Don't come-a-knockn' if.....

Many moons ago my partner and I were on patrol at night driving past the Brass Rail, a local biker bar. There was a car parked out front and it was shaking violently. I mean it was really moving and squeaking. At first we thought someone inside the car was getting the crap beat out of them. We stopped to investigate and couldn't see inside because the windows were all fogged up.

I opened the back door of the car where all the action seemed to be taking place and saw a 300 pound biker drilling some gal who likely weight 230. The biker turns his head to see who was interrupting his technique and when he saw me he said something like, "Oh, sorry sir." I said something like "Carry on." and then I closed the door. After I closed the door I realized their clothes had fallen out of the car and into the gutter. I picked them up and tossed them on top of another car parked a couple of cars down the road....

I used to work at a Ford dealership back when the Pintos were bursting into flames after a minor wreck. This was because electric fuel pumps were new and unlike the old mechanical fuel pumps which stopped when the engine did, they just kept pumping gas often with a ruptured fuel line. So they invented a kill switch, a hard enough impact and a solenoid poped up a small red button in the trunk and killed the fuel.

A big, fat dude and his equally fat wife came pulling a Ford Escort behind a pickup truck into the dealership. I asked him what was wrong and somewhat red faced he explained that he and Mary Lou "went parking out in the oil field, it was running fine until that."

I opened the trunk and sure enough the little red button was up. I pushed it in and the car started right up. They smiled, got in and rode away.

So Bullfrog, if you ever out drinking with your buddies and some old biker comes walking in and shares the story about how he was doing Betty Lynn when the cops dropped in and stole his britches, you'll know who the culprit was....