It's about you clowns who make SO MUCH fucking NOISE. I want you to know about my DREAMS. Especially my DAY dreams. The ones where I see a thousand Harley-Davidson stores all go up in smoke, and formations of motorcyclists everywhere suddenly come crashing, falling, getting-shot, exploding, who-the-fuck-cares, and then one after the other all come tumbling off their little tinker toys head-over-heels endlessly over-and-over-and-over until every last one of them come plowing through the plate glass windows and storefronts of whoever else is in the gawd-awful gawd-forsaken business of selling those jock-straps you weenies ride around on ... but not before all your helmets fall off and you skid head first on your noses hundreds of yards until your faces falls off.