Motorcycle Badasses

Now, I'm the first to admit that I can't math. In fact, I feel actual anger at the idea of fractions and calculators make me feel uncomfortable. So perhaps that's the reason why I can't understand these equations:

Day trader (or grocery store cashier, or professor, or janitor, or IT guy, etc) + loud motorcycle + leather pants - helmet * PBR/Friday= Biker gang badass?

Is a two-wheeled method of transportation what turns Bill Lumbergh into Jason Statham? Well, it can't be that, because if that was true Lance Armstrong would be a lot more intimidating and hippie fights would be worth watching.

So it must be the engine? Hmmm... No it can't just be the engine, because I don't think anyone in the history of the world has been impressed or frightened by the owner of a Honda Accord and that engine is far larger than that of a motorcycle.

So maybe it's both assets, combined together? Well, two negatives don't make a positive, so the idea that the motorcycle is what makes you badass is out.

Let's examine the other elements: PBR consumed on Fridays doesn't make you a hard SOB, it just makes you old or cheap (in Wisconsin), or a hipster (in the other 49 states), and gives you diarrhea (all of humanity).

Not wearing a helmet? Lance Armstrong wears a helmet (and we know what kind of a badass he is), but then again so did the dude who shot bin Laden in the face, so it would seem like a helmet isn't a good indicator of badassery (a term originally coined to describe Sean Connery).

So what does that leave us with? Leather pants. After some terrible research spent googling "leather pants" and "badass", and the required scrubbing of my eyes with bleach I have come to the conclusion that leather pants, at least when worn by aging, fat, white, network admins is NOT what turns Mid-life Crisis Mike into MadDawg Mike of the Central WI Motorized Bicycle Killer Klub.

So is it possible that the end result of "Biker gang badass" is incorrect? Is it possible that at the end of the day you're just some asshole without anything exciting in his life that tries to get over the crushing despair of a wife who resents him, kids who despise him, and a double mortgage by accelerating real fast from stop signs on your Harley (that your wife didn't want you to buy, you rebel, you.) ? Are you hoping the hearing damage from your exhaust pipes will drown out the nagging suspicion that Dave from accounting is banging your wife and the fact that your son laughs at you when you tell him to do his homework?

Now, none of this is to say that there aren't badasses who ride motorcycles, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd probably say that if you were a bad motherf_cker after you bought a motorcycle, you were probably a bad motherf_cker before you ever bought it. Chuck Norris doesn't punch freedom into the hearts of terrorists because he bought a headband and some nunchucks. Those are just extra.

So what was the point of all this? Well, aside from the homework I am desperately trying to avoid doing, I hate the ungodly screaming of assholes on motorcycles as they accelerate away from the stop sign by my house. And since the City PD won't let me hunt them for sport all I can do is bitch about it on Facebook.

'Merica!