Real bike for sale. Vibrates like a real bike should. Not for women or nancy boys. 30 years old, and wears its scars and fades proudly. Are you man enough? Cause it ain't for sissies and grand prix racer wannabes trying to impress the other little boys. The real bike goes about her business with style and class. Stir her innards with a manly prod of the kickstart and she will burble to life, purring contently. But don't rush her, she ain't no fuel-injected pretty face, she has carbs, as real bikes do, and if you don't warm her up before slapping it in gear, she'll buck and kick, and you'll be stuck eatin chips on the sofa instead of ridin hard. As she enters her third decade, she knows what she want's, and if you neglect her needs, she might throw you a curveball or two, nothing serious mind, but she needs to know you're paying attention. So if you're the type of boy whose face drains and heart palpitates when you push the start button and nothing happens, put your testicles back in your purse, open a Gawker account and practice your irony, cause the real bike ain't for you. She ain't no featherweight plastic fantastic UFO. The real men who designed her didn't have some Peter Pan Titanium-Borax-Carbon-Carbon-Carbon ****e to work with. She's made from steel and aluminum and copper and chrome, the stuff that won the war. Her older sisters came to life in 1969, and they were conceived even earlier than that. They were hacked out of solid metal by master swordsmiths, some bloody great roller bearings were chucked in the general direction of the crank and camshafts, and a legend was born. They were then sold by the boatload for about 15 years before real bikes became a thing of the past. She was designed by men who oiled their own slide rules and spent their evenings puking up Sake on the bullet trains on their way home, not poncing about rendering 3D cad designs and writing endless ECU code. The upshot of all this is, the real bike can be fixed with a screwdriver, a hammer, and two cans of Faxe 10%. If you are man enough of course. If your idea of a tool box is a credit card, go ahead and mince about on that shiny V-Star 650 or your CBZQLPDRRRRRRRRR600RRRRRR in your new Zox full-face, go buy some KY and take the reaming the dealer has in store, the real bike ain't for you. But if you fancy something different, and owning a bike is part riding, part wrenching and part learning, if heaven on earth is a slow cruise in the countryside with a two beer buzz, the real bike is waiting for you. Be a real man, and buy this bike before some perennially aggrieved metrosexual flags this ad as inappropriate.
