This was posted yesterday by a friend of mine. The dude is a stand up character and I have no reason to believe it's not true. And no, it wasn't really Snoop, the dude "looked just like him" though my buddy tells me. -Deep
~The scene: Sitting on a little 50cc scooter in my showroom, talking to a sales girl.
A stereo's BOOMthumpaBOOMBAthumpaBOOM catches our attention, as a LIME GREEN (!!) $250 beater of a Ford Granada (with $4500 in tires/wheels) turns the corner into my store's parking lot.
Sales Chick and I look on in bemusement as the world's best Snoop Wannabe exits the car with his woman.
Her: 320 lbs, easy, of bile filled parolee (which she told me within five minutes of meeting her), replete with six tats of names in a row up her arm, the top one reading "Fatter". She's wearing overalls and a bikini top, and that combo on her was enough to make Hannibal Lector lose his lunch.
You could HEAR her fucking legs slapping against each other as she waddled on up....
Him: 6'3", 130 lbs, tops. Cornrows, no shirt, sandals, shorts half way down his butt, screaming red boxers hanging out. His neck tat was the obligatory "Thug Life", and on his chest there was a tattoo reading "Assasen". (Yes, his tat "artist" had misspelled "assassin".)
Oh yeah, he also had a crumpled up brown paper bag with him, clutched against his stomach.~
"Hey, whatcha doing?"
"You guys sell them Ninja bikes, right?"
"Well, this is a Honda/Suzuki store, we're not a Kawasaki store, so we don't sell Ninjas, but we have those types of bikes. Lemme show you..."
~I lead him towards the sport bikes, and he makes a beeline towards a yellow GSX-R750.~
"DAAAAAMN!!! Baby, check this shit out!! This bitch is MINE!!"
"You're looking at GSX-Rs?"
"Is this a good bike, for someone who hasn't ridden much lately?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone who isn't a very experienced rider."
"What if a muthafucker's ridden before?"
"What have you been riding?"
"I was riding dirt bikes, back in the day..."
"Is that it? Just dirt bikes?"
~He smirks and climbs off the bike, handing his woman the brown paper bag.
"Check this shit. I'll be right back."
He runs out to his car, and comes back in carrying something...
It's a............trophy!!?? ~
"See, dawg, I'm a rough rider!!"
He hands me a busted up trophy. It has a motocross figurine on top, missing a wheel. The plaque read, "1984 Glen Helen Mini Moto, Second Place"...
The dude placed second on something like an XR50, back in 1984, and this was his ace in the hole proof that he was fit to ride a 2002 GSX-R750!! He actually thought about this in advance, to the point that he brought his Pee Wee trophy, like it was proof of income or something!!
"Well, have you done any street riding recently? A GSX-R750 is not..."
"Shit, dawg!! I can ride this muthafucka!!"
~Not liking where this was heading, but resigned to it anyway, I decide to cut to the chase..~
"When were you thinking of grabbing one of these?"
"Right NOW!!! Wrap this bitch up!"
"We're you going to be financing, or paying cash?"
~He snatches the crumpled up brown paper bag from the woman, and tosses it to me with a big shit eating smile.~
"Dawg, I just got pizzAID!!"
~I look inside the bag, and there's a jumble of $20s and $100s.~
"How much is in here?"
"$12 Gs, man!"
~I lead him into my office. I ask him about insurance. He says he won't be needing any. His exact words being, "Fuck all that noise!"~
Thirty minutes later, dude is the proud owner of a 2002 GSX-R750. He calls two buddies on his cell phone, telling them to come on down to the shop, that he just bought a bike. Twenty minutes later, after I've gone over the bike and the break in procedure and all the usual stuff with him, his buddies show up all whoopin' and hollerin' at him, and he's ready to go.
By this time, smelling blood in the water, the other sales people, the parts guys and even two of the mechanics are out in the showroom, watching this guy, waiting to see if he'll stack it before he even makes it out of the parking lot.
RRRRRRRMMMM, RRRRRRRRMMM, as he revs the piss out of it, for no reason....
ZZzrrrt, as he stalls it.
RRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMM, as he fires it back up again, using way too many revs, and as he starts to let the clutch out again he chickens out and lets off the gas, and stalls it again.
Now his buddies are just tearing into him mercilessly, rolling all over each other in laughter.
Dude slams his face shield closed, twists the throttle really hard, realizes the bike's still off, starts it back up again, RRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, slams it into first and simply........DUMPS THE CLUTCH!!!!
He immediately wheelied out of control and veered crazily off to his right, down into and across the street, heading straight for the gas station across the street. The front wheel landed with a thump and he sort of flopped over the tank and rode it straight into a little two foot high retaining wall, RRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM, which completely accordioned the front end of the bike and sent him rag dolling over the bars in a somersault that ended with him landing on his back on the hood of some startled gas station patron's Chrysler PT Cruiser!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dude was startled beyond comprehension, but completely unhurt. His (uninsured) bike was totaled, but he had nary a scratch.
His buddies, I'm not so sure. They were still laughing so hard by the time I left to go home that they must've busted a gut.....
~The scene: Sitting on a little 50cc scooter in my showroom, talking to a sales girl.
A stereo's BOOMthumpaBOOMBAthumpaBOOM catches our attention, as a LIME GREEN (!!) $250 beater of a Ford Granada (with $4500 in tires/wheels) turns the corner into my store's parking lot.
Sales Chick and I look on in bemusement as the world's best Snoop Wannabe exits the car with his woman.
Her: 320 lbs, easy, of bile filled parolee (which she told me within five minutes of meeting her), replete with six tats of names in a row up her arm, the top one reading "Fatter". She's wearing overalls and a bikini top, and that combo on her was enough to make Hannibal Lector lose his lunch.
You could HEAR her fucking legs slapping against each other as she waddled on up....
Him: 6'3", 130 lbs, tops. Cornrows, no shirt, sandals, shorts half way down his butt, screaming red boxers hanging out. His neck tat was the obligatory "Thug Life", and on his chest there was a tattoo reading "Assasen". (Yes, his tat "artist" had misspelled "assassin".)
Oh yeah, he also had a crumpled up brown paper bag with him, clutched against his stomach.~
"Hey, whatcha doing?"
"You guys sell them Ninja bikes, right?"
"Well, this is a Honda/Suzuki store, we're not a Kawasaki store, so we don't sell Ninjas, but we have those types of bikes. Lemme show you..."
~I lead him towards the sport bikes, and he makes a beeline towards a yellow GSX-R750.~
"DAAAAAMN!!! Baby, check this shit out!! This bitch is MINE!!"
"You're looking at GSX-Rs?"
"Is this a good bike, for someone who hasn't ridden much lately?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone who isn't a very experienced rider."
"What if a muthafucker's ridden before?"
"What have you been riding?"
"I was riding dirt bikes, back in the day..."
"Is that it? Just dirt bikes?"
~He smirks and climbs off the bike, handing his woman the brown paper bag.
"Check this shit. I'll be right back."
He runs out to his car, and comes back in carrying something...
It's a............trophy!!?? ~
"See, dawg, I'm a rough rider!!"
He hands me a busted up trophy. It has a motocross figurine on top, missing a wheel. The plaque read, "1984 Glen Helen Mini Moto, Second Place"...
The dude placed second on something like an XR50, back in 1984, and this was his ace in the hole proof that he was fit to ride a 2002 GSX-R750!! He actually thought about this in advance, to the point that he brought his Pee Wee trophy, like it was proof of income or something!!
"Well, have you done any street riding recently? A GSX-R750 is not..."
"Shit, dawg!! I can ride this muthafucka!!"
~Not liking where this was heading, but resigned to it anyway, I decide to cut to the chase..~
"When were you thinking of grabbing one of these?"
"Right NOW!!! Wrap this bitch up!"
"We're you going to be financing, or paying cash?"
~He snatches the crumpled up brown paper bag from the woman, and tosses it to me with a big shit eating smile.~
"Dawg, I just got pizzAID!!"
~I look inside the bag, and there's a jumble of $20s and $100s.~
"How much is in here?"
"$12 Gs, man!"
~I lead him into my office. I ask him about insurance. He says he won't be needing any. His exact words being, "Fuck all that noise!"~
Thirty minutes later, dude is the proud owner of a 2002 GSX-R750. He calls two buddies on his cell phone, telling them to come on down to the shop, that he just bought a bike. Twenty minutes later, after I've gone over the bike and the break in procedure and all the usual stuff with him, his buddies show up all whoopin' and hollerin' at him, and he's ready to go.
By this time, smelling blood in the water, the other sales people, the parts guys and even two of the mechanics are out in the showroom, watching this guy, waiting to see if he'll stack it before he even makes it out of the parking lot.
RRRRRRRMMMM, RRRRRRRRMMM, as he revs the piss out of it, for no reason....
ZZzrrrt, as he stalls it.
RRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMM, as he fires it back up again, using way too many revs, and as he starts to let the clutch out again he chickens out and lets off the gas, and stalls it again.
Now his buddies are just tearing into him mercilessly, rolling all over each other in laughter.
Dude slams his face shield closed, twists the throttle really hard, realizes the bike's still off, starts it back up again, RRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, slams it into first and simply........DUMPS THE CLUTCH!!!!
He immediately wheelied out of control and veered crazily off to his right, down into and across the street, heading straight for the gas station across the street. The front wheel landed with a thump and he sort of flopped over the tank and rode it straight into a little two foot high retaining wall, RRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM, which completely accordioned the front end of the bike and sent him rag dolling over the bars in a somersault that ended with him landing on his back on the hood of some startled gas station patron's Chrysler PT Cruiser!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dude was startled beyond comprehension, but completely unhurt. His (uninsured) bike was totaled, but he had nary a scratch.
His buddies, I'm not so sure. They were still laughing so hard by the time I left to go home that they must've busted a gut.....
