YOU’RE SUICIDALLY DEPRESSED!

Now I may not be a smart man – or a fit or attractive one – BUT even I know that the least you can do to help someone relax if nothing else would be to have a designated smoking corner outside, give us back our smokes, and have some god damn water to drink.

When everyone is out in the common room a baby sitter in white brings out Dixie cups of water and our pills. Since I am on a relatively small dose of Zoloft my clear cup looks empty but there are some full cups sitting next to mine. These Dixies are about the size of a Lego man high and probably 1 and a half Lego men wide and some have a hell of a lot of pills in them.

Within an hour or 2 the pills have been absorbed into the blood 

and brain which leaves some of the loonies drooling and staggering. These are Anti-Psychotics, evil, evil drugs. Since leaving the hospital I have been put on a very low dose of an Anti-Psychotic called Seroquel XR. In my research I found that the standard dose for Paranoid Schizophrenia is about 2500mg. 2 and a half GRAMS a day. Seroquel can also cause, I repeat CAUSE, an incurable Parkinson’s like condition where the facial muscles move uncontrollably. Cessation of the drug does not reverse the condition.

Just picture that for a moment, a Paranoid Schizophrenic who can no longer control his facial muscles and is always looking surprised, suggestive or flirty, all without his or her control. Wondering why people are staring….

I digress. Listening into some the conversations I discover that the wards are not just for loonies and retards but court assigned junkies and crack heads. That’s right Meth freaks detoxing hard. I am all for drug treatment but a psych ward is not the place to put detoxing junkies.

I did not get names but there was one junkie who was planning an escape, one who could not control his aggression, a poor woman who had a scar across her neck from ear to ear. She didn’t say much, I think by choice.  I hope by choice….

Out of the 25 or so were about 7 courts ordered, a few like me, a few junkies, a few agoraphobics a few with anxiety issues and one Religious screamer who I ran into later in the day. The poor sod was named Dean and I will never forget him. More on him later.

I sat as quiet and as still as possible, always trying to keep my back to a wall and keep looking in as many directions I could to make sure I wasn’t going to be fucked with. I went into full defence mode. Fists clenched, eyes wide open, ready to fight. When you are that scared your body works on auto-pilot. Fight or flight. Fuck’em first before you gets fucked. 

(hmm Thats a big ol' chunk o' text isn't it? Oh well James Rolfe and Mike this time)

(Those fucking costumes rock!)

More to come 

If you ask me to play myself, I will not know what to do. I do not know who or what I am

How Life Turns to Shit in 12 Months or Less OR How to Loose Friends, Alienate Family and Make a Pathetic Ass of Yourself OR Pathetic Confessions to Sins Every One Knows.

Catharsis is good for the soul so they say, since I am a-feared there’s not much of a soul left after these long eleven months and I am currently in a low patch, I can’t really think of what else to do at 6:33PM on a Monday night.

I have been trying to avoid making this post as it will come across as whiny and pathetic but sometimes pride must be sacrificed to heal thy self.

November 2010, work ran dry. At first it was fantastic, no wake up alarms, plenty of X-Box time, rest convalescence. HEAVEN. Then life throws the unwelcomed reminded of reality – No work means No PAY.  I tried to push the worry to the back of my mind and just try to enjoy myself like all good lay-a-bouts.

Then the phone calls and letters came, all saying “Where’s our money? Did you forget us? Where’s our bloody MONEY you lazy bastard!” My family help out as much as they can, sending $300 care packages that kept the roof over our heads for a few days longer. We were in a hole that was getting deeper, wider and a lot fucking darker.

December 2010, still no work. More calls, more letters, more panic. Letters became threats, our friendly landlords turned into money grubbing bastards wanting us out of the house. Panic becomes swearing,   swearing becomes louder and frantic.

Middle of December I finally get my bike back and initially it’s awesome. The awesomeness fades real fucking quick and soon I DREAD getting on the thing. The problem is the accident I had 4 months previous has left a little doom seed in the back of my mind and now it has grown into a full doom tree that starts to drop fruit every time I get on the bike. The doom fruit land with a very sickening thud when I try and ride and soon I can’t get on the bike without feeling sick and so I give up one of few things that brought me happiness.

I force myself to ride to work in January but I feel worse and worse with every day until I can’t get out of bed any longer.

The combination of my hating my job, life, bike and myself, having no money, having no freedom being trapped within my own misery and looking after  my best friend’s house  lead me to my first fall. I take a knife to my arm.

Kate stops me before anything serious happens. We have a long talk which just makes us both feel worse and she calls the Emergency Mental Health team for advice. She said the magic words “He hurt himself” and they are getting a bed ready for me in the psych ward. I argue and yell and scream that “no cunt is taking me to the fucking loony bin” and we delay the dreaded day for 2 months…

(This is going to be a fucking huge block of text so here is a picture of one of my hero's and a fellow loony - Spike Milligan)

January 2011, depression grows deeper and darker, I stop caring about everything, no medication for a few months, don’t care about work, Kate, myself or ANYTHING. I don’t go to work; I don’t leave my borrowed bedroom. Still in the pit, we make a trip to Wollongong to visit my family for my brothers 21^st birthday.

I don’t feel much like partying and being awake is giving me headaches so I slept thru it, it’s easier than being around the living. The next day my brother has a hangover and the shits and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. I have the shits and don’t want to be near anyone. The immovable force meets the very pissed off object and we come to blows. Not my proudest moment.

This makes my blood boil and I leave and walk the 30 minute, all up-hill trip to the nearest train station. Much to my disgust I have a 2 hour wait for the next train to Sydney. I sit and fester and steam in my own self-pity and decide to fuck the train home, I’ll jump in front of it. When it does finally arrive my cowardice wins out and I don’t splatter myself on the rails. Gutless cunts, 1 - 0.

2 hours waiting, 2 hours traveling and still not home. Stuck at central station for another half hour the very angry wheels turn in my mind for plan number 2. I know at home there is a large number of a different size, shape and coloured pills at home from anti-depressants to stool hardeners and a small volume of alcohol. The plan is simple, find the pills, swallow the pills and wash it all down with what’s left of the booze, simple!

By the time I get home Kate has hidden everything sharp or remotely dangerous from me and I am left high and dry again. For the better or worse… January 31^st ends with me still breathing and with everything hidden that could do me enough damage to bump me off, I don’t have much of a choice.

I sleep til the phone rings the next day. My dad calls and tells me to “sort yourself out” there’s a notable pain in his voice which hurts me and I start to cry. This begins a wave of tears that do not stop for a week.

February 2^nd I go to my GP and tell her that I can’t stand being awake, every moment hurts and I want a gun to put a bullet between my eyes.  She does the right thing and sends me to Westmead Emergency to be assessed by the Mental Health Registrar.

We walk back to the car and find that the bastard won’t start. What the hell! The reservoir is empty. 3 2 litter cordial bottles later and the fucker is still empty… Why is there a puddle under the car? Oh fuckkkkkk!  A hose is broken; a very important and expensive hose is broken. One that is right at the base of the engine.  FUCK!!!

Oh well no trip to the hospital today. What’s that? We still have to go? FUCK!!! Kate calls Dave and asks him to take us to the hospital and like a mate… he does. An hour in the waiting room and I am admitted into the ER. 3 more hours waiting and an orderly brings me a sodium free Casserole, surprisingly good - for no salt.  

2 hours later the Registrar pays me a visit and gives me the standard “how crazy are you” exam.  He wants to put me away in the Cumberland Hospital Psych Ward. We both tell him no but he won’t listen. He was a gutless cunt who only wanted to cover his arse.  He is such a gutless cunt, he out right lied about what goes on in the ward. I was promised counselling, monitoring and support. He told Kate that if we did not agree he would have me sectioned. In other words I HAD NO CHOICE.

(another big block of text... Peter Sellers this time, another loony hero)

At 1AM the next morning, a full 7 hours after being admitted, an ambulance crew picked me up and drove me literally around the corner to Cumberland.

By 2:30 I was admitted and they stripped me of my wallet, phone and ciggies. I rapidly found out the ward was not just for the mentally unfortunate, oh no no no no noooo, they also have retards. Retards who don’t know they have to wear clothes in public. Ugly, drooling, simpletons and then it hits me. This is not the treatment ward where I will be helped and healed. Ohhhhh  Fucking NOOOOO. This is where they detain, contain and hide everyone no matter what.

I was given a tranquiliser and put to bed in a room with another guy. I started to cry and slept with my back to the wall. The words “your mine now Prag” (watch OZ for what Prag means) repeated over and over. I tossed and turned and it was a hell of a long night.

This is going to take a hell of a lot of time and text so I think I will end part one here. After all this is just the 3rd of February and we are almost in November... Stay tuned dear readers and only friends.

Bored Scribbles 1 30/12/2010

Friday December 31^st 2010

Old Years Night.

Jacob Herzfeld lay on his back, his tiny body a frail and weakened figure, left physically and mentally impotent by the passage of time. He had looked into the eyes of death and found it wanting.

The respirator forced another unwarranted breath into his exhausted lungs while the heart monitor slowly pinged. The sound of the monitors and medical equipment reverberated from the old wooden walls until the slow, erratic pings became a constant, whining tone.

The candle light that remained in Jacob’s eyes was blown out by the winds of time and the book was finally closed. The final chapter had been written and the story was finished.

A burning white light filled the room and his old crippled body was filled by a new energy. A middle aged man in a black suit and black briefcase entered from the door to his left and confidently strode to the foot of his bed. Jacob was dwarfed by the stature and poise of the well dressed stranger.

“Well then, what do we have here...” The figured slowly and deliberately placed his case on the end of the bed and opened the case with a loud click. Instead of echoing within the room, the clicks and movement of papers echoed furiously within Jacobs mind causing a new form of pain to be introduced into his frail mind.

“Jacob Herzfeld also known as Randolph Grüber, born June 25^th 1923, murderer, thief, traitor and war criminal. Your crimes have funded your life since you were 20 years old and your punishments will be more terrible than your pathetic mind can imagine.”

Jacob let out a cry of panic as the stranger’s words sent slivers of ice though his soul.

“During World War two, your actions lead to the death of thousands of Romani, Jews, Polish and Homosexual civilians.”

The room filled with the ghostly bodies of a hundred tortured and executed prisoners. Their faces twisted and contorted with abject terror, their eyes mirroring the image of the young SS officer, armed with his Luger P08 pistol, herding in prisoners to false showers where Zyklon B would be dropped through vents in the side walls, releasing toxic Hydrogen Cyanide and executing thousands of innocents.

Hundreds more eyes, projecting the crystal clear image of the same young officer smiling the smile of a manic as he pulled the trigger of his Luger and sprayed the brain matter of hundreds of prisoners onto the cold brown earth.

The twisted bodies limped and stumbled forward to the bed, bringing their horrible forms and projected images into sharp, inescapable relief. The leading figures raised blue-gray arms and stretched and latched onto Jacobs’s tiny frame, holding still his mind and body and preventing any escape from the terrible scene. 

The strangers mind shattering voice spoke again. “You stole the belongings of those you killed to finance your greed.” Jacob’s soul froze at the sound of this unearthly tenor.

The ghoulish figures held tighter.

“You betrayed your fellow criminals to save your own worthless skin.” The burning white light shifted hues to a dark crimson red. “You lied and deceived everyone around you in order to escape the judgement that you rightfully deserve.”

Suddenly the ghouls vanished, freeing Jacob and giving a false feeling of liberation. The sound of ancient gears and cogs started a terrible tremor, shaking the room and throwing portraits from the walls.

Eldritch, blood dripping hooks , connected to thick iron chains, ejected though the dark wooded walls and dug deeply into Jacob’s flesh pulling his body in opposite directions and raising him from the bed.

“Your punishment is eternal.” As he spoke, a burning red portal opened at the foot bed opened before him.  “There will be no rest, no reprieve and no escape.” The hooks pulled towards the fiery opening.

As Jacob’s skin breached the portal an intense fire leapt onto the wrinkled body, burning and charring with a pain unknown to man. The wrinkled skin turned to black leather as his body was sucked into the burning vortex.

As the tip of his head had passed through the gate, it sealed shut and the room was once again quiet. The stranger put his documents back into his briefcase and shut it with an echoing click. He adjusted his tie and straightened his suit then slowly and in a measured way, picked up his case, walked slowly thru the door and shut it with a gentle thud. 

Fare-thee-well Dave and Stella

Just a quick post to wish 2 of my best mates in the world a safe and rockin trip to Vietnam and to let them know that I locked the house up before we left :P

Normal ranting will continue when work dies down and I have a minute to think about everything that shits me 

Self Defense

First and foremost Happy New Year guys – hope 2011 kicks ass.

Lately I have been posting the link to my blog on different Motorcycle forums to try and increase my audience. Most of them I have been lurking on for a while just haven’t posted on.

The blog may not be 1984 or Crime and Punishment or The Godfather or even Clerks but I am proud of my stories and obviously want people to read them, otherwise what’s the fucking point?

So I have been advertising the blog on bike forums and trying to get some cats interested and the first response, nine time out of ten, has been “SPAM”. Now I’m not posting the link in the main forum, I post it off in the “Off Topic” or the funny posts sub forum and I know there’s at least 2 laughs in the car crash story.

The exact message I post is:

Lately I have been put my thoughts to paper so to speak and have come up with my first blog. Reflections From The Back Of A Motorcycle.

It’s a blog about riding bikes, getting hit by a car, shit that pisses me off and other observations.

The link is: http://rftboam.blogspot.com/

Check it out, post some comments and click an ad or 2 but let me know what you think.

Thanks  

I posted the link because it’s something I’m proud of and hopefully some cats get a laugh or 2 when the read some of the stories or if nothing else post a comment with something constructive to say or even click an ad so I get 10 cents for the effort.

Of course I’m advertising, I’m advertising my own creation because NO ONE else will and the only pay off I want is some cat sitting at home or work and getting a laugh or saying “I get it” or “I understand what the dude means”.

If I get a comment or even an ad clicked then bonus but above all else I want it to be read by others. Otherwise it’s just jerking off without cuming.

So if you don’t like the blog then that’s cool, I get it, it’s not for everyone but if you don’t like, then don’t like it for the content or style or even the fucking font but don’t dislike it because I want the highest number of readers possible and post the link every chance I can get.

Bottom line – If you don’t want to click the fucking link – DON’T CLICK IT. It’s not rocket surgery.

Red State V2

Kevin Smith has released the Teaser trailer to his next flick "Red State" and it looks fucking intense!





I cannot wait to see this movie. To quote @N_S_Boulton on Twitter: "teaser for red state looks like a tarantino movie fucked a john carpenter movie"

Kevin also sold the posters of charactors to different sites via Twitter to raise money for different charities 

http://gfbrobot.com/ bid $2000 to Mitch Albom’s www.havefaithhaiti.org in less than 30 minutes for The Father poster.

http://pussyeatingclub.com/ bid $1700 to The Kenny Gordon Foundation http://www.kennygordonfoundation.com/ in less than 30 minutes for The Sons poster.

http://www.xcellentcreations.com/ bid $1800 to The Kenny Gordon Foundation www.kennygordonfoundation.com in less than 30 minutes for the Caleb poster.

P.S: Ralph, you look awesome in the poster. A serious and scary motherfucker

The Wayne Foundation bought both The Virgin and The Holy Ghost posters.

Red State looks awesome and I for one am foaming at the mouth to see this flick. I havent been this psyched to see a flick since Watchman and this looks better.


Thanks Kev!!!

Music To My Ears

I listen to a lot of music. A LOT of music. A lot a lot a lot. I do most of my music listening on the back of my bike. I do this for 2 reasons; 1 I’m left the hell alone so I can enjoy it and 2 because the road can get fucking boring with nothing but wind and traffic noise in your ears.

As such I have a few recommendations for you all.

Cradle Of Filth - Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa

This album absolutely rocks; it is Cradle back to the power and musicality of “Midian”. High speed extreme metal played by the best the world has to offer.

Favorite Tracks - Lilith Immaculate, Forgive Me Father (I Have Sinned), Beyond Eleventh Hour

Dead Kennedys - Give Me Convenience Or Give Me Death

Yea it’s a best of, who gives a shit, Dead Kennedys kick ass. Live tracks + re-mastered studio tracks = a big bucket of punk win! Lots of air guitar and rocking out.

Favorite Tracks – Pull My Strings, Holiday in Cambodia, California Uber Alles, Too Drunk To Fuck

Eagles of Death Metal - Death By Sexy

Canned Heat meets Queens Of The Stone Age. Sexy rock with a lot of thrust and grunt. Rock you can fuck to.

Favorite Tracks – Cherry Cola, I Want You So Hard, Eagles Goth, Bag O Miracles

Mars Volta - De-loused in the Comatorium

The first thought after listening to this album in one sitting is “Holy SHIT that was good.” Guitars with more effects than I can name, insanely good drumming, lyrics that tell a story like a series of oil paintings on Acid. On their own the tracks are good but play it from start to finish and the album is awesome.

 

Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More

UK Folk for a new generation. This is one of those rare albums you can pick any track from and it’s an instant favorite. Every song has an incredible peak and deep meaning and the instrumentation is perfect on every song.

Favorite Tracks – Tracks 1 – 12

There is a hell of a lot more that I listen to when I’m on the road but I usually gravitate to the above. However I have to mention or recommend the following:

• ·         Any Queens Of The Stone Age Album. I mean ANY, from Queens Of The Stone Age to Era Vulgaris.
• ·         The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy BBC Radio Series
• ·         George Carlin – Last Words Audio Book
• ·         Nile – Ithyphallic
• ·         Captain Dan And The Scurvy Crew. Pirate Hip-Hop for the WIN.

A lot more falls under the “When I feel like it” category but I highly recommend the above and hope you can check out a few of the above.

Enjoy

Vic The Country Gentleman

This Christmas I had the pleasure of going to see my wife’s grandparents. And getting the chance to sit and talk to a real country gentleman.

Vic grew up during World War 2 and the hardships and struggles of the time help to shape his sense of honor, fairness, loyalty and honestly.

Vic is not only gentleman but a man’s man. He liked a drink and a dirty joke as much as the next man but only in the company of other men. No swearing, dirty jokes or loutish behavior in front of a woman. Ever.

Vic, Graeme (my father in law) and I were out the back smoking and drinking, well Graeme and I were drinking and smoking, and telling our jokes and stories, whispering our dirtiest jokes, including my favorite about the musical octopus, so the women would not overhear and be offended.

That was the main factor that I found most fascinating about him. It didn’t matter what we were doing or talking about, the man always had a sense of nobility and honor that isn’t even a shadow of what passes for honor today.

Vic was always a hard working man, worked hard and played hard too. He maintained a no bullshit attitude; he offered none and accepted none. During our few conversations he always spoke slowly and in measured way. The slow speech was not an indication or old age or stupidity, it was an indication of Vic taking his time to think about the words he wanted to say and to make sure his message was clear.

That was the real pleasure of sitting and talking to such a true, no nonsense gentleman. There is no pretence, no false modesty, no trying to impress me or give a false impression of himself or his impressions of me. You could talk about anything from cars to hooking up a water tank in the back yard and he made you pay real attention. Not thru bullshit or intimidation but thru his delivery and honest speech.

It is incredibly sad that the Country Gentleman is a dying breed of man. Now a days the words honesty, fidelity, honor, nobility and a way to behave in front of young people, older people and women have had their meanings crippled.

Due to our excess that has filled our cultural vacuum; things like trashy celebrity magazines, the stunning decline of actual journalism, reality TV and novelty ring tones, the image of what makes a real man or indeed real woman (but that’s a WHOLE ‘nother story) has been so distorted that it is completely unrecognizable.

Now the best you can look forward to is being ignored when you walk down the street. The complete opposite of the glory that once was and is now called “the old days” where people would say hello and mean it.

So raise your glasses to Vic and all his kin. There are not many like him left.

Tribute to George Carlin

"I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond!

I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial!

I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers.

I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail.

But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant.

I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity.

I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!"

Bikers, One Percenters and Motorcycle Clubs

There is a difference between the 3 groups listed above. In my view a Biker is a guy like me who loves to ride and loves his bike. I’m not affiliated with any kind of club, I just love riding, either with mates or by myself or in a group.

A Motorcycle Club is a group of like minded riders who love to get together and have a ride or have a beer or a feed and have a good time. Not involved in any illegal activities or any shit like that, just a group of people who like to hang out and have something in common. Like the Harley or Kawasaki Owners Groups or the Ulysses Motorcycle Club.

A One Percenter (also known as an Outlaw Motorcycle Club) is a group who may or may not be involved in illegal activities.

I have met a couple of guys in Outlaw clubs, one in the Banditos and one from the Gypsy Jokers. We had a chat while smoking at a rest stop and I can say – these dudes rocked. Not only friendly as all hell but honest and funny guys.

Everyone in the media has these guys painted in the worst kind of light. The image portrayed is that of a group of homicidal rapists who are so wired on Crystal Meth they have no idea what year it is.

This is simply not true.

Granted I am not a member of any club and granted I haven’t met every member of these gangs but I know enough to know how to behave. Treat them with respect and you get it back.

This poor paint job has covered the rest of us too, the bikers and the clubs. I ride a Suzuki GS500F, a road bike, nothing like a Harley or a cruiser and yet I have seen and heard people as I walk past in all my gear.

“Don’t look at him honey” a mother will often say to her small child. I heard this shit in a doctor’s waiting room for fuck sake. What do these people expect me to do in a god damn waiting room? Rape their kid in front of them?   

In the same night I pulled into Dominos Pizza to get dinner on my way home. As I got of my bike and took my helmet off, I saw some guy looking at me. He stared at me as I walked in and waited for my order. This wasn’t a ‘he’s hot’ kind of stare it was a ‘oh my god I’m in danger’ stare.

I went outside and lit up a cigarette and this asshole was still staring at me, same look in his eyes. I looked over and said “what do you want?” he jumped and scampered away like a frightened dog.

I’m not the most imposing or threatening kind of guy. I’m of a normal, standard height and an abnormal weight. I feel tank in all my gear but I really don’t look it. I often say I look like a bowling pin. So the only thing I could pin this look of terror on was because I was a biker.

Well I got pissed god damn it...