this is simply wonderful:
and now for something completely different.
i dreamt of love when i was a boy maybe 15 jacking off
i was gonna have a big rig with tall smokestacks and a sleeper cab large enough for a tv and a shower and a king size bed
i was gonna have five girls f***ing me at the same time
with magnum p.i. on the tube
what they’d do wasn’t important
i had no idea what could be done
it was that there were five of them
cheerleaders and beautiful outcasts
as if i’d directed the breakfast club but with more drugs and alcohol
well, what i do here was bound to come to this. what follows is something i did not write, i did not edit, and which moves me deeply. the man who wrote it, russ, is not only a “follower” of bikerMetric, but a man i have grown to understand in the past few months as the best kind of ***-loving man; filled with care without judgment. what you are about to read is in his words, letter by letter. please take the time to discover his desire to help a brother:
We all know we aren’t supposed to judge books by their covers, but we often do it anyway. Sometimes, though, we sit down and open them-and we are blessed by what we find inside.Several years ago I met a man at the church I was attending. Many of the members of the church were very fashion-conscious and what most people would call “trendy”. This man was neither- he wore the same clothes almost every week, and he always appeared to be more than a little disheveled. As a greeter, I felt it was my obligation to say hello and welcome him to the church each Sunday. He seemed odd and a little standoffish at first, but as the weeks and months passed, he gradually became a little more open and returned my greetings with a smile and a few words. Over the course of a few months, I noticed he was always one of the last to enter, and he always stayed near the back, close to the door. Often he would step out of the sanctuary during services, and he was usually one of the first people to leave when services ended.Because of some confidential and sensitive circumstances, I can’t explain everything, but I came to know the intimate details of his life over the next several years. I also came to know a man whose outward appearance hides a person who is “always faithful” in his love and service to ***, to his country, and to other people. Most of the good he has done in his lifetime will never be known-not even to those who have attended church with him for years. Over time, I became aware that he was not the standoffish person I once believed him to be. I also came to know that his stammering speech and extreme shyness masked a great intelligence and a wealth of knowledge on many subjects. In short, I had misjudged the book by its cover. My first impression was that of a trashy novel- one which was meant to be given a hasty glance and tossed aside.
As I spent time getting to know this man, we became more than just friends. We became brothers. He became a person I could always depend on to show up when I needed him. When I was one of the founding members of a new ministry at the church, I asked him if he would like to come. He agreed, and during the formative months, it was often just the two of us who showed up at the weekly meetings. I also saw him in other places, and we sometimes went to lunch together. I found out over the course of the next few years that he was a U.S. Marine; he had served on active duty with a TOW missile squadron during the Gulf War. I‘ve never asked him about his time spent in combat, and he has never shared anything about it. I do know that he did not expect to survive. The book I had opened was not a trashy novel, but a masterpiece of literature- one filled with tragedy.
I also came to know that my brother suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His shyness, his disheveled look, his forgetfulness, his reluctance to sit close to others-all these traits were the result of the anxiety which controls his life. He sits on the fringes of any group-always apart, always quiet. Because of his PTSD, he has a difficult time working around people. In all the years I have known him he has always had the same job. He works alone, doing a job most others won’t. In order to protect his privacy I won’t say where he works, or what he does, but trust me-it is not a pleasant job, and it does not pay well. He is diligent in paying his debts and obligations. He has lived in the same small house for years, and worries that when his elderly landlord passes away he will be homeless. In short, he lives in very humble circumstances and has no means to afford the luxuries of life like trendy clothes and a cool car. The book I picked up and started reading contained a simple story-one of a man who has worked hard to overcome adversity.
This leads us to the present circumstance. A couple of months ago, while talking to my brother, I noticed that his speech was slurred. This is a man who does not drink alcohol and has never tried drugs in his life, so I knew something was wrong. When I asked him about it, he told me that one of his teeth was broken and was cutting into his tongue. He told me he was probably going to try to file it down so it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Most of us would have been on the phone to a dentist immediately, but when you live hand-to-mouth, dentists are one of the “luxuries” that are outside your means. When you suffer from severe PTSD, the thought of filing your own teeth is less frightening than having a stranger poke around inside your mouth. So he filed.
He hadn’t seen a dentist in many years, and he was fearful of having a mental breakdown from the experience. He agreed to let me try to find him a dentist. I believe he agreed more for my benefit than his own. His only requests were that he not be forced to travel far from home, and that I find a dentist who would “knock him out.”
By the grace of ***, and with the help of a few generous people, my friend was able to visit a local dentist, who specializes in sedation dentistry. The dentist and his staff were advised of my friend’s PTSD and financial circumstances; they agreed to take care of the emergency at a reduced cost. We made arrangements to pay the amount in installments. The initial visits went well, but they were only the first steps. There are many more needed. The dentist and his staff have agreed to work with us on a plan to repair the rest of my friend’s rotting and broken teeth. This Marine, who served and fought for his country in a foreign war, needs eleven of his teeth rebuilt and one removed. Sedation dentistry is expensive, even when a substantial discount is provided.
The V.A. only provides dental care for service-related conditions. We have a great dentist who has deeply discounted his services, but the amount needed far exceeds what my friends and I can provide. So I am asking for you to help my brother. He will not ask-not even the members of his own church…the church he still attends every Sunday…the church where he still sits at the back, near the door, in case his anxiety overcomes his desire to worship the *** he loves. He may not be a member of YOUR church, but he is a member of ***’s church. He is also a U.S. Marine who risked his life fighting for your country, and he needs your help. He is a man who knows the true meaning of the words Semper Fi.
Will you help write the next chapter of the book of his life? To send donations or for more information please contact:
Irontribe Men’s Ministry
PO Box 2957
Sherman, TX 75090
received a message from russ today. he’s been trying to set up an easy paypal link with the email address above for folks to help out:
done. hope we can help your brother, russ. thanks for being so involved in his life, as well as the lives of others i know you tirelessly work for. *** bless, man.
i have found that between five and eight inches of trail is ideal for a bob or chop. it depends on how and where you’ll ride it. more city riding, 6.5 or less. cruising more freeway stuff, 6.5 or more. if you can’t tell, my ideal trail is 6.5 inches. it does it all.
one of the dudes who sent an email to mr. disco who thought he’d get away with ripping off our builder friend is named scott and he does some cool s**t. first, he’s an incredible photographer of people. also, he’s a cinematographer and, correct me if i am wrong man, a documentary director. the latest thing he’s working on is this:
here’s the deal. there are dumbass b***hes in our country, too. maybe he ought to make a documentary about that. that isn’t for me to judge. if you can spend three minutes and not be moved by the video above, it’s no wonder you can’t remember the last time you got your **** sucked.
no i am not insinuating all foreign girls should all become our *** slaves. only that your own woman should be. and only some foreign girls.
if you’re new here, you are learning about my dark and rowdy humor and how i write things to get a rise out of my readers, not that i literally believe everything i lay down on bikerMetric. you’ll know when i’m serious. in any event, always feel free to comment below.
peace out, motherf***ers. thanks for dropping by.
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