![]() Big black tile letters spelling ‘WELCOME’ and the name of the establishment that owns it…This one said, ‘HARLEY CHARLIE’S DEN OF INIQUITY: BIKERS WELCOME’. “‘I think we’ve just found the place,’ I said to my tush-challenged friend. He pulled the car into the drive and shut down the engine. “Apparently Harley Charlie was a very popular individual because his den was packed to the gills. A lecherous smile as I’ve ever seen, and says one word: ‘JACKPOT!’” We could hear the sounds of drunken debauchery at least 50 yards from the building, parked in the car, splashing liberal doses of Hai Karate on our chests to make a good, solid impression on the ladies. I had no choice but to agree as I opened the door and stepped in. All the rumors about insanely wild biker parties? They’re true! That place was ALIVE with foul talk, the smell of burnt weed and rancid breath, ugly chicks with their shirts off, more Harley Davidson paraphernalia than I’ve ever seen in my life. Hell, someone had even put a nickel in the jukebox and played a Steppenwolf tune. John Kay’s intoxicated, weary voice was pumped loudly through speakers that sounded as if they had been blown a long time ago. He was singing something about smoking a lot of grass and popping a lot of pills.
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