Let me start off by apologizing. It has been over a week since I blogged last. This is unacceptable unless you have been busy doing really important stuff like I have been doing (like bowling 20 games in the last two days, and breaking three trek records in Big Buck Hunter Pro). If you’ll remember, the last time I blogged it was to put my own sister (Spinster Stories) in her place. She was frontin’ on me about bowling. Let me give you an update.
That night she called me begging for forgiveness. She apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again. You’d think that after 28 years she would know me well enough to know that nobody gets away with clownin’ T-Quizzle. Guaranteed she remembers now. Not only did she apologize, she packed up and left the 801 for a whole week. I guess some real thugs were givin’ her so much heat for being 703 that she had to leave the 801. You know what they say, “Can’t take the heat…stay up out the kitchen.” The 801 is straight broilin’ when it comes to imposta’s. Ask Spinster, she can vouch!
I ain’t one to harp, so let’s move to the story. About four years ago gangs was poppin’ up all over the 801. This had a bunch of the old timers worried, but I welcomed the new cut throat mentality. I believe in survival of the fittest, and when it comes to keepin’ it real, I am ripped! In 2004, if I was ripped (and I was), my water ballooning homey, Kia, was straight chiseled!
Walking the streets wasn’t safe anymore. You needed eyes in the back of your head to survive. When there was an attack by someone you could expect a counter-attack within hours. At one point I saw a break dancer battle a Cougarette. The break dancer destroyed the poor Cougarette. She was so hurt she was incapable of mass texting her friends about their upcoming performance. It was one of the saddest things I’d ever witnessed.
The battle went down at five. By seven, the break dancer had been found in a concussion from head wounds at the creamery. Rumor has it that eight freshman football players caught up with the break dancer and handled business. They were mad because they had been used to getting mass texts on the daily from this Cougarette. When they didn’t get it they were distraught. Football players are lost without daily contact with Cougarettes. The rest is history.
It was under these circumstances that Kia, the crew and I were still water ballooning. The thrill was greater now that we were risking our lives with each thrown balloon. It was like a drug. We needed our fix.
On one particular summer night I thought we bit off more than we could chew. We were water ballooning with little action. No one was reacting to our immaturity. No one would chase the car or even flip us off. It was boring, that is until Kia pulled the ballsiest water ballooning move the 801 had ever seen. Kia drove through a stop sign as a bullet biker pulled up directly in front of us. As he passed the bullet biker he unloaded a balloon right into his temple from no more than three feet. Being a hardcore bullet biker, this guy had no helmet on.
801 Gang History Lesson
In 2004 bullet bikers had the meanest gang in Provo. They roamed the streets of Provo like Buffalo Bill roamed the west in the late 1800’s. No one messed with these guys. They met every night and had the sickest club house in the 801 (the Del Taco parking lot). No one messed with these guys. You couldn’t even make eye contact with them if you were going to eat at Del. They were likely to laugh and point, or even worse steal your chick by offering a ride on the back of their bike. They had so much pride that it made them strong.
At first we laughed. Another imposter had been humiliated. I hated those bullet bikers. They were taking over the 801. The only thing stealing more chicks than bullet bikers was Jesse Akin with his Power Pump class at Gold’s. I could respect that though. Jesse was extremely talented, had a great body and a contagious personality.
The laughing stopped when we realized that the bullet biker had turned his powerful machine around and was chasing us down. Within ten seconds the biker caught us. We were at a stop sign and he pulled right up to Kia’s window. He didn’t say a word. The tension mounted. I looked at my other partners in the car. Everyone seemed intimidated. But not Kia. He looked him in the eye and said, “Was that you I hit back there? Oh my bad…we are in a battle with a scooter gang and we thought you were in it.”
The guy started to flip out. “Does this look like a f*&%$#@ scooter. This is a bullet bike.” Kia chuckled and pulled off. A few days later I saw that same biker at my friend’s office. He is a therapist. He was crying as he spoke with my friend. Apparently bullet bikers get offended by being accused of riding a scooter. It punctures their pride. This was the downfall of bullet bike gangs in Provo. Every time I pulled up to Del Taco people would laugh, point and say, “Nice scooters!” Slowly, the gang dissolved. In 2007 you would never catch a bullet biker at Del in the parking lot.
Thanks again to Kia. Not only did he help me become the man that I am today, he single handedly eliminated the most dangerous gang from the streets of the 801. Kia, if you are reading this, will you please return and get rid of Emo’s and Indi’s for us? Then the world would really be a better place.
