The inventor of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle, Arthur Davidson, died and went to heaven.
At the gates, St.. Peter told Arthur. 'Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world, your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want to in heaven.'
Arthur thought about it for a minute and then said, ' I want to hang out with God.'
St. Peter took Arthur to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God.
God recognized Arthur and commented, 'Okay, so you were the one who invented the Harley-Davidson motorcycle? '
Arthur said, 'Yeah, that's me...'
God commented: 'Well, what's the big deal in inventing something that's pretty unstable, makes noise and pollution and can't run without a road?'
Arthur was a bit embarrassed, but finally spoke, 'Excuse me, but aren't you the inventor of woman?'
God said, 'Ah, yes.'
'Well,' said Arthur, professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention !
1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end suspension
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds
3. Most rear ends are too soft and wobble about too much
4. The intake is placed way too close to the exhaust
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous!!!!
'Hmmmmm, you may have some good points there,' replied God, 'hold on.'
God went to his Celestial supercomputer, typed in a few words and waited for the results.
The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read it.
'Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed,' God said to Arthur, 'but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours'
BUT... then Arthur went on...
Mine doesn't care if you ride someone else's.
Mine responds exactly to your inputs in a controlled and totally predictable way.
If you get sick of mine... or find a newer, sexier one - you can trade it in with little or no guilt.
You can get it to wear whatever you like, without asking permission.
No matter how old mine gets... other guys will still lust after it. Actually, the older the better.
Mine never says no. It's ready when you are... and it'll go all the way - every time.
If mine gets sick, you take it to a mechanic. You're not expected to sit next to it until it's better.
Mine would love to be part of the furniture. In some cases, it is.
Mine will plow the lower 40 acres and then still want you to ride it all night long. (Ummm.... my bad)
Mine stays quiet until you decide you want to rev her up. Then she screams.
Mine loves to wear whatever leather and shiny bling you choose to bring home...
At the gates, St.. Peter told Arthur. 'Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world, your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want to in heaven.'
Arthur thought about it for a minute and then said, ' I want to hang out with God.'
St. Peter took Arthur to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God.
God recognized Arthur and commented, 'Okay, so you were the one who invented the Harley-Davidson motorcycle? '
Arthur said, 'Yeah, that's me...'
God commented: 'Well, what's the big deal in inventing something that's pretty unstable, makes noise and pollution and can't run without a road?'
Arthur was a bit embarrassed, but finally spoke, 'Excuse me, but aren't you the inventor of woman?'
God said, 'Ah, yes.'
'Well,' said Arthur, professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention !
1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end suspension
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds
3. Most rear ends are too soft and wobble about too much
4. The intake is placed way too close to the exhaust
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous!!!!
'Hmmmmm, you may have some good points there,' replied God, 'hold on.'
God went to his Celestial supercomputer, typed in a few words and waited for the results.
The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read it.
'Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed,' God said to Arthur, 'but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours'
BUT... then Arthur went on...
Mine doesn't care if you ride someone else's.
Mine responds exactly to your inputs in a controlled and totally predictable way.
If you get sick of mine... or find a newer, sexier one - you can trade it in with little or no guilt.
You can get it to wear whatever you like, without asking permission.
No matter how old mine gets... other guys will still lust after it. Actually, the older the better.
Mine never says no. It's ready when you are... and it'll go all the way - every time.
If mine gets sick, you take it to a mechanic. You're not expected to sit next to it until it's better.
Mine would love to be part of the furniture. In some cases, it is.
Mine will plow the lower 40 acres and then still want you to ride it all night long. (Ummm.... my bad)
Mine stays quiet until you decide you want to rev her up. Then she screams.
Mine loves to wear whatever leather and shiny bling you choose to bring home...
