What do remote controls, electric starters, automatic transmissions and the Segway all have in common? Over the past 40 years they all have aided and abetted the pussification of the nation.

 It used to be a world where a man worked a ten-hour day building machines by hand with no safety inspector looking over his shoulder. After work he went by the bar for a few martinis with the boys and when he smoked his last Pall Mall non-filter, he hopped in his three-on-the-tree pickup truck and drove off half-cocked without buckling up. Once he got home, he ate a bloody 16oz steak with none of the fat trimmed off coupled with a potato soaking in butter and sour cream. Desert you ask? Two more martinis and three more Pall Malls. And then he beat his kids to sleep.

Then came the automatic icemaker, air conditioning and Dr. Phil and now the so-called “Men” of America are choosing to the salon over the barber and going to the health club instead of the strip club.

Think I am lying? Just look at any pack of weekend warriors you see riding on any Sunday and see what’s dangling from their bikes. Drink holders? clocks? A leathered-up teddy bear?  Stop the madness! Where are they going you ask? They are riding in packs over to the prefab mini mall to eat their low-fat-salt-taste prefab meals and drink their $5.00 cups of coffee. Once they have gorged themselves, they will strap on their DOT helmets and their CE-approved jackets and safely cruise at the speed limit to their next deadpan destination for more mindless mumbling.

I am certain that John Harman and Big Daddy Roth, rest in peace, are turning in their F-ing graves at what the biker lifestyle (as well as our society as a whole) has sunken to.

The next time some “biker” in white Reeboks sneers at my Shovel and talks smack because it didn’t fire on the first or second kick, I am gonna turn their friggin’ sneakers red…