Smear Campaign

Turning Shit into Gold since 2006

Mr. Play It Safe

Believe it or not, the Texas Hill Country is home to the most notorious motorcycle gang this side of Vicksburg. They coast through the scenic route with male muffin tops barely hidden under fresh leather jackets and bald spots tucked under barbed-wire bandanas.

The Thrice Blood Riders are an outfit full of deep pockets and Viagra worshipers. These 48-hour rebels take to this sacred strip of pavement on their rumbling, bulky motorcycles with all the safety of a tricycle and the elegance of a rickshaw. These three-wheeled road hogs rule the lanes with turquoise-gloved fists.

Speaking through astronaut-sized headset microphones, the leader of the pack directs fellow riders to chosen pit stops and backroads burger joints. After the guzzling of 42 ounces of Monster and the scarfing of a pound and a half of beef wrapped in bacon, the Thrice Blood riders rev right back up and light out for a fresh peach stand or an air-conditioned bed and breakfast.

Behind every fat guy on a triple-wheeled Harley is a sun-damaged Bandanna Mama– women in glittered chaps over jeans tighter than crooning cats on a corner usually have mixed emotions about their participation in their significant other’s hobby.

They clutch onto their man with all of the firmness of a lover, but with all of the reluctance of a mother. Boob jobs are not required but bras are a must. The West Coast titty flop died out when Baywatch went into syndication.

Tipping over at a stoplight light like a novice is no longer a worry with the extra balance the third wheel allows. And rightfully so– these guys have day jobs that cannot afford their absence after an off-the-clock accident.

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