Beirut goes through a cotton shortage in the summer, and our poor, underprivileged women have to walk the street with hardly a scrap of clothing to cover their honor. And for every overexposed stroll, a dozen warm-blooded men engage in a think-tank to figure out a viable solution.
I of course hardly notice any of that anymore (I swear honey!), and as I was driving by yet another playboy parade on the marina the other day I saw, well, I saw them.
Them here refers to about 20 or so 40-somethings on Harley Davidsons driving up (and down, then up, and down again) the marina. I suppose they were on the prowl, but then they could always have been out on a philosophical quest for enlightenment with loud engines, sunsets and asphalt. Oh wait, they were definitely ogling women.
And we were ogling some sandwiches.
The leader of the pack (cue 60s music) raised his hand in a fist, and the procession came to a halt. He dismounted his hog like it was a horse, and walked towards the bunny with the largest bosom.
We were parked, hungry and just out of earshot, but this is a creative piece, and so I imagine he said something like this: ‘Can I offer you a ride on my hog?’
No hang on, he couldn’t have been that crass. He was well into his 40s, and someone that age would’ve certainly developed more skill: ‘You, me, on the bike, now!’
That couldn’t have been it either; a line like that would’ve made a woman weak in the knees. And her knees looked just fine.
‘What’s a fine babe like you doing on a bland strip like this? Wouldn’t you much rather wrap your arms around me and let the wind play with your hair, as 19 other men stare at your ass?’
Well, whatever he said, the breasts were laughing so hard they choked on their super-sized cola; we quickly closed in to listen.
Good thing too, the man turned out to be a genius.
‘All I’m saying is, would you like to take a picture with our bikes? You could ride mine and the guys would make a fantastic background.’
I’ll never get why women love cameras, but I was humbled. The women giggled, straddled and mingled, and in a few minutes the scene was a Playboy fantasy waiting to happen.
Respect your elders children; and we need company motorcycles.
Written for Time Out Beirut
I'm Karl, and I'm an acquired taste.
I've been an editor for 4 years, a writer for 5 more, and a geek ever since I wrote Pong on my first Atari. I'm married to the perfect woman and we live in the desert. 
Yalla wasleen. Didn’t the US just donate 20+ Harleys to our lovely police force?
…or was this actually about them?
Oh yeah:
“These motorcycles will enable the ISF to perform its law enforcement, safety and traffic management functions,” the State Department said in a press release.
By law enforcement functions they no doubt meant cruising along the highway and lazing in the sun; but no, this is about one of our local summer-time bike-gangs.