My Harley Disaster...

[SoCal1990]

Mates, let me tell you, I don’t know what it is, but the universe seems to have it out for me lately. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s bad luck. Or maybe it’s just that Thailand simply cannot handle a man of my stature, good looks, and wealth roaring through the streets on a 900-pound chromed Milwaukee masterpiece.

 

So, there I was, yesterday afternoon, taking my beloved Harley down Soi 6, heading to meet my old mate Pete the Porker for a few tins. I’m feeling good, looking sharp, got my aviators on, leather vest in this 36-degree heat because fashion is pain, and the engine purring like a high-class BJ Queen.

 

I glide down the soi, weaving through the usual mix of punters, bar sluts, and wide-eyed first-timers still trying to process the sheer carnage of what they’ve just walked into. A few lovely ladies give me the nod (standard for a baller like me), and I’m thinking, Yeah, Bob, you know you’ve still got it.

 

And then, disaster.

 

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM—I’m down. Bob, the king of Soi 6, now lying in the middle of the one lane Soi like a bruised mango, my Harley keeled over like a beached whale.

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own rage boiling over. And then, the laughter. Of course, the peanut gallery absolutely loved that one. Slappers cackling, motocy taxi drivers pointing, even some pasty bloke in cargo shorts gave me a thumbs up. Real funny, yeah? Watching a man’s ego get obliterated in broad daylight?

 

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe. He’s stepped out of his car now, a middle-aged local bloke in knockoff Ray-Bans and a shirt that says “Red Bull Champions 2014.” The type who probably spends his days cutting people off in traffic and his nights trying to convince karaoke girls that he’s a pilot.

 

I hit him with my best intimidating mug-shot stare.

 

“Mate, what the actual f*** was that?”

 

The bloke shrugs. Shrugs! Like I just asked him what his favorite noodle stall is. Then he hits me with, “Farang not careful.”

 

Farang not careful?! I nearly blew a gasket on the spot. I was gliding through that soi like a majestic panther before this absolute numpty of the highest order decided to pull a handbrake turn for no reason.

 

I point to my bike. “You see that, yeah? That’s 2,800,000 baht of pure American steel you just laid out like a cheap deck chair.”

 

Does he care? No. In fact, now he’s getting annoyed at me, like I’m the inconvenience in his day! A small crowd is gathering. More bar girls watching now, some old expat lads leaning against a bar railing, enjoying the show.

 

Then, out of nowhere, this fella tries to walk back to his car like it’s case closed.

 

Oh, no. Not today. Bob's not having it. 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

He sighs, takes off his sunglasses, and says the words:

 

“Not my problem farang.”

 

And that’s when I knew it was game over. This was one of those classic Thailand moments where, no matter what, the farang is always in the wrong. I could have had a dashcam, sworn witness statements, and a handwritten apology from the grandfather of Pattaya himself, and I’d still be the one walking away with a lighter wallet and a fresh dose of humiliation. 

 

And sure enough, before I can argue further, a couple of motocy taxi runts start shaking their fingers at me. One even says, “You go too fast farang.”

 

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

But what can you do? Welcome to Pattaya. I’m left standing there, sweaty, pissed off, my Harley scuffed up, while the fella hops back in his Toyota sh*tbox and drives off like nothing happened.

 

And Pete the Porker? The useless sod is already at the bar, texting me “where u at bruv?” as I stand there in the middle of Soi 6, trying to piece together what’s left of my sense of humor.

 

Moral of the story, lads? Driving in Thailand is like Thai go-go bar tabs, you never quite know how badly you’re getting shafted until it’s all already too late.

 

Best regards,

The Original Bob.

[flyingtlger]

In the LOS, a farang is NEVER right even if they're right 1000%.....

[save the frogs]

highly entertaining. nice job. 

 

[scorecard]

6 minutes ago, save the frogs said:

highly entertaining. nice job. 

 

Boring, get a real life. 

[save the frogs]

9 minutes ago, scorecard said:

Boring, get a real life. 

the real bob's threads get more attention. i guess he's the real legend who cannot be outshined. 

 

 

[short-Timer]

27 minutes ago, scorecard said:

Boring, get a real life. 

But you read it, and here you are for it. 

[short-Timer]

16 minutes ago, save the frogs said:

the real bob's threads get more attention. i guess he's the real legend who cannot be outshined. 

 

 

Is there a real Bob? Isn’t Bob just a fictional character who posts windups in The Pub? 

[save the frogs]

3 minutes ago, short-Timer said:

Is there a real Bob? Isn’t Bob just a fictional character who posts windups in The Pub? 

there's a real person who posts windups in The Pub who calls himself Bob. 

harleys are made in Milwaukee?

 

[Dante99]

most places most cases if you run into the back of somebody it is your fault

 

different this time or just another lame farang?

[Ralf001]

2 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

 

 

Your at fault.. you pay to fix your tractor... and his toyota.

[Harrisfan]

 

I spent 2 hours vomiting, dodgy dinner.

[FriscoKid]

15 minutes ago, Dante99 said:

most places most cases if you run into the back of somebody it is your fault

 

different this time or just another lame farang?

Doesn't sound like he ran into the back of anyone. Seems he just hit the brakes hard and fell over.

[FriscoKid]

7 minutes ago, Harrisfan said:

 

I spent 2 hours vomiting, dodgy dinner.

It could be morning sickness, Susan. 

[steven100]

Story too long .....   didn't read ....   

[bunnydrops]

He needs to keep his eyes on the road instead of admiring himself in his rearview mirror.

[Grumpy one]

You spelt the brand name of your bike wrong, instead of H/D it should read HONDS SCOOPY

[Gandtee]

3 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Mates, let me tell you, I don’t know what it is, but the universe seems to have it out for me lately. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s bad luck. Or maybe it’s just that Thailand simply cannot handle a man of my stature, good looks, and wealth roaring through the streets on a 900-pound chromed Milwaukee masterpiece.

 

So, there I was, yesterday afternoon, taking my beloved Harley down Soi 6, heading to meet my old mate Pete the Porker for a few tins. I’m feeling good, looking sharp, got my aviators on, leather vest in this 36-degree heat because fashion is pain, and the engine purring like a high-class BJ Queen.

 

I glide down the soi, weaving through the usual mix of punters, bar sluts, and wide-eyed first-timers still trying to process the sheer carnage of what they’ve just walked into. A few lovely ladies give me the nod (standard for a baller like me), and I’m thinking, Yeah, Bob, you know you’ve still got it.

 

And then, disaster.

 

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM—I’m down. Bob, the king of Soi 6, now lying in the middle of the one lane Soi like a bruised mango, my Harley keeled over like a beached whale.

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own rage boiling over. And then, the laughter. Of course, the peanut gallery absolutely loved that one. Slappers cackling, motocy taxi drivers pointing, even some pasty bloke in cargo shorts gave me a thumbs up. Real funny, yeah? Watching a man’s ego get obliterated in broad daylight?

 

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe. He’s stepped out of his car now, a middle-aged local bloke in knockoff Ray-Bans and a shirt that says “Red Bull Champions 2014.” The type who probably spends his days cutting people off in traffic and his nights trying to convince karaoke girls that he’s a pilot.

 

I hit him with my best intimidating mug-shot stare.

 

“Mate, what the actual f*** was that?”

 

The bloke shrugs. Shrugs! Like I just asked him what his favorite noodle stall is. Then he hits me with, “Farang not careful.”

 

Farang not careful?! I nearly blew a gasket on the spot. I was gliding through that soi like a majestic panther before this absolute numpty of the highest order decided to pull a handbrake turn for no reason.

 

I point to my bike. “You see that, yeah? That’s 2,800,000 baht of pure American steel you just laid out like a cheap deck chair.”

 

Does he care? No. In fact, now he’s getting annoyed at me, like I’m the inconvenience in his day! A small crowd is gathering. More bar girls watching now, some old expat lads leaning against a bar railing, enjoying the show.

 

Then, out of nowhere, this fella tries to walk back to his car like it’s case closed.

 

Oh, no. Not today. Bob's not having it. 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

He sighs, takes off his sunglasses, and says the words:

 

“Not my problem farang.”

 

And that’s when I knew it was game over. This was one of those classic Thailand moments where, no matter what, the farang is always in the wrong. I could have had a dashcam, sworn witness statements, and a handwritten apology from the grandfather of Pattaya himself, and I’d still be the one walking away with a lighter wallet and a fresh dose of humiliation. 

 

And sure enough, before I can argue further, a couple of motocy taxi runts start shaking their fingers at me. One even says, “You go too fast farang.”

 

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

But what can you do? Welcome to Pattaya. I’m left standing there, sweaty, pissed off, my Harley scuffed up, while the fella hops back in his Toyota sh*tbox and drives off like nothing happened.

 

And Pete the Porker? The useless sod is already at the bar, texting me “where u at bruv?” as I stand there in the middle of Soi 6, trying to piece together what’s left of my sense of humor.

 

Moral of the story, lads? Driving in Thailand is like Thai go-go bar tabs, you never quite know how badly you’re getting shafted until it’s all already too late.

 

Best regards,

The Original Bob.

Bull<deleted> Bob. The moral of the story is that you did not observe following at stopping distance. Remember, Bob. Back home you would be deemed the cause of the collision. 😆

[couchpotato]

3 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Mates, let me tell you, I don’t know what it is, but the universe seems to have it out for me lately. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s bad luck. Or maybe it’s just that Thailand simply cannot handle a man of my stature, good looks, and wealth roaring through the streets on a 900-pound chromed Milwaukee masterpiece.

 

So, there I was, yesterday afternoon, taking my beloved Harley down Soi 6, heading to meet my old mate Pete the Porker for a few tins. I’m feeling good, looking sharp, got my aviators on, leather vest in this 36-degree heat because fashion is pain, and the engine purring like a high-class BJ Queen.

 

I glide down the soi, weaving through the usual mix of punters, bar sluts, and wide-eyed first-timers still trying to process the sheer carnage of what they’ve just walked into. A few lovely ladies give me the nod (standard for a baller like me), and I’m thinking, Yeah, Bob, you know you’ve still got it.

 

And then, disaster.

 

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM—I’m down. Bob, the king of Soi 6, now lying in the middle of the one lane Soi like a bruised mango, my Harley keeled over like a beached whale.

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own rage boiling over. And then, the laughter. Of course, the peanut gallery absolutely loved that one. Slappers cackling, motocy taxi drivers pointing, even some pasty bloke in cargo shorts gave me a thumbs up. Real funny, yeah? Watching a man’s ego get obliterated in broad daylight?

 

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe. He’s stepped out of his car now, a middle-aged local bloke in knockoff Ray-Bans and a shirt that says “Red Bull Champions 2014.” The type who probably spends his days cutting people off in traffic and his nights trying to convince karaoke girls that he’s a pilot.

 

I hit him with my best intimidating mug-shot stare.

 

“Mate, what the actual f*** was that?”

 

The bloke shrugs. Shrugs! Like I just asked him what his favorite noodle stall is. Then he hits me with, “Farang not careful.”

 

Farang not careful?! I nearly blew a gasket on the spot. I was gliding through that soi like a majestic panther before this absolute numpty of the highest order decided to pull a handbrake turn for no reason.

 

I point to my bike. “You see that, yeah? That’s 2,800,000 baht of pure American steel you just laid out like a cheap deck chair.”

 

Does he care? No. In fact, now he’s getting annoyed at me, like I’m the inconvenience in his day! A small crowd is gathering. More bar girls watching now, some old expat lads leaning against a bar railing, enjoying the show.

 

Then, out of nowhere, this fella tries to walk back to his car like it’s case closed.

 

Oh, no. Not today. Bob's not having it. 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

He sighs, takes off his sunglasses, and says the words:

 

“Not my problem farang.”

 

And that’s when I knew it was game over. This was one of those classic Thailand moments where, no matter what, the farang is always in the wrong. I could have had a dashcam, sworn witness statements, and a handwritten apology from the grandfather of Pattaya himself, and I’d still be the one walking away with a lighter wallet and a fresh dose of humiliation. 

 

And sure enough, before I can argue further, a couple of motocy taxi runts start shaking their fingers at me. One even says, “You go too fast farang.”

 

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

But what can you do? Welcome to Pattaya. I’m left standing there, sweaty, pissed off, my Harley scuffed up, while the fella hops back in his Toyota sh*tbox and drives off like nothing happened.

 

And Pete the Porker? The useless sod is already at the bar, texting me “where u at bruv?” as I stand there in the middle of Soi 6, trying to piece together what’s left of my sense of humor.

 

Moral of the story, lads? Driving in Thailand is like Thai go-go bar tabs, you never quite know how badly you’re getting shafted until it’s all already too late.

 

Best regards,

The Original Bob.

Looking at the ladies and following too close. A sad day indeed🤒

[TedG]

You panicked and grabbed your brake instead of progressively pulling the brake lever.   You don't know how to ride.  Then again, you made this all up. 

[PFMills]

If he can’t ride his bike when he is sober, what will he be like after a few cans of…just another drunk driving idiot I guess …..

[CanadaJoe]

Sounds like a ChatGpt story. Although, a Harley rider locking up the brakes, losing control and falling over while travelling at a paltry 10 kph does sound feasible 😆

[quake]

Was this story AI generated. 

[blaze master]

Tripe.

[Lacessit]

I have never understood the psychology behind owning the world's biggest vibrator.

[Lacessit]

6 minutes ago, blaze master said:

Tripe.

More entertaining than anything you post.

[blaze master]

1 minute ago, Lacessit said:

More entertaining than anything you post.

 

Ohhhhhhh. 

[Etaoin Shrdlu]

Bob's "Harley"

[FolkGuitar]

Best to date! Finally a well-written piece of interesting fiction.

Whoever this 'Bob' is, he should get to wear the name.

 

However, any decent bike rider knows enough not to tailgate, especially on a street where the drivers are all rubber-necking, trying to pick out their pumps for the night.  This guy is NOT a biker, despite his fancy leathers.

[Robert_Smith]

4 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

The Original Bob.

My ar$e!

 

regards,

Bob.

[Robert_Smith]

33 minutes ago, quake said:

Was this story AI generated. 

They all from this imposter!

 

regards,

Bob.