(fade-in: beautiful desert sunrise, striking colors streak the sky, low mountains in distance on left, interesting rock formations closer on left, yucca cacti in abundance throughout the landscape, camera aimed (over centerline) down arrow-straight stretch of deserted desert 2-lane blacktop)

(voiceover) "The still of the morning, before most of the world is awake, when it's just you and the land, and that special machine..."

(pause. a tumbleweed blows lazily across the road a few feet away)

(voiceover, slightly irritated, a little louder) "The still of the morning, before most of the world is awake, when it's just you and the land, and that special machine..."

(longer pause)

(voiceover, annoyed, louder still) "Ahem!. The still of the..."

(quickly rising roar from the background, a fierce beat of a huge, virile v-twin pumping out its ground-pounding thunder, which suddenly begins to miss, more and more frequently, as the revs drop. A motorcycle lurches into view from behind the camera, wobbling to a stop just as the engine gives one mighty backfire, and apparently siezes.)

(rider attempts to coolly act as if he intended to stop, throws the massive machine onto its kickstand; the bike threatens to topple as it settles its incredible mass into the new blacktop, but stops at an impressively precarious angle. Only a hint of the wires holding it up can be seen.)

(rider, clothed in loose, tasteful, tri-colered leather riding gear, matching boots and gloves, pulls off matching top-of-the-line Arthur Fulmer helmet. It's Edie Burkell!)

"Hi! I'm not aware of much about too many things, but you all know who I am when I sing. What I am is what I am and what I am is married to my Hardley-go-Davidson. This is the FATBOB, based on the older JOEBOB, derived from the SPASSBOB, which was built on the frame of the MGBOB. Notice the clean, 40's lines of a Mercury station wagon crossed with the lithe, lean look of a classic Schwinn single speed."

(rider lovingly strokes the gas tank, leans over and kisses the speedo. The bike gives a little twitch.)

"Out here, where there's no shallow water as far as the eye can see, the nose can smell, or the tongue can taste, I need a dependable mount to make it to the next concert in style."

(wires twang & pop, one nearly lashing rider's nose off. bike falls over, rider kicks it, walks off to one side, camera following, to a sleeker, newer looking bike, with racer fairing, massive V-twin, and enough luggage space to do a 747 proud)

"Which is why I only ride the FATBOB in commercials. In real life, I go for this FATBRR, still with a Union label..."

(camera zooms in on label next to motor, which sure enough, has a union label on it, of sorts)

"Yup, nothing like a good ol' SovUnion bike to get you across the desert, especially in the colder months..."

(huge quantities of Ivory laundry flakes fall in clumps around her, accompanied by the sounds of a receding C-5B)

"Each and every one of these beautiful hunks of romance and adventure is hand crafted in beautiful Minsk or Gorky factories by old-world craftspeople like Olga and Olaf here..."

(stereotypical (western-media-wise) Soviet peasants trot gaily up beside rider and wave at camera. Soft snicks and clicks are heard just off-camera and Olga and Olaf glance nervously back in the direction from which they came)

"So when you get tired of management-labor hassles interfering with your right to live to ride and ride to live, just boogie (at this point Edie and the peasants begin a sprightly, complex dance) on over to your local MiG dealer and ask for a FATBRR. It comes in any color you want as long as it's red!"

(peasants giggle, then look nervously back offstage)

(Edie:) "Hey! What are you cats doing with those guns? HEY!"

(Edie and the peasants dive behind the fallen Hardley-go, as gunfire erupts from offstage. Asphalt flies, the FATBRR is destroyed, but the FATBOB absorbs the AK-47 fire easily. Suddenly, the New Bohemians leap out from behind several of the cactii, and begin furiously flailing their instruments. The 30MW sound system drives back the KGB and GRU agents who by now are clearly on screen. Suddenly a flight of F-15 Eagle sweeps in from the left, hugging the terrain. Missles and bombs erupt furiously. Audio is temporarily reduced to white noise at full volume, and the video, after the flashes stop, shows only dust swirling. Finally the dust clears, camera is cockeyed, aimed sloppily at Hardley-go, cameraman lying off to the side, apparently with a small Air-to-Surface missle embedded in his bellybutton)

(The New Bohemians, who apparently never stopped playing, are now rocking around the largest yucca in sight. The music is heard again as the last echoes of the explosions rumble off the mountains. Edie, Olga, and Olaf stand up, grinning at each other. They pick up the FATBOB, Olaf turns on the gas (apparently off before, which is why it wouldn't run), they all climb on, leaving room for the Bohemians. Edie thumbs the beast to life. A huge roar, suspiciously beating time with the music, comes from the tailpipes, which are conveniently aimed straight at the camera)

"I know what I know, if you know what I mean. And what I am is out of here..."

(Bike roars over to the band, who jump on back, still playing, as the bike rides off into the sunrise, out of the corner of the camera)

"Choke me in the shallow desert dust, before I..."

(music and bike fade, video fades)

Disclaimer: Fiction. Talk.bizarre. Random rumblings. No offense intended.
Datclaimer: To the best of my knowledge, HD mgmt and union get along well.
Dudderclaimer: A calf, usually.

Last updated: 29 Mar 1994

Copyright 1989, 1994 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.

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1705 Oak Forest / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514 / USA

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Miles O'Neal <roadkills.r.us@XYZZY.gmail.com> [remove the "XYZZY." to make things work!] c/o RNN / 1705 Oak Forest Dr / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514