Failsons of Minarchy

There should be a caption/fanfic contest for this pic:

We'll throw in a few easy ones to get the party started:

• So that's what a muscle feels like!
• He said he'd let me borrow the ass-less chaps.
• If we're pulling a train, does that make me the engine or the caboose?

So what bikes do these realest of 'murkins have to ride, now that His Travesty has expressed his immense displeasure with Hardly-Dangerous? Seriously, did you ever think you'd live to see a public official in high office openly call for a boycott against a private business that crossed him? It'll be interesting to see just how much more winning these saps can take.

I don't think they've had quite enough snapped off in their asses just yet. Another quarter or two oughta do it for some of them; unemployment benefits run out quickly, especially in this wondrous worker's paradise where the unemployment rate is nominally 3.9% (Fake Numbers!), yet real wages are as stagnant as ever.

But yeah, this "Bikers for Clownstick" thing is just too much, as is that "I'm so turned on by all this lea-thurrrr" duckface. Not that there's a danger of some Nochni Volki scenario; these fake rebels either are card-carrying bozos who can't put their fingers together in the dark without a flashlight, or they're suburban assholes with jobs and mortgages and car payments who can't afford to lose their place in the swinger block parties with some weird mayhem-related charge.