I pimped my ride long ago. Back in the day, my parents bought me a sound generator that attached to my bicycle handlebars. With a twist, it rumbled like I was revving the engine on an honest-to-goodness motorcycle.
I felt like I was the top dog on the block. Nobody dared rival me on the sidewalk. Rub-on tattoos covering my rippling 8-inch biceps, I was the master of all I surveyed--up to the end of the block and before the street lights came on. I would have been the baddest of all the Hell's Angels if they would have … Read more