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Famous motorcycle customizer Indian Larry died while performing a stunt on August 30, 2004.  Here's something I wrote about the Open House he had at his shop in May of that same year.


!!!Notes from The Professor


The following was found scrawled on a pile of cocktail napkins left next
to a drunken bum in Times Square.  Author unknown.

!!Day One

California crew arrived JFK airport 2:30pm.  Thought about going out to
meet them, but decided against due to fear of airplanes.  Instead,
sent instructions to take subway in to midtown Manhattan.

Sat in my headquarters (ed. note: apartment) and prepared instructional
manuals for guests in 5 languages.  I had been absent from California
for one year and was afraid isolation may have reduced West Coast
residents to talking in pig latin or possibly aramaic.

Crew arrived HQ 3:30.  Much to my relief, english still spoken on West
Coast.  I noticed a disturbing fashion trend of wrist-bands appeared to
have manifested itself in my absence, however.  Suspicion: leg warmers
had mutated and moved upwards.  Appears harmless.

The players:

* The Revered Chop
* Griff
* Ronaldo
* The Mysterious "B"

and of course myself as the professor.

Learned that Griff had arrived the previous day separate from the main
group.  He had spent the night in Washington Square park after becoming
disoriented in the big city.  Thus a full hosedown and de-lousing was
required before he was allowed in the HQ.  Griff was initially hesitant
to undergo decontamination procedure.  Several shots of the medicine
were required to bring subject into compliance. (ed. note: crayon
drawing on one of the napkins indicates medicine was actually Crown
Royal whiskey).

Rest of crew enjoyed a meal at nearby restaurant while procedure was
performed.  Griff joined us for after-dinner coffee, looking no worse
for his scrubbing (and sporting a bright pink baby-skin complexion).

For some reason Griff has stopped in a hospital and stolen a cane the
previous night.  I have a bad feeling about the cane.

!8:00pm

Made initial reconnaissance of Indian Larry's in Brooklyn.  Not much
action as they were preparing for the big party the next day.  Had a
couple beers and burgers, then retired back to the safety of Manhattan,
via the L subway line.

Still worried about that cane.

Found space in my tiny apartment for four bikers.  Two on the futon, two
on the floor.  Good thing I have a dog so I'm used to the smell.

!!Day Two

!1:00pm

Sightseeing!  Took the crew around the city as none of them had been here
before.  They enjoyed the colorful aspects of New York such as rats in
the subway and dirty water dogs from the sidewalk vendors (ed. note:
neither should be eaten).  Took them to my office on 53rd floor of
skyscraper downtown for panoramic views.

Continued trip in Chinatown as several of the boys expressed a desire to
buy cheap junk while here.  Ronaldo in particular went on a shopping
spree, purchasing three pairs of "J-Lo" sunglasses and a belt-buckle
that spelled "ROCKS" in 3 inch rhinestone letters.  There's no
accounting for taste, I guess.

!3:00pm

Back to Indian Larry's for the party.  Everything is in full swing by
the time we arrive.  Food is mostly gone by the time we arrive, as
evidenced by the picked-clean pig carcass.  Backup plan: drink dinner
instead.

Large and active party, including several bands, many tattoos, and lots
of leather.  Much revelry down by the east river with beautiful views of
Manhattan and the Empire State Building.  Absolute highlight is a
burnout performed by a JET POWERED PICKUP TRUCK.  Truck is a 58 Chevy
with a jet engine mounted in extended bed.  I am only 10 feet away when
they light up the truck and flames shoot out 25 FEET.  Suffered
permanent hearing loss, which was well worth the experience.  5 minutes
after the performance, an FDNY ladder truck comes screaming by with the
light on, looking for the fire.  Truck circles back and firemen end up
having pictures taken with Indian Larry.  I notice the asphalt is
visibly melted.

!7:00pm

Leave the party for other engagements.  Leave the boys in safekeeping of
a nice woman who promises not to allow them any more liquor, as Chop has
been offering free marriages to anyone who will listen, and Griff has
been using the cane in a menacing manner (ed. note: Griff actually had
foot surgery).

!11:00pm

Receive a frantic call from the Reverend Chop that I am required back at
the party.  Arrive 30 minutes later to find party is over.  Chop doesn't
remember calling me, but is glad I arrived nonetheless.  The nice woman
didn't keep her promise and the crew is completely hammered.  Decision
made to go to Lower East Side of Manhattan for further carousing.  10
block walk back to subway is very slow indeed, due to frequent urination
stops.  The Mysterious B and I suffer as we have not kept up on the
drinking and are thus ill-prepared for current shenanigans.

We succeed in husting the rest of the men into the subway for trip back
to Manhattan.  For unknown reasons, Chop and Ronaldo have sworn a
blood-feud against each other which requires steel-cage no holds barred
wrestling on the subway platform.  Other riders not amused.

Ronaldo begins shouting "I SMOKE ROCKS" at random intervals for no
discernible reason.  Nobody pays attention as this is New York after
all.

Once we are back in Manhattan, Griff goes home early.  Danger of the
cane is removed.  B takes us to a bar called ~McSorley's for further
drinking.

Ronaldo, displaying the the creativity for which he is known the world
over, invents a new game called "concrete bobsled".  He sits in a milk
crate and Chop pushes him as fast as possible on the sidewalk.  Game
over when a small crack in the sidewalk results in a
Ronaldo's-head-sized dent in a car.  No bleeding, but for some reason
the injury has given Ronaldo perfect rapping ability.  He throws down
phat rhymes for the rest of the evening involving smoking rocks,
"beeyatches", and an analysis of Carter-era US government foreign
policy.  Every single passerby on the street is amazed.  I also learn
what really went wrong in the Iranian hostage rescue.

!1:00am

The Mysterious B leads us to ~McSorley's.  After downing several shots, I
realize the bar is not ~McSorley's at all, but some other random dive.
In disgust, I lead Ronaldo and Chop out into the night.  They complain
about all the walking.  "That's life in the big city, boys," I say as I
steal a fresh pair of boots off a passed-out hipster on the street.  I'm
partial to lime-green Uggs.  We never see B again.

Lead the remaining crew to a bar called 2x4 which happens to be on the
corner of 2nd Ave. and 4th St.  They are unconvinced of the need to go
in until they spot the very attractive barmaids dancing on the bar.  2$
cans of PBR seal the deal.

!2:00am

We've been drinking non-stop for 11 hours.  Getting hazy and my supply of
fresh cocktail napkins is running out.  I believe I may now be married to
a beautiful Dominican girl named Juanita, thanks to the Reverend.

!3:00am

I SMOKE ROCKS

WHERE IS My CANE???

(ed. note: that's the end of the transcript.  no further information is
available.)

-----

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