SHIFTY ROAST THE DEATH OF "PANTY DROPPER"

THE DEATH OF "PANTY DROPPER"

There are few things in this life that I love. Family, of course. Well, some of them. Girlfriends? Not hardly. My house? Um, no. One of my the big loves of my life was my motorcycle.

It was everything I ever wanted from a woman, and then more. Giving, warm, never bitchy, and it put out on demand.

I have a brand new love though...Vicodin. It's not that I have forsaken my bike for the drugs, because I have not. If it was possible, I'd make sweet passionate love to that motorcycle. But I can't. I tried it one time, and well, just take my word for it.

Anyway, my love for Vicodin comes from the fact that I have been high as a kite on it for the last several days (which is not all that different from the other state that I write most of this website in-drunk) . I'm feeling very great right now as I write this. Which is quite a swing from Tuesday when I almost died with my true love. My motorcycle. Like all great true loves, died, unselfishly protecting me. Taking the brunt of a rear end collision from a Toyota SUV that should have killed me. Instead it just kind of crippled me up and obliterated my beloved Panty Dropper.

I'll start at the beginning. On the first day, God made Man. And it was good. Then he decided that man needed a companion. So he made woman. And, well, that was good for some, but not so good for me personally. So, then God made motorcycle. And said unto Man: "Goethe, and ride thy "Panty Dropper" to evade your woman. And I did. And it was good. It was also good for getting other women, even if they were of a "short term" commitment type. Hence, the name. Ahem.

So, Tuesday night I come to realize that the house is out of toilet paper. How I came to this realization, has no bearing on the story...

Anyway, I head out to my pick-up truck. But it is such a beautiful night out, I say fuck it and decide to take my motorcycle instead. I have no helmet on, but hey, the store is only two blocks away. There is nothing like riding a motorcycle on a warm night. The freedom. The feel of the breeze on your bare face. The crush of the Toyota into your back. The feeling as your hip breaks out the front grill of the vehicle. And who can forget the flight from the front of the vehicle to the warm embrace of the summer pavement. Not me, that's for sure. The feeling as your body hits and then slides on asphalt before coming to a halt in front of another car. The amazement that you managed to live through what normally kills people, and the irony that for a second it appeared that you were going to get run over by another car and actually not make it after all.

So now, my "Panty Dropper" looks like this.

And I look like this.

Notice I don't look happy.

And now, my new love, Vicodin, my sweet, how long before you leave me I wonder? Probably long before the pain in my heart, not to mention the right half of my body, leaves, I'm sure of that.

I'll always think fondly of you, dear sweet, Panty Dropper. Rest in peace.

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