Today the geniuses in Service filled the coolant reservoir on a Honda 4 stroke scooter with two stroke motorcycle oil.
It has happened before.
Criminals are Stupid
Case in point, Fearless Leader.
This convicted felon sells marijuana. But he has a very clever plan. Instead of personally selling it, he has the Rhino, an illegal alien currently on probation for a DUI, with no drivers license or other form of ID, who nonetheless continues to drink and drive to and from work and the local bars, sell it for him out of the Lazy K. I'm sure she would keep her mouth shut if threatened with deportation. And who are their customers? The Parts and Service departments. But wait, you wonder, don't they hate Fearless Leader as well? Of course they do, everyone hates Fearless Leader except Baby Hitler, who cried when he had to push Fearless Leader's toolbox up into the company truck and take it to him after Fearless Leader quit.
This convicted felon sells marijuana. But he has a very clever plan. Instead of personally selling it, he has the Rhino, an illegal alien currently on probation for a DUI, with no drivers license or other form of ID, who nonetheless continues to drink and drive to and from work and the local bars, sell it for him out of the Lazy K. I'm sure she would keep her mouth shut if threatened with deportation. And who are their customers? The Parts and Service departments. But wait, you wonder, don't they hate Fearless Leader as well? Of course they do, everyone hates Fearless Leader except Baby Hitler, who cried when he had to push Fearless Leader's toolbox up into the company truck and take it to him after Fearless Leader quit.
It's Great for the Coat
Everyone in Sales at the Lazy K knows that the key to making money is to keep your customer away from the CSB. As soon as she starts talking, the price goes down, even if the customer doesn't express an interest in a discount or buying the bike at cost. The extent of her sales knowledge is that if you give it away for less than anyone else, the customer will overlook your reputation and the piles of dogshit in the back of the store. She hasn't figured out yet that offering superior service is another way to be successful in this business. So if someone has a customer ready to pay full price, freight and prep, and buy the extended warranty, he avoids the CSB like the plague.
Mondo was about to send a customer to the moon, in other words, get all the money plus plus plus, when the CSB decided to help. She wandered over with the tight and phony smile painted on which we all know means she got a maraca from Canada this morning and is another handful of pills away from passing out in the back room surrounded by her dogs and their toys. Her eyes were bright and dead in her face. And when she began to speak, Mondo sat back and sighed, watching his commission dry up before his very eyes.
"I can do much better than that, if you're ready to buy it now," said the CSB, "Tell us what you want to pay and we'll take the offer to our boss."
By the time she was done with the charade of pretending to take an offer to the imaginary boss who lives in the cupboard under the stairs, the CSB had taken the freight, prep, warranty and profit out of the deal.
"If looks could kill," thought Beans, watching the all too familiar feeling of frustration play out on Mondo's face.
Mondo got up and left the building.
He returned a little later with a giant tub of the cheapest margarine he could find, and a two pound package of generic sandwich cookies. They were chocolate flavor.
Mondo spent the entire afternoon feeding Bandit the border collie sandwich cookies dipped in margarine. Beans and Friar Tuck took over when Mondo had a customer. By the time they were done, Bandit had eaten half a package of cookies and about a quarter pound of margarine.
When Bandit felt the urgent need to relieve herself in front of the customer service counter, it was a pungent, gooey mess. Much of it stuck to her fur and tail.
"Mondo, did you feed Bandit chicken?" screamed the CSB, while brushing the crap from Bandit's fur at the customer service counter, "I told you not to feed my dogs chicken."
"No, I did not feed your dog chicken," said Mondo, "I had a salad for lunch."
Mondo was about to send a customer to the moon, in other words, get all the money plus plus plus, when the CSB decided to help. She wandered over with the tight and phony smile painted on which we all know means she got a maraca from Canada this morning and is another handful of pills away from passing out in the back room surrounded by her dogs and their toys. Her eyes were bright and dead in her face. And when she began to speak, Mondo sat back and sighed, watching his commission dry up before his very eyes.
"I can do much better than that, if you're ready to buy it now," said the CSB, "Tell us what you want to pay and we'll take the offer to our boss."
By the time she was done with the charade of pretending to take an offer to the imaginary boss who lives in the cupboard under the stairs, the CSB had taken the freight, prep, warranty and profit out of the deal.
"If looks could kill," thought Beans, watching the all too familiar feeling of frustration play out on Mondo's face.
Mondo got up and left the building.
He returned a little later with a giant tub of the cheapest margarine he could find, and a two pound package of generic sandwich cookies. They were chocolate flavor.
Mondo spent the entire afternoon feeding Bandit the border collie sandwich cookies dipped in margarine. Beans and Friar Tuck took over when Mondo had a customer. By the time they were done, Bandit had eaten half a package of cookies and about a quarter pound of margarine.
When Bandit felt the urgent need to relieve herself in front of the customer service counter, it was a pungent, gooey mess. Much of it stuck to her fur and tail.
"Mondo, did you feed Bandit chicken?" screamed the CSB, while brushing the crap from Bandit's fur at the customer service counter, "I told you not to feed my dogs chicken."
"No, I did not feed your dog chicken," said Mondo, "I had a salad for lunch."
Taco Dave takes another ride
Even though she's in love with Sheriff Freddy Fife, Barney's taller and not so good looking brother, the CSB still sneaks off a couple times a week to roll around in a drug induced stupor with Taco Dave. He's young and wants to sleep with her. She must still be hot.
Because of this, Taco Dave gets to ride whatever motorcycle he wants, despite the fact that he has no motorcycle endorsement on his license. Perhaps it is this special fondness the CSB has for Taco Dave that has made her want to go to Mexico with Freddy Fife. Maybe Mexico is a special place full of Taco Daves wanting to fuck the CSB.
The last time the CSB took a tropical vacation with anyone was on her third honeymoon to Jamaica. Her new husband beat the hell out of her for trying to fuck all the native bartenders. That relationship did not last. There were trust issues involved.
Taco Dave decided he wanted to ride a used Yamaha Road Warrior. Baby Hitler put the dealer plate on, made sure it was fastened as tightly as humanly possible, and sent Taco Dave on his way with a borrowed half helmet two sizes too big.
Meanwhile, Taco Dave's two dogs ran through the store, terrorizing young children and fighting with the CSB's dogs. They added to the pile of dogshit in the personal watercraft section. They took turns pissing on the leather jackets. Star decided to throw a plastic duck across the store so the dogs would chase it, and took out two sections of florescent lighting.
"I'm not bringing in my ladder again to fix this," said Paco.
The Poodle decided to hump one of Taco Dave's faggy little dogs, right in the entryway to the Lazy K, so customers had to step around the snarling and humping little ball of gay dogs to get to the parts counter. The CSB had the Rhino take pictures and video of this to put on The Poodle's Myspace page.
Taco Dave returned about an hour later, just in time for the main event, the little neutered dog fight in the ATV section. Somehow or another, the dealer plate had fallen off the back of the bike. Every time he rides one of the Lazy K's bikes, the dealer plate falls off.
What is Taco Dave doing with the dealer plates?
Because of this, Taco Dave gets to ride whatever motorcycle he wants, despite the fact that he has no motorcycle endorsement on his license. Perhaps it is this special fondness the CSB has for Taco Dave that has made her want to go to Mexico with Freddy Fife. Maybe Mexico is a special place full of Taco Daves wanting to fuck the CSB.
The last time the CSB took a tropical vacation with anyone was on her third honeymoon to Jamaica. Her new husband beat the hell out of her for trying to fuck all the native bartenders. That relationship did not last. There were trust issues involved.
Taco Dave decided he wanted to ride a used Yamaha Road Warrior. Baby Hitler put the dealer plate on, made sure it was fastened as tightly as humanly possible, and sent Taco Dave on his way with a borrowed half helmet two sizes too big.
Meanwhile, Taco Dave's two dogs ran through the store, terrorizing young children and fighting with the CSB's dogs. They added to the pile of dogshit in the personal watercraft section. They took turns pissing on the leather jackets. Star decided to throw a plastic duck across the store so the dogs would chase it, and took out two sections of florescent lighting.
"I'm not bringing in my ladder again to fix this," said Paco.
The Poodle decided to hump one of Taco Dave's faggy little dogs, right in the entryway to the Lazy K, so customers had to step around the snarling and humping little ball of gay dogs to get to the parts counter. The CSB had the Rhino take pictures and video of this to put on The Poodle's Myspace page.
Taco Dave returned about an hour later, just in time for the main event, the little neutered dog fight in the ATV section. Somehow or another, the dealer plate had fallen off the back of the bike. Every time he rides one of the Lazy K's bikes, the dealer plate falls off.
What is Taco Dave doing with the dealer plates?
Smelly Ivan
Smelly Ivan is one of the mechanics. He is from some obscure part of Germany where you are required to wear the same pair of leather pants all the time. They are black, and rotting off his body. He has bragged about sleeping in them, and I'm sure he does. The only thing he doesn't do is bathe in or out of them. So nobody really wants to spend a lot of time near him, which is unfortunate, because he enjoys nothing more than drinking on the job and then telling some crazy story about one of his highly unlikely sexual experiences or incredible motorcycle riding ability in an accent nobody can understand.
Smelly Ivan has a Kawasaki ZX-10. It is black. It might not have always been black. It looks like he decided one night to paint it, and after drinking even more beer grabbed the nearest spray can and painted it. The can happened to be black. Maybe it's the same black paint he uses to mend his leather pants. When you paint a motorcycle black with a spray can in the dark while you are drunk, it is readily apparent the job was not done by professionals. Especially if the bike was lime green to start with and you ran out of paint midway through your second twelve pack. And why paint the seat black?
So Smelly Ivan rode his black and green Kawasaki to work and decided to do burnouts in the parking lot. He lit it up in front of the showroom, then raced across the parking lot, with the front wheel coming up off the ground. Somehow or another the bike got away from him and shot across the street, then hit a tree. It looks really fucked up, but not much worse than it did after he painted it.
Smelly Ivan has a Kawasaki ZX-10. It is black. It might not have always been black. It looks like he decided one night to paint it, and after drinking even more beer grabbed the nearest spray can and painted it. The can happened to be black. Maybe it's the same black paint he uses to mend his leather pants. When you paint a motorcycle black with a spray can in the dark while you are drunk, it is readily apparent the job was not done by professionals. Especially if the bike was lime green to start with and you ran out of paint midway through your second twelve pack. And why paint the seat black?
So Smelly Ivan rode his black and green Kawasaki to work and decided to do burnouts in the parking lot. He lit it up in front of the showroom, then raced across the parking lot, with the front wheel coming up off the ground. Somehow or another the bike got away from him and shot across the street, then hit a tree. It looks really fucked up, but not much worse than it did after he painted it.
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