The Atrociteurs Dream
In a bewildering apocalypse, the skies parted and unto the earth and its men struck a dazzling lightning bolt from the heavens. A light of blinding brilliance stunned one and all amidst cataclysmic reverberations that shook the globe to its core.
Thereupon rose a prophet, on this day of reckoning, to lead all men to a new world of values and meaning.
"Rise, atrociteurs, for you shall inherit the highway" the prophet commanded "no longer are the gods of all ages blessing those stout and hearty men who ride Harley-Davidsons. Nay, from this day forth it shall be the lowly atrociteur on his Asian atrocity cycle that shall prevail at the top of the motorcycling food chain, and be graced with the favor of the gods and the respect of all other men."
"For eons by immutable law of nature the Harley rider and his immaculate machine have defined what real men, real motorcycles and real Americans are all about. But henceforth the Harley and its rider shall swap places in the natural order of things with the decrepit atrociteur, and suffer fate accordingly."
With these words the mighty V-twins of The Motor Company, deployed across the country in journey and task of heretofore sacred immanence, became seized of bearing and hobbled of strength, and were swept off the road of righteousness by the flimsy tin and cheap plastic of the atrocity cycles. The commanding presence and intimidating force of the Harley riders were desecrated and replaced by the shallow pose and plaintive whine of the atrociteurs.
"The gods of all ages have spoken" the prophet declared "and it shall be the infinite depravity of the atrociteur and his debased atrocity cycle that shall rule the highway."
Keep dreamin', atrociteurs!
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They call me . . . The Highwayman
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