The guests started pouring in early that night, all excited about that rare Asian sausage we told them we were serving, only a few the wiser. One who was wiser was Wooley who had grown up a Georgia boy and as he put it, ate enough chitlins to last a lifetime before he was ten years old. But rather than ruin the fun for the rest of us, Wooley simply rode his Sportster 'round the corner to Zack's Hot Dogs for a couple of their Cheese Dogs all the way and Chili Cheese Fries.
Zack's is a 3rd generation downtown Burlington institution that has been owned by the same family since 1928 and was previously called the Alamance Hot Wienie Lunch. People travel from miles around to eat there so I can't blame Wooley for passing on the chitlins if that's what he was a mind to do. And being that we ran out of chitlins before the night was over I guess it was a good thing he did, otherwise he might have gone hungry.
People stayed late that night, the Veggicycle was in rare form, reciting poetry, telling old Vaudeville jokes and keeping everyone in stitches with jabs at my abilities as a mechanic, "That will never work, the fuel mixture is set all wrong?"
"What would you know about it?" I asked. "You were carbureted before, now you're fuel injected."
"What do you mean, fuel injected?" it asked.
"I replaced your carbs with a modern fuel injection system I adapted from a Toyota."
"Well no wonder my air-fuel ratio is all wrong, give me back my carburetor?"
"How can you tell your mixture is wrong?"
Because I can't taste any gasoline."
"That's because we never poured any gasoline in your tank. You're dry as a bone."
And with that the entire room broke into laughter. "So when do I get some gasoline?" the motorcycle asked.
"After I finish hooking up these Toyota, Ford and Chevrolet electronic ignition parts, that's when. Now quit talking so much, you're running down your battery."
"Why so many car parts?" it asked. "Why not just use motorcycle parts."
"We like to use automotive parts whenever we can as they are generally more dependable, less expensive and easier to find replacement parts should you break down."
"But I never broke down before."
"Yes, and I'm sure every motorcycle engineer in the world would like to know how Veggie Head Stalker managed to build and ride a motorcycle for 50 years that never broke down."
"Or how he made it so I can talk?"
"Right now I'd be happy if you'd just quit talking. Now save your battery."
Most of the guests had gone for the night when a car pulled in with two really straight looking dudes inside. They parked the car in front of the open bay door as if they owned the place, came inside flashing badges and identified themselves as Federal Securities and Exchange agents. "Which one of you is Billy Jones?" one of them asked. The other just stood there looking serious and wearing dark glasses at night.
"I am, why?"
"We want to talk to you about your recent stock purchases."
"Stock purchases?" I asked, "You mean like Wall Street stocks and bonds and investments or are we talking cows?"
"Like stock in Wackemall Inc." the agent answered.
"Wachemall Inc? I've never bought a share of stock in my life and if I was going to start it sure wouldn't be with Wackemall Inc."
"So you know who they are?"
"Kinda. I know they sell the most deplorable products known to man and machine and there's no way they'd get any of my money."
"Well somebody is buying Wackemall Inc. stocks by the millions in your name and it's not all on the up and up. There's been insider trading going on and rumors floated to drive down the price of shares and even some electronic manipulation of the markets to drive prices down."
"Electronic manipulation?" I asked, "You mean like hacking? I wouldn't have any idea how to do that."
"Well somebody knows how to do it," the agent replied, "and with you currently owning 40% of the outstanding shares in Wackemall Inc. their Board of Directors is starting to get very nervous."
"I bet they are," I said, "I bet they are."
Continue to The Ag-Industrial Complex.
Zack's is a 3rd generation downtown Burlington institution that has been owned by the same family since 1928 and was previously called the Alamance Hot Wienie Lunch. People travel from miles around to eat there so I can't blame Wooley for passing on the chitlins if that's what he was a mind to do. And being that we ran out of chitlins before the night was over I guess it was a good thing he did, otherwise he might have gone hungry.
People stayed late that night, the Veggicycle was in rare form, reciting poetry, telling old Vaudeville jokes and keeping everyone in stitches with jabs at my abilities as a mechanic, "That will never work, the fuel mixture is set all wrong?"
"What would you know about it?" I asked. "You were carbureted before, now you're fuel injected."
"What do you mean, fuel injected?" it asked.
"I replaced your carbs with a modern fuel injection system I adapted from a Toyota."
"Well no wonder my air-fuel ratio is all wrong, give me back my carburetor?"
"How can you tell your mixture is wrong?"
Because I can't taste any gasoline."
"That's because we never poured any gasoline in your tank. You're dry as a bone."
And with that the entire room broke into laughter. "So when do I get some gasoline?" the motorcycle asked.
"After I finish hooking up these Toyota, Ford and Chevrolet electronic ignition parts, that's when. Now quit talking so much, you're running down your battery."
"Why so many car parts?" it asked. "Why not just use motorcycle parts."
"We like to use automotive parts whenever we can as they are generally more dependable, less expensive and easier to find replacement parts should you break down."
"But I never broke down before."
"Yes, and I'm sure every motorcycle engineer in the world would like to know how Veggie Head Stalker managed to build and ride a motorcycle for 50 years that never broke down."
"Or how he made it so I can talk?"
"Right now I'd be happy if you'd just quit talking. Now save your battery."
Most of the guests had gone for the night when a car pulled in with two really straight looking dudes inside. They parked the car in front of the open bay door as if they owned the place, came inside flashing badges and identified themselves as Federal Securities and Exchange agents. "Which one of you is Billy Jones?" one of them asked. The other just stood there looking serious and wearing dark glasses at night.
"I am, why?"
"We want to talk to you about your recent stock purchases."
"Stock purchases?" I asked, "You mean like Wall Street stocks and bonds and investments or are we talking cows?"
"Like stock in Wackemall Inc." the agent answered.
"Wachemall Inc? I've never bought a share of stock in my life and if I was going to start it sure wouldn't be with Wackemall Inc."
"So you know who they are?"
"Kinda. I know they sell the most deplorable products known to man and machine and there's no way they'd get any of my money."
"Well somebody is buying Wackemall Inc. stocks by the millions in your name and it's not all on the up and up. There's been insider trading going on and rumors floated to drive down the price of shares and even some electronic manipulation of the markets to drive prices down."
"Electronic manipulation?" I asked, "You mean like hacking? I wouldn't have any idea how to do that."
"Well somebody knows how to do it," the agent replied, "and with you currently owning 40% of the outstanding shares in Wackemall Inc. their Board of Directors is starting to get very nervous."
"I bet they are," I said, "I bet they are."
Continue to The Ag-Industrial Complex.
