Opie lives in all of us. Amen.
Watching Sons of Anarchy makes me want to start my own motorcycle gang. Unfortunately, I don’t ride a motorcycle. I do have a car, but you never hear about car gangs. I think a car gang would be scarier than a motorcycle gang, simply based on a car being bigger than a motorcycle. That seems like common sense. But when I ask people to join my car gang, they just laugh and point at me and call me a loser, then they go and start their own car gang. They have cars with Blaupunkt stereos and fuzzy dice hanging off the mirror. Also, they have way cooler jackets than me. I knew I should have sprung for pleather. It’s a timeless fabric.
But if I did ride a motorcycle, I would totally start a gang. We would probably be one of the toughest gangs in the world. I haven’t seen the final list of who makes the cut, but suffice it to say, we would be extremely muscley, yet limber. We would obviously have a really cool theme song that was easily recognizable in all the toughest parts of town. Probably some a capella, three-part harmonies, a ton of finger snapping and a whole lot of whistling. Nothing says,”Hey sucker, this is our turf, you best get to steppin’ if you don’t want to find yourself on the wrong side of a good ol’ Donnybrook”, like muscley gentleman singing in unison. Plus all that whistling is a very effective deterrent to a drive-by shooting. I think it has to do with the sound waves messing up GPS signals or something scientific like that.
When people begged to join my gang, at first I’d say, “I’m terribly sorry, we are not currently accepting any new members, or pledges, as we call them in the motorcycle gang business. Perhaps next semester.” This will make my gang seem very hip and exclusive. That’s how it starts. People will start to talk amongst themselves in the coffee shops, hardware stores, and disco roller rinks. They’ll say, ” Hey, what can I do to make myself more attractive to this gang, get them to like me and take me into their confidence? Should I make some brownies or something?” There would eventually be a buzz around town. That’s when I let it slip that we might be looking for one or two more tough guys to join our organization. I’d tell prospective hooligans that they could fill out an application at our treehouse clubhouse, but that they most likely won’t get in. This would make sure that only people who really wanted to join the gang would apply. No posers allowed. Unless they’re like, world-class, championship caliber posers. Then it would behoove us to accept them. We want the best of the best. It’s kind of what we’re all about.
After filling out an application, The potential pledges would be put through a grueling initiation process. It would include, but not be limited to such things as:
- All pledges would be kidnapped off the street or from their homes or place of employment, blindfolded, and forced to come to the
treehouseclubhouse for an orientation barbecue. They would all be required to have something to eat, even if they weren’t that hungry. Then we would talk about a whole bunch of different stuff. Favorite movies, recipes, their hopes and dreams, and what not. Maybe play some bocce or croquet. When the night was over all pledges would be required to bring some food home for their families. No exceptions. If they don’t have a family they can drop it off at a shelter or orphanage. Do some good for the community. But they would also be required to return any container that the food was in. We’re trying to run a bike gang, we need money for gas, candy and tattoos, we can’t be buying endless amounts of Tupperware. That’s not economically feasible. Ask the Hell’s Angels about that, they’ll tell you some stories. Plus it’s just bad for the environment. - There would be random text messages that would need to be returned immediately. Text messages such as: Hey what’s up? What are you doing? What’s that guys problem? How does this thing work? Who shot J.R again? What channel is AMC? What’s so funny ’bout peace love and understanding? Can you grab me an ice coffee? Can’t we all just get along? Aren’t you glad it’s nice out today? Does this look infected?( That one would be picture mail. Standard text messaging rates apply)
- At some point there would have to be an initiation beat down. That’s just standard practice throughout the entire gang milieu. Everyone does it. The Bloods, the Crips, the Latin Kings, the Lost Boys, the Pink Ladies, Menudo. All of them. Fortunately, our beat down is less of a physical altercation and more of a water balloon fight. But it gets pretty heated, in a refreshingly cooling type of way. Some of the bikers have mouths like sailors in a motorcycle gang. Apologies in advance for that. But the annual water balloon initiation beat down is the highlight of the social season for some of these guys and they get a little carried away. It really is a fun time.
- After the water balloon fight we have another barbecue. This time every pledge is required to bring one dish to the party. Either an entrée, or an appetizer, or maybe a nice dessert? But they must let me know 48 hours in advance so I know what I have to work with. They can just call me or text me or hit me up on the Facebook event invite page. I don’t care how they do it. Just do it. A little common courtesy and a pleasant attitude will get you very far in this particular motorcycle gang, bucko.
- Sleepover
Now if someone makes it through this extensive soul breaking initiation process, they would be welcomed with open arms into my motorcycle gang, The Cinnamon Whistle Sticks.
Cinnamon, because we’re hot and spicy like the sweet nectar of the forbidden cinnamon Pop-Tart that Eve ate in that bible story.
Whistle, of course, after the blood curdling, bone chilling whistling sections of the intro/outro (and maybe the bridge section) of our gang theme song.
Sticks, because those and stones can break your bones.
Bill McMorrow 
There are so many things I want to comment on in this post but if I do I’ll spend the whole day fucking around when I really need to take a nap.
You need more readers. Upping your readership is now my personal mission. Writing a book should be yours. Check out my blogging bestie’s site (yeah, that’s a chich name but we’re chics). http://www.paltrymeanderings.com. You’re sort of the male version of her, but she’s way more educated.
We’ll be back.
There are so many things I want to comment on in this post but if I do I’ll spend the whole day fucking around when I really need to take a nap.
You need more readers. Upping your readership is now my personal mission. Writing a book should be yours. Check out my blogging bestie’s site (yeah, that’s a chic name but we’re chics). http://www.paltrymeanderings.com. You’re sort of the male version of her, but she’s way more educated.
We’ll be back.
Thanks Stacie, any help is very welcomed. A nap also sounds phenomenal.
So you say I need more readers and three days later I get Freshly Pressed? You, dear Stacie Chadwick, are a miracle worker!
Holy shit Bill!
I swear I was feeling the Freshly Pressed vibe for you in my aging and slightly arthritic bones. Well, either that or all the time I spend on my Ouija Board finally paid off.
I’d love to take all the credit for you getting Freshly Pressed, but you, Bill McMorrow, did this yourself with the kick-assiously hilarious stuff you’ve been writing. Now the Freshly Pressed world will be introduced to your genius, as it should.
I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic though, and kind of like the Swedish dude who discovered New Kids on the Block only to get kicked to the curb by the uber-successful child talent manager who milked zillions off of their nubile (in an androgynous sort of way), unsuspecting six packs only to get fired for supposedly feeling one of them up.
Well, that’s not really how I feel, but I’m totally into 80s boy bands right now, which, by the way, would be a great vehicle for your modern-day Holden Caulfieldesque protagonist. The guy who can’t break into the boy band circuit and is fucking bitter.
I could go on and on but it’s about time to floss my teeth.
My heartiest heartfelt congratulations, my friend. I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be Freshly Pressed more than you. Except me. Or Cristy Carrington. But that’s really it.
Yours Truly,
Stacie, aka, Gemini Girl
Thanks Stacie, your the bomb. I was floored when I got the FP email this morning. Unemployment has been a boon to creativity. Plus all that free time. Also, I love that 80’s failed boybander idea. That’s fucking awesome.
I don’t tell everyone they have a fucking kickass voice….only about 1 in 3. Just kidding. 1 in 5. OK not true either. You and Cristy Carrington. She and I are both writing novels, and since you’ve got a lot of free time right now, why don’t you start working through an outline and join us? You have what it takes. I’m telling you. I know. The Ouija Board never lies. =)
Apparently I was multitasking when I typed the above comment, and decided to correct my type-o in the first version by completely retyping it. I, of course, have no recollection of this, but some studies say that people with Mensa-like mental abilities can’t really bother with the small things in life. Other people would say I’m probably not Mensa material, but could totally sneak into the VIP line at Kohl’s. If the world was ending and I was stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers? I’d want to be with the first group for sure.
Kohl’s (at least the ones in Mass.) have a senior employee day once a week where everyone on the register is like 65 or older. Don’t sneak into the VIP line on that day, it still won’t help. Talk about an elevator ride to hell. Wait, that’s what we were talking about, right?
If you consider hell to be free Franzia wine and queso once a month for spending a couple of C notes on candles, some basketball shoes for my son, and tube socks, I’m on the A-train all the way down. Non-stop.
I’m Stacie’s blogging bestie and she’s determined to make you famous. I wish she’d be as determined to make me famous – or even just rich – but I can’t argue with her assessment: you’re high-larious. I love the conversational tone of your writing. You’re the kinda guy that Hubby and I would drink with, I just know it. The funniest things ever said were uttered over beers.
Thanks for the kind words, I very much appreciate it. I just read your peat mask post. Hahaha,“Are you seriously going to watch a movie about Abe Lincoln while wearing black face?” Hysterical.
I know. My hubby should be blogging instead of me. He cracks me up all the time!
Is it creepy that I’m stalking your comments section?
Creepy in a “Yaaaayyyyy, someone’s reading my shit” type of way. Stalk away, my friend.
Oh yay! I have permission to be a creeper! 🙂
[…] two episodes of Hoarders. Hey, Bill McMorrow, you’re lucky number one! Why, because of this, this, this and this… Oh, and Bill… Fuck Terry O’Reilly… […]
I read “orientation barbecue” as “oriental barbecue” and though, “Wow, that is intense”. Good job.
Oriental barbecue sounds more delicious, but less informative.
1. My car is almost small enough to be a motorcycle.
2. There is a dodgy place called Taco Menudo down the street. Our first poker run has to end there.
3. I need an excuse for more tattoos and this would fit the bill nicely.
Taco Menudo’s it is. I’m making all the pledges bring the Tupperware.