I used to ride a motorcycle all the time because I didn't own a car. On or about the time that I finally secured a decent job, I bought myself a shiny, new Subaru Impreza WRX wagon. Having ridden a motorcycle on a daily basis for several years, I was relieved to get a car as the act of riding itself became a total chore; lugging around a helmet everywhere you go really sucks, especially at job interviews, restaurants, movies, dates, sexual encounters and just about everywhere else. I chose the WRX because it was a wagon that I could haul snowboards or dogs (or both) without any annoying tethers or cargo straps being required. Also, the WRX had all-wheel drive, which meant I'd rarely have to "cable-up" when going over the mountain pass to Tahoe's snow country. Plus, it has a turbo and totally screams.
Prior to purchasing a car, I had a Ducati 900SS, which I crashed and broke a number of times because I'm an irresponsible schmuck. This bike was replaced by a Honda CB-1, which was a collector's bike of sorts, because I didn't want to die from a 100+ MPH fall. I thought that the 400cc engine of the CB-1 would be adequate for my daily, Bay Area transportation needs- but it wasn't. Riding a 400cc motorcycle across the Bay Bridge, at night, was an exercise in mortal terror and- likely- an efficient manner in which to grace one's beneficiaries with a generous life insurance payment. Predictably (or luckily, depending on you're view of death vs. life), I broke the CB-1 as well, had it repaired, got fed up with motorcycling and then bought the car. I last rode the CB-1 about two years ago and it'd been sitting in my garage since I bought the car.
So, I decided to sell the bike. But, being my normal, lazy self, I did a very poor job at it. I didn't want to bother getting the bike fixed, or posting it on the internet- normal things that one does when one wants to actually sell something- so I told a few people that they could have it for "whatever."
The first such person who expressed interest was the female receptionist at my chiropractor's office. Though I knew that I could totally gouge her on the price, and that she would likely pay it, I decided to avoid her by no longer going to see my chiropractor. I don't know why I did this; I guess it just wasn't in the cards for her to have my bike. It's probably because girls aren't supposed to ride motorcycles. I read that somewhere.
The second person who called dibs was a friend who we will call "Buddy." Buddy had recently broken up with his RAGING CUNT of a girlfriend, who he dated for like twenty-seven years, or something. Yet, Buddy was/is totally cool and a legend in the local "goth" scene- which, in my book, is about as awesome as being the hippest carnie at the local fair (you know, the guy who deals weed to the underage girls in exchange for illegal, oral sex?) - but also means that he had the ability to fuck the holy-hell out of every young, newly twenty-one year old, spooky-looking chick who walked into the nightclub wearing ripped up fishnets with electrical tape covering her pale, pert, upper, fun parts.
Buddy wanted to secure the CB-1 for his new, rebound arm-candy (who we will refer to as "Raven" [because she probably is named Raven] from now on). And, because Buddy's recent breakup drew parallels to Tim Robbins' character in the Shawshank Redemption, once he escaped from prison, I was more than happy to let Buddy have the bike in exchange for free drinks' for life. (Did I mention that Buddy co-owns/manages a nightclub?) For the same reason, I was willing to overlook the "girls arenâ't supposed to ride motorcycles" rule.
Buddy seemed very interested in the bike but I never heard a concrete decision from him and, when I mentioned the pending transaction to my other friend (hereto referred to as "Sam" because his name is, in fact, Sam), I was told not to give the bike away; Sam wanted it for his own. So I told Sam, "Look, dude, Buddy totally owns some hot ass now. I'm just trying to keep him balls-deep in it by giving him the bike. He deserves to be happy." (If I could have forced out tears right then, I would have.) But Sam was steadfast in his desire to possess the 400cc stallion- by "stallion" I mean "pony"- rusting away in my garage. I told Sam that he needed to work it all out with Buddy. Sam, promptly, did. A week later, Sam told me that he was going to be the new owner of the CB-1 and asked what I wanted in exchange for it.
Because the bike didn't run anymore, I really didn't know how much I should charge; it would certainly need a good overhaul prior to being in an operable state. Then again, it was a collector's bike and had a Blue Book value of about $2500.00. But Sam was a friend and I didn't really need the money. What, I thought, could I obtain in exchange for such a bike that wouldn't be a total rip-off to either of us? What couldn't I possibly live without but was too lazy to go and get myself?
Then it hit me: zombies. I needed to kill zombies. And not just one zombie but piles and piles, swarms and swarms of angry, determined, face-eating zombies. And I needed to do it in a mall rendered with amazing graphics. I needed Dead Rising, the new video game for the XBOX 360 and, thusly, I needed an XBOX 360 (with an extra controller). I told Sam, "Dude, the bike is yours for a 360 with Dead Rising and an extra controller." Sam replied, "'Kay," and I laughed because it sounded like he said, â"Gay" and that's funny to me. I digress.
A few short days later, Sam delivered the goods and, after I post this article, I'm going to set up my 360 and play video games until night turns to day. Fuck work, I have zombies to kill.
In a mall.
Best...game... idea... ever...
The moral of this story is: trading rules, especially when you trade a broken-down waste of space, time and effort for young, flexible hotness...
Or an XBOX 360. |
