01/10/2026
This one Is a repost, but a damn good one.
A story from an old brother named “Greaser”, with a short lesson.
I wrecked pretty bad when I raced in the BaJa in Cali. When I shattered my leg, I had a spiral break that should have been a "compound" , Bone poking through the skin kind of thing. Anyhow, I had to use a wheelchair for a bit.
Before that accident, my go to move was to go to the bar, get a buzz, grab a chick, show her a swing move or three, and take her home.. easy three step program: smash, gash and dash.
This was problematic after the race when I was in the wheelchair. My game was absolutely fu**ed, nobody wants to bang a cripple, right?
But my brother “HotRod” took it upon himself to be my personal wheel chair chauffeur whenever we were around each other. I didn't have to roll anywhere, He was pushing me.
This was awesome and I truly appreciated the bro-love that he brought me, but it truly culminated at a bar, one night, called the rusty beaver.
Some old slackjawed rusty dusty h***y tonk, where the ladies were hitting on ole HotRods pretty ass, and he was wing manning for me.
Not only did this glorious so**********ch wingman, he included and introduced me to the chicks that were flocking to him, he, when I asked one of them to dance, picked me up, out of my wheelchair and held me up while I showed her the old Greaser swing steps.
The man stood behind me, ten toes on God's green earth and propped my crippled ass up while I was drunkenly dancing with fat chicks, to help me get laid.
If that ain't a brother, then IDK what is.
Moral of this story is, I’d rather be holding up a drunk, crippled brother……..than bitching about him. There are a lot of “dudes” out there that live to stick that knife in a back, or talk smack behind a man’s back that they call “Brother”, instead of holding him up.
Hold your Brothers up, sometimes all they need is a little support.
-Relic