I believe if you’re going to do something, don’t hold back. Give it all you got baby and snub a nose at the brimstone and hellfire. Go 100%? Screw that mamby-pamby crybaby whiner effort. Go 200% or better. If you come out on top, awesome for you. If you go down crashing into a glorious flaming heap, awesome for you too. At least you gave it your best effort and you showed those nay saying, sweater tied around the neck, letter jacket, Perrier drinking frat brats that you can take a scuff on your knees just as good, it not better, than the next guy. What I’m saying is; If you’re going to fail, fail like you meant it.

However, I say this peering out of the tops of my eyes as I shake my head, I do not apply this same mindset when it comes to parts I may have affixed to one of my machines. No, you see, rather I expect them to operate at nominal or above performance levels as prescribed by said parts manufacturer. To my humble dismay, the parts which were previously affixed to one of my machines, specifically my 2003 Heritage, beholden to a Twin Cam 88 engine, with the attitude of a cranky 3 year old child in a toy store I might add, felt that they did not or were not required to be held to such high standards and instead, opted to take the “grenade” path in lieu of sunny lane lined with roses, lavender, pretzel cart and scantily clad thin buxom blonde pinup bombshell. To wit, here I sit before my plastic digital LCD internet media production device pounding my quiet click keys with be-damned enthusiasm and verbosity. Damn you aforementioned parts, damn you all to hell!

If you recall, I had to replace the Cam Chain Tensioners on aforementioned engine bearing said attitude. After much bouncing about to acquire parts and knowledge, the task of replacing those bad gremlins commenced and concluded in long order.

The original Cam Tensioners pictured above, must have cast forward the evil vibe to the new guys to enact a repeat performance. Without much, or any resistance, the new guys complied with this request from the past. Thus they began their swift decent down the path of destruction. Whether or not this journey was to be in stealth I cannot say, though they did me the kindness of announcing their eventual fail, even if cryptically.

“Let us broadcast our failure to the throttle twisting nitwit, but make it so he thinks it to be something completely different.” They said to each other.

And indeed, they did just that. Be that as it may, they knew I was coming for them at some point, so their failure was swift and calculated. It was only a matter of time before a ruckus of biblical proportions made its unwelcome presence known. The sound, akin to the clattering and clanking of the bones of a thousand corpses, echoed about the mechanical tomb which they were encased. Waiting like wolves for the last vestiges of lubrication to vanish from around them so they could unfurl their evil plot to allow all things metal to fuse together.

They would not be granted their desire, not this time, as I was onto their plan all along and drove a stake that plans heart. It was when I opened up the wide chest cavity of the beast did their evil plan fall upon the lifting device, like the broken pieces of some maniacal puzzle. Evil indeed.

Though I have foiled their plan, I feel they lie in wait, ready to unleash yet another round of mobocracy to further my acrimony. And to this, the question begs; Where have gone the remaining bits of plastic munitions not seen the photo above? Perhaps entombed inside the vessel known to filter slimy brownish synthetic crude? I’ll not know until a plunge a blade into that vessel and slice it wide open and allow for its contents to spill upon the cat litter of thy waiting pan.

Oh, friends, the fun has yet begun and I will keep thee well informed. Keep your eyes and ears brisk with attention upon thy steed as ye go.