The Prude vs. Filthbook

My childhood was rocky. I'm not really ashamed to admit it because I was taught several lessons and avoided potential pain by watching others make those mistakes. I got to see the true effects of alcoholism, drug addiction, loveless relationships, abuse in it's various verbal and physical forms, etc. Yeah, I know...cry me a river.

Anyway, what has it made me? A prude. Yup, and happy to be one. Why? 'Cause I'm alive and I know I have never caused anyone true pain.

Now, when I say prude, I mean I don't do drugs, drink excessively, smoke, cheat, etc. That doesn't mean I have a stick up my butt.

Imagine my surprise when I downloaded the Facebook application "FilthBook". I saw it on a friend's page and assumed all was harmless. Sure, why not? The idea is to answer a series of questions to rate your "perversion and deviance" against your friends. So I think: "Fun!" and "How bad can it really be?". Famous last words really. Here are some sample questions:

• Used cocaine?
• Taken an opiate in any form?
• Taken LSD, peyote, or psilocybin more than twice?
• Had sex while under the influence of Ecstasy/X?
• Drank your own urine?
• Drank human blood?
• Tasted someone else's nasal mucous?
• Willingly defecated on yourself?

Should I go on? Didn't think so. To be fair, there are hundreds of questions and I pulled a few of the more offensive ones. I wasn't about to start listing them all.

Regardless of your answers above, my point is that "demons of your past" are not things to score and be proud of. My brother recently died of drug overdose and I honestly feel that a certain % of peer pressure accounted for his addiction. Sure, let's roll in online peer pressure through Facebook too. After that, let's set up an application for online sex through Facebook. Maybe posting a penis on someone's wall means you've screwed them. Then you can up your Filthbook rating! Awesome.

Why do we need applications like this? Get a job, get a life and clean yourself up.

My brother Jimmy
Died Nov 9, 2007 at 25 yrs old
Addictions: heroin, crack, pain medications, alcohol, people

I'm a junkie and I need a fix!

Hello, my name is Jeff, and I am an addict.

A motorcycle addict. And I'm going through withdrawal. And I don't mean metaphorically.

Riding is as much a mental activity as a physical one. Your perception is altered, the experience releases a flood of powerful brain chemicals, endorphins and the like, you become accustomed to them, and now suddenly they're gone. Bummer!

When I'm riding, and in the zone, I'm flying. By flying, I don't mean fast, or speeding, (though that can be a factor), but flying in the sense of freedom from earthly constraints. I bank, I
dive, and I zoom - fists in the wind like Superman. The bike disappears, and I am gliding over the surface of the Earth, and everything is right there. I can reach down with my left foot, and it skids along the surface of the pavement like a rock on ice. I pass a field and I can smell the horses, I pass a stream and the air is suddenly cooler. I can dawdle along, barely above a walk, and count the pickets in a fence, and then with a thought and a slight twist of the wrist, the fence is a blur and the horizon tilts, and I am gone, man!

I wear a full face helmet, for more than just physical protection - if the world could see the stupid grin on my face as I bomb around, I'd probably get locked up in a looney bin (they still call them that, right?).


In a car, you are separate from the world, cocooned and muffled. Everything happens out there. You yak on your phone, eat your cheeseburger, and (too often), fall asleep. We bikers call them cages. We pity you (except when you're trying to kill us).

It's now the beginning of winter, and the bike has been prepped for storage, with fresh oil and fluids, fuel stabilizer added, battery removed and sitting on the shelf (like a heart waiting for transplant). Turned in my license plate, cancelled my insurance. Left my freedom on the counter.

I will fill the winter months with inadequate attempts to recreate the riding experience. I will read and re-read my motorcycle mags, I will surf all the bike sites I can find, I will watch American Thunder and Superbikes. I will tinker and tweak and adjust her valves, though she is cold and inert.

We'll wait for the sun. And then we fly.