Home / Friday's Post of Cool Stuff / friday’s post of cool stuff #53: to be feared or respected?

friday’s post of cool stuff #53: to be feared or respected?

yes. it’s true. sometimes to get something done you have to push your way past the sheep to get to the greenest grass. “sometimes it’s better to be feared than respected” is my motto lately. watch out, motherf***ers. world domination is coming and it’s name is bikerMetric.

the angel of life and death observing the saints and sinners dance around the tree of life

it’s nice that my “f**k everything and become a pirate” image is making the rounds, as is the FREEDOM or DEATH MACHINE. there is a metric ton of cool s**t on this site. if you yoink it for your blog, please credit bikerMetric with a link as i do for you. this is a one-time warning. credit this site or don’t post it. i do not care who you are. thank you.

found this on my friend dave’s el solitario site yesterday. he snagged it from ottonero:

and now for some weird stuff:

suzuki savage thingamabobberchopperdragster | bikerflorida.com

the bike below was made by an interesting old codger named mark walker in australia. you can read a tiny bit more about him and see a lot of photos of this builds here at one day tech.

the next bike was an actual runner and below is an original photo. over a year ago i saw a pic of it on a few sites from a shot taken in a studio with someone completely wrapped in rainbow-colored ribbons. gay. it was to commemorate the 30 year anniversary of it’s creation. i ignored it initially because the image made me want to take a shower as the statement “ten pounds of s**t in a five pound bag” resonated in my mind. it was also before i started this little honda **** hole so i couldn’t get drunk and make fun of it for my fifty fans as i would have five months later.

i ended up on one of those pages again somehow this week and decided to find an original photo. here it is, from the depths of the porsche website.

after more research i discovered that in the late 1970’s, yamaha and porsche were working together for a few projects, including race bikes. the porsche-enhanced motors were busting the yamaha transmissions and drives so it never went far, but porsche was still interested in motorbikes and designed this “futuristic” bike out of that partnership.

the design reflects porsche’s idea that motorcycles were the future of transportation due to their small size and fuel economy. the motor is also a yamaha. i am unclear which engine was utilized but it seems to be a 4-to-500cc thumper of some sort which was likely very nicely tweaked by porsche. the body work was fiberglass and designed to keep mud and oil off the rider for a safer and cleaner ride. what elitist ****. there is even a shaft drive, which is in line with their clean design.

now for something completely different.

here is a tip for the home builder from our friends at ryca, adding progressive fork springs to an rc-1 cafe (or your bike – whatever it is):

fork oil!

WARNING: poetry corner
drugs (august 2005)
wisdom comes in a little white pill that makes me think first before i speak. i have forgotten why i loved drugs. drugs that made me fast or laid me low. drugs that brought philosophical dreams like hallucinations like words i’ve used before. drugs that f**k hard and drugs that make you care less. those are the ones i avoid. any drug that does not speak to the spreading of my alabaster dna fighting for its moment to become a soul within the womb of the open earth or to die glowing lightninglike upon the hills of milk like waterfalls of honey sobbing hysterical poetry in hiccups is a drug wasted on me.

i spent three years sober. then one day i returned to san francisco after a summer riding trains from chicago to birmingham. i had lived in the city for a year and loved and lost and left to come again and this time to hit the dark hipster pub for a pint of dark british brew only because they conquered that country and haven’t given it up yet. and that was it.

then i moved back to phoenix, the mythological name whose meaning has never escaped me. every time i leave that f***ing town i am new again with more knowledge of the tree of good and evil than i could ever bargain to comprehend. i did coke and lied and stole to do more coke. i managed to break from it. one night now since. one night in nine years.

f***ing on cocaine makes you lucifer, makes you a light-bearer. concentrate to get that thing crowing and you will slide into anything tight and inviting long enough to make her cry barely-conscious tears of ****** after ****** before you descend through her labyrinth of **** for the explosions that will make you swear for those moments you were *** creating an infinite universe of life crying again for the knowledge of why.

if they could all live and name themselves and yell out for you to tell them your name, would you?

i forgot. coke came to me twice more. after that time in phoenix, a biker friend turned me on to some lines in houston. there was a girl with big fake **** who loved to show them in bars after a few lines and drinks. i wanted to slide between them and cover her stupid smile in the riverous flood of my holy water. it would have been wasted. she had a girlfriend who i gave one ride on my motorbike. i would have burned her from the inside.

eighteen months now and i let my walking dream kiss me with her mouth full of cannabis i inhale cannibal i exhale slowly and with one desire: to f**k her. to feel her quiver and cry out “please!” to see her with unconscious epiphany offer her forgotten dreams. i hear her release, reading her expressions. i hold her and we fall asleep.


this little white pill is what i need. for all the ravenous rants of a mind meant to live in a dimension where time flows faster, i need to slow down here. not stupid slow. not tired. not careless or blind or deaf. this little pill helps me to listen. i ought to understand her better by hearing her words when they speak the lines in between where i know the white meanings meant. when the next day comes, i don’t need one. i still hear.

in return she is complete. she is known. she is wisdom, understood. she just came downstairs from her bath, smelling of fruit and flowers, lifting her skirt up to show her smooth p*ssy and a*s prepared for us.

she will blow her dreams grown from the earth into my mouth with a kiss and a gentle lick of her tongue upon my lips.

she, my greatest blessing of the love of ***, is upstairs now. waiting…

to pronounce the true name of *** is to have spoken the grand metaphor.

+ + +

that’s what i get for falling in love. gonna do what this guy here says and acquire currency. afterward, the babes will arrive. they always do. maybe i’ll care. maybe i’ll do what i did after i divorced in 2000 and f**k 30 chicks in a year. some more than once. i could find another girlfriend tonight if i wanted but honestly, i probably need a few months to work and let go of some emotional baggage.

therefore, ladies be damned, and the BJs that come with them, i’m going for world domination. what did henry kissinger say, that *******?

power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

no motherf***ing s**t.

which incongruously leads me to my friend ole. he’s a good man who supports me personally as well as bikerMetric in many ways. he’s doing the blog thing. i used to have a saying when something was really popular, i’d say “everybody and their dog” was doing it. now it’s “everybody and their blog.” i love rhymes. anyway, check out his doin’s at 10011. that’s binary for 19, he tells me. i see three but whatever, maybe he’s an android.

february 1936 | modern mechanix magazine

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