Irony May Be Lost On Bikers.

Am I writing an article about biker gangs to give me an excuse to post another old Brando photo? It's entirely possible. But I also read a most unfortunate story this morning, and wanted to point out a few things that may just end up saving a life one day. I'm no expert on the subject of motorcycle culture, but I do claim to be a big proponent of common sense - so I feel almost obliged to offer my $0.02.



You see - hipsters love cheeky little t-shirts. Not the "I'm With Stupid ->" or "Grandpa's Little Fishing Buddy" variety, but rather the obscure pop culture reference sort. If you want to walk around in Arthur Fonzarelli or Mork From Ork gear, that's perfectly fine. But if you plan on wearing one of these bad boys outside of your own home, slap yourself silly - because you're no longer simply "with" stupid.

The story I'm referencing took place in New Jersey, but out there such gangs are greatly overshadowed by traditional goombas. Now in Canada, biker gangs eclipse even the mafia in terms of power and brutality. They're an ultra-violent, ruthless faction who in the last 20 years have come to completely embody organized crime in the Great White North. Keeping an eye on alliances and squashing turf wars between Hell's Angels, Satan's Choice and the Rock Machine keep the RCMP far busier than any seal-clubber or escaped polar bear. And just try catching up to a Harley Fatboy on horseback.

Any Canuck with the street savvyness of a fruitfly, knows better than to even discuss the gangs in mixed company, much less fly their colors in an affiliated bar. That would be tantamount to strolling through Brooklyn with Sammy Gravano's face on the front of your mock turtleneck - with the phrase "Squealers Kick Ass" emblazoned beneath. So be forewarned, skinny Allston emo boys and the like - stick to the Atari apparel.