It seemed like a good night for Big Boy hamburgers, tasty and Bob's has a damn good milk shake too. But on Friday night, it's also when Bob's Big Boy has a car club gathering. Which is a good thing, at least for me. Lots of crazy people sharing the same interest carousing about while one of the best burgers are available.
Now, the cars were fascinating. All creatures of their creators that parade around the restaurant similar to a clutch of chickens. The males strut, their protruding guts that once were flat, stick out from the bottom of their club shirts. As Shakespeare once wrote, "That fine capon line," of maturity.
The vehicles were incredible works of chrome and flashy paint. The things that dick-people will do to promote their dicks--their maleness. Cute in a sort of savage way, and if they knew in the midst of them was a queer cyclist with his husband, we might have been stomped. I think though, they were more upset about the Cadillac's poor condition. Crack windshield, and very dirty, parked right next to the show case car. Well, next time don't park next to the handicapped stall for two guys that don't give a shit about cars but are interested in they guys that drive them.
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