I can't even make this stuff up.

I asked Sam the other day if he could please get his Harley up and running early this summer.

After he recovered from fainting dead to the floor, he asked me "Why?"

It is a known fact that I have hated that motorcycle since the day he bought it.
It never seems to run properly.
He is always tinkering with it in the garage---which is connected to the kitchen--- and therefore the whole kitchen is instantly filled with cloying motorcycle fumes.
It is loud.
It is ugly.
It is a vintage Harley, and a chopper, and really---it is ugly.
It has skulls painted on it.
(shrugs)
Not to mention the fact that it is not a smooth ride or enjoyable.
It is very vibrate-y, and there is NO WAY to talk to someone while you are both riding it. You have to scream at each other, and usually swallow a couple of bugs.
Anyway.

I asked him to get 'er up and going.
He was so excited that I took a slight interest in the bike.
He went out straight away and purchased some NEW! PARTS!

Truth be told, I need pictures.
Karen Foster is coming out with a motorcycle line this trade show, and I am working on that line.
I need the photos.
Not like I wouldn't take the photos anyway, but motivation comes in mysterious ways, sometimes. Right?

So, he is out in the garage tonight.
And I hear the spark and growl of the engine coming to life.
And the walls in the kitchen reverberate.
He revs it.
The pictures hanging on the walls start vibrating.
The smell wafts in.

And he takes off for his first run.
He gets around the block.
The neighborhood kids are trailing behind him like tumbleweeds, whooping it up!
(He usually gives them rides.)
And then the engine sputters and coughs...and dies.

He walks dejectedly into the kitchen.

"I need a new Petcock." he says.

I burst into hysterical laughter. Cause I am mature like that.

So the photo shoot is scheduled for some time tomorrow.
When a new petcock can be rounded up for the Hog.