When The Cat’s Away
By Saddletramp1200
Saturday afternoon and Tramp was relaxing in his favorite place it the house. His lounge
Chair was not only comfortable, but functional as well. It was within arms reach of the mini
Fridge that his wife had got him for Xmas a couple of years ago. One of his buddies is a general contractor as well as a fellow biker. The wife said having it right next to the lounger looked “tacky”.
Not one for style as far as furnishings go he had made a half assed effort to find a way to please her. Bob had said he has an employee having computer problems and could make a deal for a solution to the problem. A week later the custom built cabinet arrived to hide the fridge. The man’s computer woes gone, it was a good deal for both of them. That weekend His bride and one of her friends had gone to some kind of craft show about four hours drive away.
Being a large show they were going to get a room for the night at a motel and come back Sunday. A quick survey of the kingdom, a few adjustments such as the blue plastic piss bucket, for daytime use, as the people behind us have a set of female nose pickers that have not seen a full grown biker crank yet, so no hangin’ it out the sliding doors in daytime,(however I think Momma has looked through a knothole a couple of times) and like their fat ass mother can’t mind their own fuckin’ business, another case in the big fridge, two cases in the mini fridge cold as shit, three packs of drags, remote, the fuckin’ cat’s outside, Biker/drunk heaven. He reached for a cold one and popped the top as the door bell chimed. Shit, he mumbled as he lowered the foot rest to get up. It was just then he noticed just how quiet the house really was. The ceiling fan spun above him. Walking to the massive wooden door he saw his close friend Butch standing there, Helmet in one hand and a twelve pack in the other. He opened the door and invited him in. Hey, Dude he said walking by Tramp. Tramp said, I gave @ the fuckin office, ya old fart, drunk biker type pervert. Ya didn’t park on the grass again did ya? What’s
Goin’ on man? Hey, I parked in the wife’s place, she coming back soon? Na, man she’s gone
Out of town to a show or some shit. Well beer, Butch stuck the twelve pack out for me to grab.
He walked to the den and sat down as Tramp put the beer in the big fridge. Handing Butch a beer on his way to his chair. The plasma TV was blurting out some crap about retirement insurance, as he grabbed the remote and muted it. Hey man I’m going to BBQ at my place this weekend, why don’t you and the misses come on up? Sounds good to me, Tramp replied.
Several beers later they were talking about if they ran the TV stations how there would always be something worth watching on, blah, blah, blah. It was at that precise moment a lame ass commercial came on for “Cycle World” on the tube. It is a known fact that every idea that was ever thought by men with more than a couple of six packs in them is a least likely mentionable at the next Nobel awards. With this in mind Butch blurted out, ain’t that your girlfriend at the bike dealer, pointing at the pudgy man smilin’ on the TV? Yea, that little fucker. We’re at least engaged, Tramp said almost laughing. Started buying bikes from that place when I was just 19. Remember those days? Hard head, a hard dick and the never ending lust for motorcycles.
Every time I leave there I have to take an AIDS test. Pointing at the TV. Tramp said, that Dude Lance there is as queer as a three dollar bill. Him and that other dude, ah Davie, yea,
Davie is his Bitch. Your kidding’ Na, I Ain’t. That second floor that’s for storage, ain’t for storage. He has spent around 30k making it into a little love nest for him and his “friends”
Butch gave me this evil grin and I said what’s on your mind besides your hat? Wanna have some fun? Lets see, the last time you asked me that I spent three days kissing’ ass to the neighbor for tearing up her rose garden. And the time before that, na, man this is priceless.
All we got to do is take my cam recorder and get some tape of him and his friend having some quality time, do some editing and post it on the net. Think about it man, no one knows he’s queer and if the public found out, shit would be different in his “neighborhood”. He’s loaded man, if he never sold another bike it wouldn’t matter. Let’s paint the place pink! No dumbass
That’s vandalism. Remember when you wanted to paint the old biddies cat pink so she could find it in the fuckin‘ dark? Yea, and I still got the fuckin’ scars from that mangy motherfucker. Hell man, it was water base paint. Cats don’t like water Einstein.
Saddletramp took a long guzzle from the almost empty beer, then let a healthy belch rip.
Ya’ know there is ONE thing that might be entertaining. What’s that Butch said?
There’s a dude at the beer wholesaler that owes me one, and I have a damn good idea
How to get my mitts on that list Lance keeps in his safe at his shop. What list? He keeps a list of customers that he screws, and one HE screws. That little silver sticker on your helmet ya’ got there last summer, is a code that Lance and his buddies use to know who’s game and who’s GAME. Silver & White means Money, White & GOLD mean money and ass. If it’s
Gold your a butt buddy! That was going on even when Lance was a punk salesman. And them Dykes with MADD? That skinny one that gave me so much shit for walking in front of her and Junior carrying a case of beer? There’s about a hundred of Lance’s special “friends”
That own bikes from there. There’s also about a hundred Dyke Bitches with MADD with nothing’ better to do than fuck with drunk bikers! Ever been asked who is providing the
Beer at a party? No one else ever has either. It was starting to come together for Butch as the snicker became a full blown laugh. Throw in a call to a TV station or two, and there you go.
That’s entertainment! Tell the fags the party starts @ 2:00 and the Dykes it starts @ 5:00 and
Boom! Instant war. Tramp was laughin’ so hard he spilled beer on his T-shirt and walking shorts. The best part, we can film it from my buddies office from the sixth floor a mile away, sell it to a network and use the money for more beer! Butch was either praying it would work, or about to pass out, Tramp could not tell which. About two hours later Butch woke up and announced he had to piss. Honored to be privy to this information, I said you know where it is. He sat his almost full beer down on the coffee table and wandered off down the hall. He came back and asked if I had caught the creature that shit in his mouth as he slept. Na, I said, he made it to mine too. Butch picked up his warm beer and killed it right then. Got to go man, see ya, tomorrow. Ya’ ride careful dumbass, don’t want no phone calls. Sunday morning his wife walked through the door. She had a big ass mask and wanted to hang it in the den.
Two weeks had past since the idea of the century had come to my sick mind. Butch & I, even
Sober still marveled at it’s brilliance. After some very discreet inquiries things began to fall into place. Butch lured Lance from his office easy enough. Being either lazy or complacent Lance left the door to his office safe ajar during business hours. Three fast snaps of my digital camera and bingo, names, numbers, addresses. Butch was feeding them some crap about oily
Rags on the floor, or some such safety matter. Tramp was sitting on a bike as Lance came through the door, his blank face turned instantly happy as he saw me there. Just waiting for a friend I said. Sensing he could not extract any money from my wallet at that time he waved and kept going to his office. The Lance of long ago would have tried to sell me something even if I didn’t need it. Tramp sat and pondered how things change even as they stay the same. Butch tapped on the front window once. We left for his car. You get it, he snickered? Yea.
The plan was almost in place. I was to meet with another friend that was a professional photo
Man for a prominent news paper in earlier days. I told him about what we were about to do and although he wanted “no damn part of it“, I could tell he was laughing in the back ground. The next morning I met him at his little shop, I am making coffee you want some?
As I looked around he continued saying, this is where I come when the old Gal’s mad at me.
I own the damn building and everything in it. You bring it? He asked. Yes, I said. Good. You
Know if you fuck up this will be the most expensive joke you will most likely ever pull, don’t you? Yea, I know. Come with me, as he started to the back of the shop, pausing just long enough to fill his cup with coffee. He pulled the chain on an overhead light and the room lit up like day. On a table was a case and a long camera lens with a camera attached to it. It looked old and shiny. This is a very special camera. It was built in Germany during WW II.
It’s rare. But the lens is another matter all together. It’s custom made.
There are only 11 like it left in the world. The lens was made in Switzerland by the masters.
This outfit is the most expensive thing I have ever obtained. My wife excluded, He almost laughed. At least it’s paid for. After showing me how it worked he took it apart and put it in the case specially built for it. I handed him the envelope containing the title to my Goldwing.
He looked me in the eyes and said. If you break it you bought it. If you loose, damage or piss me off, you bought it. You hold in your hand the most valuable item I own. I don’t want your motorcycle. I can not ride it. He held up the envelope that held the title to the wing. Have your fun and bring my camera back home to me. The rest of the plan went flawless. Calls were made, letters sent, everything in order. The last piece was something we could not do ourselves. Rigging the caller id was child’s play and getting the old broad to call from the Hi-Lo saloon was easy also. The “secret party” of heathen drunk biker trash was set for the next weekend. Old’ Sally played her part well. Pretending she was a member of MADD she called headquarters and passed the secret info to them under the strictest of hush, hush, info. There “attack” was planned for 6:00 p.m.
About 90 or more of Lance’s special friends showed at his request. We forgot to invite Lance.
There was drinking, dancing, and every other “ing” you could think of. One of the TV stations we called was already there when MADD showed up, Protest signs in hand, the Dykes rallied. The local cops were there and for once they figured out that they were way out numbered. We
Got every minute on film thanks to the high speed camera and being temporarily sober. There was some fighting but not the war we were expecting. If not for previous duties we would have attended ourselves. The old photo guy had his equipment back , and developed the footage for us. We sent in the video after making a fast deal with a network we will not name, Lance denied all knowledge of having setup the event, and Butch and I got to split $6,000.00 bucks.
There are rumors going around that it may become a yearly event. Hell Butch and I may even show up next year. Later Saddletramp
By Saddletramp1200
Saturday afternoon and Tramp was relaxing in his favorite place it the house. His lounge
Chair was not only comfortable, but functional as well. It was within arms reach of the mini
Fridge that his wife had got him for Xmas a couple of years ago. One of his buddies is a general contractor as well as a fellow biker. The wife said having it right next to the lounger looked “tacky”.
Not one for style as far as furnishings go he had made a half assed effort to find a way to please her. Bob had said he has an employee having computer problems and could make a deal for a solution to the problem. A week later the custom built cabinet arrived to hide the fridge. The man’s computer woes gone, it was a good deal for both of them. That weekend His bride and one of her friends had gone to some kind of craft show about four hours drive away.
Being a large show they were going to get a room for the night at a motel and come back Sunday. A quick survey of the kingdom, a few adjustments such as the blue plastic piss bucket, for daytime use, as the people behind us have a set of female nose pickers that have not seen a full grown biker crank yet, so no hangin’ it out the sliding doors in daytime,(however I think Momma has looked through a knothole a couple of times) and like their fat ass mother can’t mind their own fuckin’ business, another case in the big fridge, two cases in the mini fridge cold as shit, three packs of drags, remote, the fuckin’ cat’s outside, Biker/drunk heaven. He reached for a cold one and popped the top as the door bell chimed. Shit, he mumbled as he lowered the foot rest to get up. It was just then he noticed just how quiet the house really was. The ceiling fan spun above him. Walking to the massive wooden door he saw his close friend Butch standing there, Helmet in one hand and a twelve pack in the other. He opened the door and invited him in. Hey, Dude he said walking by Tramp. Tramp said, I gave @ the fuckin office, ya old fart, drunk biker type pervert. Ya didn’t park on the grass again did ya? What’s
Goin’ on man? Hey, I parked in the wife’s place, she coming back soon? Na, man she’s gone
Out of town to a show or some shit. Well beer, Butch stuck the twelve pack out for me to grab.
He walked to the den and sat down as Tramp put the beer in the big fridge. Handing Butch a beer on his way to his chair. The plasma TV was blurting out some crap about retirement insurance, as he grabbed the remote and muted it. Hey man I’m going to BBQ at my place this weekend, why don’t you and the misses come on up? Sounds good to me, Tramp replied.
Several beers later they were talking about if they ran the TV stations how there would always be something worth watching on, blah, blah, blah. It was at that precise moment a lame ass commercial came on for “Cycle World” on the tube. It is a known fact that every idea that was ever thought by men with more than a couple of six packs in them is a least likely mentionable at the next Nobel awards. With this in mind Butch blurted out, ain’t that your girlfriend at the bike dealer, pointing at the pudgy man smilin’ on the TV? Yea, that little fucker. We’re at least engaged, Tramp said almost laughing. Started buying bikes from that place when I was just 19. Remember those days? Hard head, a hard dick and the never ending lust for motorcycles.
Every time I leave there I have to take an AIDS test. Pointing at the TV. Tramp said, that Dude Lance there is as queer as a three dollar bill. Him and that other dude, ah Davie, yea,
Davie is his Bitch. Your kidding’ Na, I Ain’t. That second floor that’s for storage, ain’t for storage. He has spent around 30k making it into a little love nest for him and his “friends”
Butch gave me this evil grin and I said what’s on your mind besides your hat? Wanna have some fun? Lets see, the last time you asked me that I spent three days kissing’ ass to the neighbor for tearing up her rose garden. And the time before that, na, man this is priceless.
All we got to do is take my cam recorder and get some tape of him and his friend having some quality time, do some editing and post it on the net. Think about it man, no one knows he’s queer and if the public found out, shit would be different in his “neighborhood”. He’s loaded man, if he never sold another bike it wouldn’t matter. Let’s paint the place pink! No dumbass
That’s vandalism. Remember when you wanted to paint the old biddies cat pink so she could find it in the fuckin‘ dark? Yea, and I still got the fuckin’ scars from that mangy motherfucker. Hell man, it was water base paint. Cats don’t like water Einstein.
Saddletramp took a long guzzle from the almost empty beer, then let a healthy belch rip.
Ya’ know there is ONE thing that might be entertaining. What’s that Butch said?
There’s a dude at the beer wholesaler that owes me one, and I have a damn good idea
How to get my mitts on that list Lance keeps in his safe at his shop. What list? He keeps a list of customers that he screws, and one HE screws. That little silver sticker on your helmet ya’ got there last summer, is a code that Lance and his buddies use to know who’s game and who’s GAME. Silver & White means Money, White & GOLD mean money and ass. If it’s
Gold your a butt buddy! That was going on even when Lance was a punk salesman. And them Dykes with MADD? That skinny one that gave me so much shit for walking in front of her and Junior carrying a case of beer? There’s about a hundred of Lance’s special “friends”
That own bikes from there. There’s also about a hundred Dyke Bitches with MADD with nothing’ better to do than fuck with drunk bikers! Ever been asked who is providing the
Beer at a party? No one else ever has either. It was starting to come together for Butch as the snicker became a full blown laugh. Throw in a call to a TV station or two, and there you go.
That’s entertainment! Tell the fags the party starts @ 2:00 and the Dykes it starts @ 5:00 and
Boom! Instant war. Tramp was laughin’ so hard he spilled beer on his T-shirt and walking shorts. The best part, we can film it from my buddies office from the sixth floor a mile away, sell it to a network and use the money for more beer! Butch was either praying it would work, or about to pass out, Tramp could not tell which. About two hours later Butch woke up and announced he had to piss. Honored to be privy to this information, I said you know where it is. He sat his almost full beer down on the coffee table and wandered off down the hall. He came back and asked if I had caught the creature that shit in his mouth as he slept. Na, I said, he made it to mine too. Butch picked up his warm beer and killed it right then. Got to go man, see ya, tomorrow. Ya’ ride careful dumbass, don’t want no phone calls. Sunday morning his wife walked through the door. She had a big ass mask and wanted to hang it in the den.
Two weeks had past since the idea of the century had come to my sick mind. Butch & I, even
Sober still marveled at it’s brilliance. After some very discreet inquiries things began to fall into place. Butch lured Lance from his office easy enough. Being either lazy or complacent Lance left the door to his office safe ajar during business hours. Three fast snaps of my digital camera and bingo, names, numbers, addresses. Butch was feeding them some crap about oily
Rags on the floor, or some such safety matter. Tramp was sitting on a bike as Lance came through the door, his blank face turned instantly happy as he saw me there. Just waiting for a friend I said. Sensing he could not extract any money from my wallet at that time he waved and kept going to his office. The Lance of long ago would have tried to sell me something even if I didn’t need it. Tramp sat and pondered how things change even as they stay the same. Butch tapped on the front window once. We left for his car. You get it, he snickered? Yea.
The plan was almost in place. I was to meet with another friend that was a professional photo
Man for a prominent news paper in earlier days. I told him about what we were about to do and although he wanted “no damn part of it“, I could tell he was laughing in the back ground. The next morning I met him at his little shop, I am making coffee you want some?
As I looked around he continued saying, this is where I come when the old Gal’s mad at me.
I own the damn building and everything in it. You bring it? He asked. Yes, I said. Good. You
Know if you fuck up this will be the most expensive joke you will most likely ever pull, don’t you? Yea, I know. Come with me, as he started to the back of the shop, pausing just long enough to fill his cup with coffee. He pulled the chain on an overhead light and the room lit up like day. On a table was a case and a long camera lens with a camera attached to it. It looked old and shiny. This is a very special camera. It was built in Germany during WW II.
It’s rare. But the lens is another matter all together. It’s custom made.
There are only 11 like it left in the world. The lens was made in Switzerland by the masters.
This outfit is the most expensive thing I have ever obtained. My wife excluded, He almost laughed. At least it’s paid for. After showing me how it worked he took it apart and put it in the case specially built for it. I handed him the envelope containing the title to my Goldwing.
He looked me in the eyes and said. If you break it you bought it. If you loose, damage or piss me off, you bought it. You hold in your hand the most valuable item I own. I don’t want your motorcycle. I can not ride it. He held up the envelope that held the title to the wing. Have your fun and bring my camera back home to me. The rest of the plan went flawless. Calls were made, letters sent, everything in order. The last piece was something we could not do ourselves. Rigging the caller id was child’s play and getting the old broad to call from the Hi-Lo saloon was easy also. The “secret party” of heathen drunk biker trash was set for the next weekend. Old’ Sally played her part well. Pretending she was a member of MADD she called headquarters and passed the secret info to them under the strictest of hush, hush, info. There “attack” was planned for 6:00 p.m.
About 90 or more of Lance’s special friends showed at his request. We forgot to invite Lance.
There was drinking, dancing, and every other “ing” you could think of. One of the TV stations we called was already there when MADD showed up, Protest signs in hand, the Dykes rallied. The local cops were there and for once they figured out that they were way out numbered. We
Got every minute on film thanks to the high speed camera and being temporarily sober. There was some fighting but not the war we were expecting. If not for previous duties we would have attended ourselves. The old photo guy had his equipment back , and developed the footage for us. We sent in the video after making a fast deal with a network we will not name, Lance denied all knowledge of having setup the event, and Butch and I got to split $6,000.00 bucks.
There are rumors going around that it may become a yearly event. Hell Butch and I may even show up next year. Later Saddletramp
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