Y'know, you try to live your life a certain way; you do the things you want and avoid the things you don't, and you think you're doin' pretty good.
And then, one day, you walk outside to catch a smoke and you realize "Whoa... wait. Fuck. There's a Reagan-Era Ninja in the bed of my truck?!"
Either something has gone mind blowingly awry, or I am fucking miles ahead of the masses on the next wave of motorcycle fashion.