White trash weekend

I should have written this when the memories were more fresh but last weekend was too entertaining not to mention.

Friday night Wife was having a girl's weekend. So I was free to feed myself and decided to do the buffet at national chain chicken shack. I'm a sucker for original recipes. We named our scooter club the KFSC for a reason after all.

Chicken buffet in a southern town is an adventure during normal times. But this night was especially spectacular. There was the usual assortment of the average and the overweight. And the expected moment where someone feels that the buffet isn't being refilled fast enough and starts complaining to everyone else in line loudly until finally one of the wage slaves puts out more chicken legs.

But there were a couple of extra folks that took it beyond the call of duty. There was grizzled guy in Chicago Bulls tank top with a buzz cut complimented by a glorious rat tail mullet. Normally that would be a sure winner for king of the rednecks. But not that night.

There was even more grizzled guy. The kind of grizzled where he could 40 or he could be nearing 60. You can't quite tell. He had a very dirty cast on his left leg. And no shoe on the other foot. Did he decide that it was wearing shoes that led to the accident and broken bone in the first place? Or did he feel that folks who are suffering with injuries are excused from such things as common decency? Or sanitation? I have to admit I'm leaning towards the latter because both he and his female "companion" kept reusing their plates. Paper plates if you couldn't guess. And there were numerous signs reminding patrons that you really should take a new plate every time. And there was a stack of paper plates they had to walk past every time they returned to the steam trays.

Seriously, reusing paper plates at a fast food joint buffet, who does that?

Then Saturday I went to Biketoberfest. Too many things to mention. The bikini bar maids. The right wing bikers advertising for the republicans. The born again bikers. The offensive tshirts ("Forget your tits, show me your pussy" being particularly memorable). The offensive women's underwear for sale. The racist tshirts. The biker "babes" who spent too many years on the back of a motorcycle in the wind and sun. The biker babes who will hopefully learn to protect their skin from the ravages of sun and wind. The camp site with the stripper pole out front. Goodtimes. Oh, and you have to love the ladies with meth mouth. Sexxxy.