| My name is Xander, and this story is my idea. I thought of the title because it reminds me of a song. This story will be about a motorcycle trip. I started tuning up my bike, changing the oil, checking the tire pressure, checking the engine timing, and finally I was ready to check the air pressure in the tires. Three tires were fine, but the fourth tire was almost flat! I got the hose inserted into the tire and put in 25 pounds of gas! Then he got on the motorcycle, but it wouldn't roll. He realized he needed to oil his wheels. So he oiled his wheels adjusted his helmut and took off down the highway, 0 to 60 in 4 seconds! Wow, the thrill of it, the wind rushing by, the steady loud purr of the motorcycle. Noticing he was low on gas, he pulled in to a gas station. He filled up his gas tank and kept going. And then, birds landed on him! So he started singing: "Zippidy doo-dah, zippidy-ey, my o' my what a wonderful day just the kind of day for a hot rod race on the open road.
Start your engines!" But all of a sudden there was a big pop, a spluttering, and the sound of an army of motorcycle with the mufflers removed. "What?!" she shouted. "I can't hear you!" He couldn't hear her, either, but he knew she was talking because her lips were moving. But he could not hear her! Weird! He must have deafened himself with the loud engines he was working on. Now she was getting mad because he wasn't answering her. He knew she was mad because she turned into a werewolf! Shreds of clothing flew away, revealing dark brown fur beneath. She scrambled out of the car as soon as she regained consciousness enough to realize she was IN A CAR! "Where's my ride?" she slurred with anger. "WHERE'S MY LUNCH!" Just then, Weldon appeared with a Rally's bag in each hand, giggling. Weldon, that is, not the Rally's bags. She grabbed them and shook them. And then ran. Kicking up dust, hollering at women, and playing music too loud. That's par for the course when you're in a motorcycle gang. Bonnie put on her leather jacket and her leather gloves; also her leather helmut, but around her neck she carefully wound a psychedelic silk parachute, which she used to land at Daytona Beach in the middle of about 100 bikers, with great fanfare. Everyone loved it. "Do it again! Do it again!" They chanted, pounding their feet in rhythm. "Oh, Kayyy..." I said, and I turned around to go again. There is nothing that is more fun than going down hill in a red wagon. Zoom! Down you go! Everybody out of the way! And every time I get to the bottom, I have this feeling of diarrhea running down my pants leg... That's when I know it's time to turn around and head for home. You know, just like Dorothy said, "There's no place like home." THE END! |