Electric Motorcycles Suck and Their Owners Swallow
by Electric Amy
Electric motorcycles suck… and I don’t mean those cute little pink virginal swirlie-Q straws in a soda shop, Pentecostal lady on her husband’s birthday, polite kinda suckin’ either. I mean electric motorcycles suck a big, wet, sloppy, hairy, nasty, green, syphilis infested, shit stained donkey dick.
I would vomit up the grim looking meatloaf I choked down last week at the gray bar motel if I even see one driving on the highway. If someone tried to make me actually RIDE one, my luscious love lips would suddenly erupt into flaps of fury, expelling a massive queef tornado, and I would actually self-propel myself, twat first, into a road ditch.
Electric motorcycles are basically the Croc shoe of the motorcycle industry… Big ugly shapeless pieces plastic shit that just BARELY pass the barest description of what it is even supposed to be, and you would definitely be the laughingstock of your family if you show up at a wedding wearing either one. Both an electric motorcycle and a Croc shoe are basically an announcement to the world that you are either some brainwashed nincompoop who goes around wearing a surgical mask while buying organic vegetables and composting your own turds, or else you have basically just accepted you are a failure at existing in the human race and have just given up on life itself.
If a Harley is the equivalent to your ol’ lady, then an electric motorcycle is the equivalent of a blow-up doll.
Harley riders are very sensitive and jealous over who rides their machines and their women. Your crotch coming in close contact to either one is liable to get you a black eye or a visit from the flashlight club.
‘Can i ride your bike..’ ‘Can I ride your ol lady?’ Is one of the oldest biker comebacks on earth. An electric motorcycle, well, you don’t really care whose sweaty balls straddles it because it’s nothing there you actually give a fuck about anyway… it’s just a big gay dildo on wheels… a piece of fucking plastic you don’t give a fuck about anyway… you can just rinse it off at the car wash. The iron horse irony of this is, same as your blowup doll, nobody is going to WANT to ride it anyway. It just seems kinda disgusting… in a Charlie Hunnam in panties sort of way.
And speakin’ of electric motorcycles and ol’ ladies.. a blowup doll is pretty much the only woman you are gonna have the ability to tote around on an E-bike anyway. Since the electric bike loses how long you can ride it, according to the weight it’s carryin’, well Jesus Christ in a sidecar… a voluptuous big bootied broad such as myself on the back would mean you ain’t even gonna reach the end of the extension cord. Then, when it runs outs battery… you gotta wait about like three fuckin’ hours for it to recharge before you can ride another 20-30 miles.
What ya gonna do while it’s charging? Get you a lil’ pink parasol and a vagina wax then go sashay your pretty little self around the town square? And where are you even gonna charge it anyway?
Fuck, there’s still some spots in the Black Hills where you are pushing the fuel limits of a full-grown geezer glide… but you think there will be a special plug in for your little toy motorcycle every 45 miles from sea to shining sea? HA! Think again, ass wipe.
Imagine gettin’ chased by a cop… ‘Excuse me officer, can we put a hold up on this here friskin’ and warantin’? I need to plug in my little Hot Wheel motorcycle. No sir… I promise I didn’t steal this from a toddler.’
Also, REAL motorcycles can be customized. How are you gonna customize that iphone on wheels? Add some new Taylor Swift songs to its playlist?
Riding a Harley is an unmistakable potato-potato-potato rumble that shivers your innards… that buzzing little piece of shit electric motorcycle would be more like a beeper on vibrate. Since we already call street bikes crotch rockets, are we supposed to call e-bikes ‘pocket rockets’? It’s fittin’, since only a big weeping gash would be caught dead in public on one anyway.
–Electric Amy
