Content © 2012-2017 by American IronHorse Owners Organization.  Use of AIH Logo Licensed by American Ironhorse, LLC
The “List” As of this writing I am 55 years of age.  There is no doubt that at my funeral while people are viewing my mortal remains, they will gaze upon me in wonderment and exclaim “Jesus!  What the hell happened to him?”  Hey, it’s just the circle of life. Believe it or not, I actually used to look pretty good.  In the 7 th  grade I began playing basketball and running track.  Thus began my formal physical training.  PE didn’t count in those days because playing outdoors all the time made us supermen compared to today’s video game playing kids.  Our activities included playing Army where we would sneak around and pretend to shoot each other.  Later, some of us acquired BB guns and pellet rifles which “upped the ante” substantially.  As we got older we introduced bombs and artillery in the form of bottle rockets, roman candles and various firecrackers and smoke bombs.  We re-enacted the battles of Pearl Harbor, the Philippines and Iwo Jima.  My favorite was the epic battle for Okinawa since that was where dad was stationed at the time.  We set fire to things.  I was a boy scout.  We also rode our skateboards and bikes everywhere – including one 50 mile bike trip to earn a merit badge.  Sometimes a ramp was constructed to see who could get the best height, distance or amount of blood from the inevitable crash.  There were lots of pickup football games, too. I didn’t rate for high school basketball and was too skinny and slow for football, which was probably for the better.  That was the 70’s and steroids had turned our 5A state championship linemen into 6’4” brick-shithouse monsters.  These kids were being groomed for college ball and it showed.  So, I joined the far easier to make cross country team.  My teammates included the top 2 runners in the state, which I thought was pretty cool.  As for me, I was no race winner but was able to manage the distance, dying every step of the way and huffing and blowing like a locomotive.  After high school I would run 10k races, still dying every step of the way.  Then I started weightlifting, too.  All that is to say that I was in better shape than most by the time I reached my 30’s. It was after the age of 35 or so when I began to discover that certain activities were no longer advisable for a gentleman of my advancing years.  Thanks to multiple sprained ankles from basketball and distance running my knees and ankles were shot.  My ankles would eventually roll over when I now tried to run and when getting up in the mornings my entire body sounded like popcorn cooking for the first few minutes.  At least I still looked pretty good. I began developing a list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do.”  The first thing that was added was simply jumping off the tailgate of a pickup truck.  Sharp knee pain brought me down - no cartilage left, I guess.  Next came horseback riding and water skiing on one ski.  Then water skiing at all.  Falling hurts a whole lot worse than it used to so anything that could possibly involve my departing from a vertical position made the list.  Rock climbing: out.  Horseback riding: out.  Walking and chewing gum: out.  I could still lift weights but marriage put a stop to that and then everything really began to go to hell. One entry to the list that bears mention took place when I was at the ripe old age of 40.  My step kids, along with many other wonderful things, had received electric scooters and a skateboard.  We went to a local school to play in a parking lot.  I practiced my dormant skateboarding skills (quite perishable, by the way) and got to feeling fairly confident in my ability to remain upright.  I am a strict adherent to the age old philosophy that the fun of any activity may be dramatically increased by introducing the element of danger.  Plus, I’m a dude, so…   My idea was to tie a rope to the back of one of the scooters and be towed on the skateboard.  This should be safe enough, right?  Although water skiing was on the list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do,” skateboarding - as if you were water skiing - was not.  So, secure in that minor technicality, off we went.  All was going well until we went down a short hill.  Our speed picked up and quickly became way too fast.  I dropped the rope but too late!  I began oscillating rapidly which led to a spectacular, cartwheeling wipeout with plenty of sickening thuds and slaps.  The skateboard jetted off into the distance.  Since helmets are for pussies, I bashed my head on the asphalt and remember seeing black spots.  I ended up spread-eagled on my back and in a world of hurt.  It took several seconds for me to gather enough strength and wits to get to my feet.  There was a big lump on my head and plenty of blood from the road rash on my hands and elbows.  The kids were duly impressed.  It hurt like hell but the worst part was that I had to set an example for them by not crying like a bitch, getting back on the damn thing and riding it around.  Add skateboarding to the list.  Make that the top of the list. Some other items that have made the ever-expanding list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do:” Sleep through the night (gotta get up to pee, don’t you know) Sleep at all Vote Democrat Read without glasses Do a “Kentucky Shotgun”  * Run from the cops when the blue lights come on Run after children (running at all, for that matter) Dance (mostly), and especially break-dancing and twerking Know how to work new technology like TV remotes and smart phones Kick a football without stretching first (great way to blow a hammy) Eat spicy foods without consequences Party until 4:00 AM Attend concerts without earplugs I used to be able to run all day and fuck all night.  Now look at me.  HAH… HAAHAHAHHAHA!!! Fortunately, many of my skills remain intact.  I can still smoke, drink and watch TV with the best of them and am exceptionally skilled at holding down a couch.  I can use the bathroom by myself and cut my own grass (again, dying every step of the way).  Wrestling with puppies (however they are defined) is still on.  I can touch my toes and still see my dick without using a mirror.  I get plenty of exercise by walking back and forth to the fridge a few times every day.  I’m smarter now (except for occasionally going 140+ in my Dodge Challenger and riding a chopper, of course) but remember less; however, I never forget what’s on that list! I thought that this might be one of those things that may be regional or at least not widely known.  A “Kentucky Shotgun” involves the subject hyperventilating like crazy and having someone deliver a marijuana “shotgun.”  Then a large friend holds the subject in a tight bear hug while they hold it in.  When released, the subject passes out, drops to the floor and begins twitching.  A few seconds later the subject comes to, invariably laughing like a crazy person because “stoned” doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling – kind of like they just finished off an entire pound of weed…
August 5, 2017
Want to contact Fat Max? email Fat Max ...
ORGANIZATION ORGANIZATION OWNERS OWNERS For All American Ironhorse Motorcycle Owners
Fat Max
© 2012-2017   American IronHorse Owners Organization Use of AIH Logo Licensed by American Ironhorse, LLC 
The “List” As of this writing I am 55 years of age.  There is no doubt that at my funeral while people are viewing my mortal remains, they will gaze upon me in wonderment and exclaim “Jesus!  What the hell happened to him?”  Hey, it’s just the circle of life. Believe it or not, I actually used to look pretty good.  In the 7 th   grade I began playing basketball and running track.  Thus began my formal physical training.  PE didn’t count in those days because playing outdoors all the time made us supermen compared to today’s video game playing kids.  Our activities included playing Army where we would sneak around and pretend to shoot each other.  Later, some of us acquired BB guns and pellet rifles which “upped the ante” substantially.  As we got older we introduced bombs and artillery in the form of bottle rockets, roman candles and various firecrackers and smoke bombs.  We re-enacted the battles of Pearl Harbor, the Philippines and Iwo Jima.  My favorite was the epic battle for Okinawa since that was where dad was stationed at the time.  We set fire to things.  I was a boy scout.  We also rode our skateboards and bikes everywhere – including one 50 mile bike trip to earn a merit badge.  Sometimes a ramp was constructed to see who could get the best height, distance or amount of blood from the inevitable crash.  There were lots of pickup football games, too. I didn’t rate for high school basketball and was too skinny and slow for football, which was probably for the better.  That was the 70’s and steroids had turned our 5A state championship linemen into 6’4” brick-shithouse monsters.  These kids were being groomed for college ball and it showed.  So, I joined the far easier to make cross country team.  My teammates included the top 2 runners in the state, which I thought was pretty cool.  As for me, I was no race winner but was able to manage the distance, dying every step of the way and huffing and blowing like a locomotive.  After high school I would run 10k races, still dying every step of the way.  Then I started weightlifting, too.  All that is to say that I was in better shape than most by the time I reached my 30’s. It was after the age of 35 or so when I began to discover that certain activities were no longer advisable for a gentleman of my advancing years.  Thanks to multiple sprained ankles from basketball and distance running my knees and ankles were shot.  My ankles would eventually roll over when I now tried to run and when getting up in the mornings my entire body sounded like popcorn cooking for the first few minutes.  At least I still looked pretty good. I began developing a list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do.”  The first thing that was added was simply jumping off the tailgate of a pickup truck.  Sharp knee pain brought me down - no cartilage left, I guess.  Next came horseback riding and water skiing on one ski.  Then water skiing at all.  Falling hurts a whole lot worse than it used to so anything that could possibly involve my departing from a vertical position made the list.  Rock climbing: out.  Horseback riding: out.  Walking and chewing gum: out.  I could still lift weights but marriage put a stop to that and then everything really began to go to hell. One entry to the list that bears mention took place when I was at the ripe old age of 40.  My step kids, along with many other wonderful things, had received electric scooters and a skateboard.  We went to a local school to play in a parking lot.  I practiced my dormant skateboarding skills (quite perishable, by the way) and got to feeling fairly confident in my ability to remain upright.  I am a strict adherent to the age old philosophy that the fun of any activity may be dramatically increased by introducing the element of danger.  Plus, I’m a dude, so…   My idea was to tie a rope to the back of one of the scooters and be towed on the skateboard.  This should be safe enough, right?  Although water skiing was on the list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do,” skateboarding - as if you were water skiing - was not.  So, secure in that minor technicality, off we went.  All was going well until we went down a short hill.  Our speed picked up and quickly became way too fast.  I dropped the rope but too late!  I began oscillating rapidly which led to a spectacular, cartwheeling wipeout with plenty of sickening thuds and slaps.  The skateboard jetted off into the distance.  Since helmets are for pussies, I bashed my head on the asphalt and remember seeing black spots.  I ended up spread-eagled on my back and in a world of hurt.  It took several seconds for me to gather enough strength and wits to get to my feet.  There was a big lump on my head and plenty of blood from the road rash on my hands and elbows.  The kids were duly impressed.  It hurt like hell but the worst part was that I had to set an example for them by not crying like a bitch, getting back on the damn thing and riding it around.  Add skateboarding to the list.  Make that the top of the list. Some other items that have made the ever-expanding list of “Shit I Can No Longer Do:” Sleep through the night (gotta get up to pee, don’t you know) Sleep at all Vote Democrat Read without glasses Do a “Kentucky Shotgun”  * Run from the cops when the blue lights come on Run after children (running at all, for that matter) Dance (mostly), and especially break-dancing and twerking Know how to work new technology like TV remotes and smart phones Kick a football without stretching first (great way to blow a hammy) Eat spicy foods without consequences Party until 4:00 AM Attend concerts without earplugs I used to be able to run all day and fuck all night.  Now look at me.  HAH… HAAHAHAHHAHA!!! Fortunately, many of my skills remain intact.  I can still smoke, drink and watch TV with the best of them and am exceptionally skilled at holding down a couch.  I can use the bathroom by myself and cut my own grass (again, dying every step of the way).  Wrestling with puppies (however they are defined) is still on.  I can touch my toes and still see my dick without using a mirror.  I get plenty of exercise by walking back and forth to the fridge a few times every day.  I’m smarter now (except for occasionally going 140+ in my Dodge Challenger and riding a chopper, of course) but remember less; however, I never forget what’s on that list! I thought that this might be one of those things that may be regional or at least not widely known.  A “Kentucky Shotgun” involves the subject hyperventilating like crazy and having someone deliver a marijuana “shotgun.”  Then a large friend holds the subject in a tight bear hug while they hold it in.  When released, the subject passes out, drops to the floor and begins twitching.  A few seconds later the subject comes to, invariably laughing like a crazy person because “stoned” doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling – kind of like they just finished off an entire pound of weed…
August 5, 2017
Want to contact Fat Max? email Fat Max ...
ORGANIZATION ORGANIZATION OWNERS OWNERS
Fat Max