I hate Kawasaki motorcycles, especially the green ones. I buy them cheap, take them apart, and pull their guts out. Every time I pull a bolt, I make a little painfull sound, the sound of the bike wincing in pain. He He He!
So I'm really looking forward to this next month's auction sale in Duncan, at the Civic Center on April 30th, 7pm. Word has it, there's some guy selling his whole stock of Kawasaki pieces of crap. Should be a couple of Harleys up for grab too, and I'll be there waiting!
I can visualize them glancing out of the corners of their headlights, nervous up on the stage beside the auctioneer. One of them will glimse me sitting in the front row on the edge of my seat, with that disturbingly intense look on my face. The light in the auction house casts a sickly yellow colour on human skin, and makes it shiny. A ripple will pass through the other Kawasakis, as they each confirm their worst fear: motorcycle psychopath in the audience!
I'll buy them cheap, because no one else wants them anyway. And because I don't want anyone to know what I do with them. To pay a lot of money for an old Kawasaki with no power that crashes all the time would cause suspicion, and suspicion might cause interference with my plans. Although I would have to pay a lot of money - no price is too high! The only thing that limits me buying more of them is that I have very little money. I don't make much money, but that's good - I don't mind. The silence around me, and the darkness is soothing my soul, and worth the price I pay in accepting minimum wage.
Once at an auction, some Hell's Angel bought one out from under me. His ugly pig-tailed daughter was sitting beside me, stinking of bad brew. She kept looking at me. I tried to stop clenching and unclenching my fists as the man outbid me. I always bid a little bit, just to make it seem like I'm one of them, but I could tell from the way he bid, and the presence of his daughter, that he would pay any price to have an old Kawasaki. I heard her whispering to her father. I couldn't make out exactly what she was saying, but I'm sure it was something like "Daddy there's something wrong with that man." He looked at me with an expression of revulsion and deep loathing, which he quickly masked with a smile, and a big coughing smoker laugh. Yes, ha ha to you too!
He may have won that Kawasaki, but its brothers and sisters - you wouldn't want to see what I've done with them! Or maybe you would. Like all the other human cattle who press against the railings at a country fair freak show, have a purient interest in the strange things a motorcycle psychopath might do in his secret underground lab.