And yet, the study still conjures up visions of dudes who ride incomprehensibly loud motorcycles, or who catcall women on the street. Far from coming off as masculine, this kind of thing reeks of overcompensation in other, more sensitive areas. As the saying goes: the empty vessel makes the loudest sound, and it seems that may be especially true when the vessel in question is balls. (Motherboard: The Louder the Monkey, the Smaller Its Balls, Study Finds)
Maybe if Miss Becky considered things for a moment and maybe, just maybe some guy on a loud bike doesn't give ... gee, how to put this delicately ... he doesn't give one flying fuck what you think.
We do not catcall women, they catcall us.
Have a nice day, li'l snowflake, and do try to improve that grammar, you hear? Your sentence phrasing is awkward and weak. It's not more feminine to demonstrate weakness to encourage a shining knight to bring you a copy of "The Elements of Style."
Mystery Lady, I don't recall you minding too much about riding around on that incomprehensibly loud Harley and you know I wouldn't let anyone else on it.
Cat and I were talking earlier about the nature of racing and something people often don't understand is the sound of it. The fact of doing something really dangerous and accomplishing it without so much as a scratch is a nice buzz but it doesn't last because the only way you get it ... is after you have stopped racing that day. The sound of racing is something you may remember forever.
It was in an article previously about how multiple vehicles with tuned exhausts will hit chords as the engines build power at somewhat different rates. This is something which only comes when you have your foot to the floor for a long straight because then you have time to appreciate how the sound builds for your machine and those around you. Hopefully the sounds of their motors are falling behind you as this progresses.
People can scream about loud noise all they like but there is nothing on this planet like internal combustion motoring when it comes up to the redline. As it comes, you and some others are setting up for the corner of the end of the straight. Part of that is you want the others to go too deep into the corner so they have to back off to adjust and then you own them ... but ... the risk is you will go too deep and they will own you.
Call it a game if you like but this one is played near or above triple digits, two inches off the ground, and with nothing around you except wind. Yah, when they say 'wind in the face,' this is how you get it.
Except there's no wind in the face with a full-cover helmet. Wear full-cover or accept drinking your meals through a straw.
(Ed: you turning around on mandatory helmet law?)
No chance. It's the rider's right to decide.
(Ed: it's a bitch to put that on paramedics who scrape yer ass off the road)
Yah, yah, and that's worse than cleaning up some old geezer who croaked in his bed. Spare me the sentimental crap, if you would.
It's already clear I don't believe real go-fasters ever involve civilians. Maybe you're good enough to do that on the open road but most are not. The only sure way you can be sure you won't waste any civilians is to do it on a track and that means a helmet.
I've never heard of anyone in pro-racing, ever, who got into it from street racing. Most of them grow up or get dead, hopefully without taking anyone else with them.
The interested reader is invited to pursue why anyone goes from monkey balls to guys riding Harley to someone whistling at her. Sounds like the Jessica Valenti club.
Jessica Valenti worked for The Guardian. There was a time once of a drunken challenge so identify the relationship of anything in a room to sex ... and I will have you know I did splendidly at it. Jessica Valenti does the same thing with assigning anything you ever heard from antiseptic dish detergent to tight blue jeans is a feminist issue. The fish bowl is a feminist issue because a woman is expected to wash it.
And they wonder why men ride loud motorcycles. It's because we don't want to fucking listen to you, li'l snowflake.
Now I'm going to watch "Goodfellas" to see some Men killing some Motherfuckers because I'm thinking, oooh, I'm kind of gay so I watch that stuff just to be sure. Oh yes, yes. I am. I am so (sob) gay.
... breaks away in a flood of tears of happiness ...
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