If I were gonna wear a little bit o’flair, a little bit o’pizzaz, ya’know, spice up the ole’ image like those super hip celebrity djs, I’d ride a motorcycle like Heath Kirchart. Well, maybe not… I rode a motorcycle once when I was in 6th grade, hit the throttle when I meant to sqeeze the brake, flew off the back but didn’t let go. The bike dragged me across the lawn while the back tire shaved the front layer of skin off my shirtless chest. It was awesome. After faceplanting in the grass, I jumped up and into the pool, which was also awesome. The chlorine ate away at my bleeding torso like how Satan is eating away at your soul right now. The pain scarred me so badly I’ve not even sat on a motorcycle since nor have I ever owned a pair of boots like the ones above. True story.