Choirballs – column

Members of the student corps. A strange predator. Destined from the cradle to start socially at least halfway up the ladder of society. Or at least to radiate that ambition.

Once we arranged a bus to go to a fair in Kladno. That was in the days of the old road to Prague, along which there were more prostitutes than hectometre markers.

Op the last time there were two opstappers through the grapevine. They went to pick up a Skoda or Tatra near Prague. So those were chorus balls. They were already tipsy and annoying when boarding. They started with what in their circles is called "sucking": abusive bullying questioning behavior.

It became like in a school class where two brats can ruin it for the whole class plus the teacher. The problem was solved very proletarian by expelling them with appropriate force. In a parking lot full of pimps and their merchandise. They ran crying after the bus.

Still, they must have had the night of their lives there. How did it end with that Skoda or Tatra that had to be picked up? Sitting will be difficult for them.

That memory came to me when, as I was closing the side trunk of my good old Guzzibest, I heard someone say in a classic posh voice—as in 'scarf down throat and hot potato around neck': “They give blood too. Damn I thought they were just organ donors!" I have a blood bank sticker on the back of the fender. Therefore.

I straightened up and looked around. Yes, it shouldn't get any crazier. Wolves on our Veluwe? Okay. But two purebred, slightly matured, chorus balls in my village? Then you can make anything happen.

“Well gentlemen, donating that organ is disappointing, you know. We real bikers smoke so much that our lungs can't do anything and we drink so much that our livers are beyond redemption. But do you know what they are very keen on from the medical angle?” The two young gods looked at each other with such a surprised look of: “Damn! It can talk!”

But they didn't know what made us motorcyclists so popular with the medical profession. “Because of our foreskins. Our foreskins use them to make new faces for really ugly guys. And damn it: that worked out great for you again.”

In the meantime I had the gloves on, pressed the start button and drove off. So that was the second time I left a bunch of choir balls behind. It was still a nice feeling.