Paco has left the building.

Today is his last day at the Lazy K.

He's off to sell Big Dog Choppers, and even though the chopper market is down considerably and more guys have been through that store than between the CSB's legs, which is saying something, Paco believes he will lead a more peaceful existence, and work with competent people again. After a few months at the Lazy K, you forget what that feels like.

Goodbye Paco, we wish you luck.

You Have Our Gratitude

Honda dropped in for a visit. Star says they want to pull our franchise because we don't sell many Hondas, and we break the ones we do sell when they come in for service, as well as the ones that we didn't sell that come in for service.

Fortunately, this wasn't a surprise visit, so we had a week to change out all the burned out light bulbs, about a third of them, and turn the passout room in back into an office where Star and the Meal Ticket can go have fights when he doesn't do what she tells him. Since the CSB has been staying away from the Lazy K, the Meal Ticket has stepped in and become the quasi-underpaid office manager. She likes the job because it allows her to make sure Star is not fucking the CSB anymore, and she can bring her coloring books and crayons to work and sit at the front counter coloring when things are slow. Star claims they are moving to that great hillbilly Mecca, Florida, when the Meal Ticket gets off her ass and finds a job as a nurse, now that she's out of school. But the Meal Ticket is very content to sit at the counter and color and answer the phones and keep an eye on Star.

Then we took out all rusty new Hondas that had sat in a field at the Mother Ship all winter long and replaced them with a shiney new row of Hondas, pushing the other brands, the ones that sell, into the back rows.

They sent the weird guy around twice a day to pick up all the dogshit.

The Honda guys were quite amused. At another dealership they later visited, the local representative told one of the salesmen, a former inmate at the Lazy K, that the top level executives spent more time trying to figure out who was what character in the blog and whether or not the CSB was high than how to wrestle away the franchise.

Highly placed sources say this is a foregone conclusion and that it's going to a new Powerstore.

The Lazy K has become a must see destination for busy motorcycle company executives.

This Loser

Here's an interesting link someone sent us. Looks like it's been up for a while.

On the site, it asks what you think. Vote early and often.

Creepy Old Pervs on KLRs

What is it about the KLR650 that makes it the bike of choice for creepy old perverts? Today we had a weirdo in the Lazy K who kept looking at the new Kawasaki Concours, asking the usual mindnumbingly stupid questions people who look at Concourses ask. He didn't want it, he just wanted to know all about it so he could tell all the other boring old coots on the internet.

Mondo asked him what he rides now. The Old Creep rides a KLR 650 with 57,000 miles. He remembers putting each of them on the bike. He decided to bore Mondo to tears while trying to convince himself aloud that it is not a cheap pile of potmetal assembled in Thailand by child slave labor. Mondo's eyes glazed over and he wandered off to find a real buyer, hoping Old Creepy would find someone else to share his epic life story with.

The Old Creep walked up to Paco while Paco was trying to pitch a bike, asked the price of various bikes and what Paco thought about them, and wrote the names of the bikes and prices in little tiny letters and numbers on the back of a business card he'd helped himself to off someone's desk. He had also taken a Gold Wing and Hayabusa brochure, because he found them on someone's desk or in the trash so they were free and it's a tough choice between those two bikes and the other half million he knows all about. Then he pulled out the free map the state gives away at rest stops and asked Paco to show him the whereabouts of our two closest competitors. Paco told the old creep that he lives somewhere else, and to ask Mondo.

Mondo gave him directions to the nearest ghetto.

Then the Creepy Old Weirdo became a Creepy Old Perv and told Mondo about his trips to the former Warsaw Pact countries to pay for sex with young girls and find a cute young wife who would find a Creepy Old Perv with bad breath irresistable. He wasn't having much luck to date.

The CSB stumbled by with her gut hanging out of her shirt, saying "someone's getting fired today," and the creepy old perv started dry humping the air. He leaned against a wall and told Mondo he was losing his breath. Mondo figured he was having a stroke or otherwise dying, and tried to persuade him to leave the store before he did so we wouldn't have to move the body or close down while the paramedics work on him and wheel him out.

Then the old perv found Paco again and moved in close enough that Paco could count the hairs on his ears and smell the fetid sourness of old man who celebrates August by drinking curdled milk. The Old Pervert repeated himself, that he was losing his breath, said it again, then again, and told Paco it must be hard working in a place with hot women walking around all the time. Paco looked up and all he could see was the CSB and the Sea Cow behind the counter.

Then the old perv started following the CSB through the store. She turned and smiled at him, and asked if he was being waited on okay. The Creepy Old Perv said he was and decided to make small talk by asking about the yapping dogs that shit all over the floor. Before he could tell her how wonderful his KLR is, the CSB started rambling on about dog agility and how some fucking asshole called the Health Department on her god damn dogs.

The creepy old perv's eyes glazed over and he rode off to share this slice of his life with everyone on the internet.