The Gut Busters Motorcycle Club rolled out of Bakersfield like a grease-fire with wheels, twenty-three bikes strong and every single one of them farting blue smoke. Leading the circus was President Gut Buster Gallagher, a 380-pound Irish-Italian disaster who looked like a meatball wearing a leather vest. His custom bagger, “The Widowmaker,” had a seat the size of a patio sofa and a horn that played “Danny Boy” when he sat on it wrong (which was always). Dayaking up the left wing was Vice President “Two-Balls” Tony, still missing one nut but making up for it with double stupidity. Sweeping the rear was Sergeant-at-Arms “Knuckles” O’Rourke, knuckles freshly scabbed from punching a vegan the night before for “looking at his steak funny.”Day One – Bakersfield to Vegas (by accident) Gut Buster Gallagher declared they’d stop in Barstow for breakfast burritos. GPS said otherwise. By 10 a.m. they were on the Strip, drunk on momentum and yesterday’s tequila. They invaded Glitter Gulch like a plague of horny locusts. Two-Balls tried to tip a dancer with a Folgers can full of quarters. The bouncer laughed. Knuckles stopped the laughing with a bar stool. Gut Buster climbed the mechanical bull wearing nothing but his kutte and a cowboy hat he stole from a tourist from Nebraska. Security showed up. Gut Buster showed them his belly button, which had somehow collected $400 in singles. Cops took one look, muttered “California plates,” and went back to writing parking tickets. The club left Vegas up eleven grand and down three dignity points. Day Two – Vegas to St. George, Utah (Mormon country, zero mercy)Hangovers hit like a sledgehammer made of regret. Prospect “Puke” Jerry actually puked on his own windshield at 90 mph; the splatter looked like a Jackson Pollock. Gut Buster declared it “abstract expressionism” and made Jerry ride like that the rest of the trip. St. George on Sunday is drier than a nun’s panties. The Gut Busters found the only strip club in a hundred miles: Pasties & Prayer. The DJ played hymns with a trap beat. Knuckles fell in love with a dancer named Sister Chastity who swore she was “saving herself for Jesus.” Knuckles offered to be Jesus for fifteen minutes. Chastity’s fiancé Enoch (6’8″, returned missionary, biceps like hams) took it personal. The fight involved a taser, a shopping cart, and a chicken that nobody could explain. Gut Buster and Knuckles got a free night in the Washington County lockup. Gut Buster spent the evening trying to convince the deputy his belly button was a “medical soup bowl.” Two-Balls bailed them out by sweet-talking the desk sergeant until she forgot the combination to the evidence locker.Day Four – Moab, Utah The boys rolled in looking like death microwaved. At the Moab Titty Tavern, Gut Buster entered the amateur night contest “because these girls ain’t got nothin’ I don’t.” He took third place, a bottle of baby oil, and the eternal love of a retiree named Darlene. Second place went to Two-Balls doing the helicopter in a Richard Nixon mask. First place was a gorgeous redhead who turned out to be Utah Highway Patrol’s finest in drag. The trooper tried to cuff everybody. Gut Buster tried to make him secretary. Compromise: body shots off the trooper until he woke up in Colorado wearing the Nixon mask and one sock.Day Six – Denver, Shotgun Willie’s Colorado greeted them with legal weed and illegal ideas. Gut Buster invented the “Gallagher Gut Challenge”: every shot poured into his belly button bought the whole club a round. By midnight his navel was a tequila hot tub and the tab hit five grand. Manager threatened cops. Gut Buster threatened to call the manager’s mom (he still had her on speed dial from ’98). They settled on a wet T-shirt contest judged by 71-year-old prospect “Gramps” Delgado. Gramps declared every contestant a winner, then tried to motorboat the DJ.Day Eight – Nebraska, the “Cornhole & Cornhole” roadhouse Somewhere west of North Platte they found a nudie bar built inside an old grain silo. Two-Balls got stuck in the brass pole. Literally stuck. Fire department had to cut him out with the jaws of life while the crowd cheered and threw popcorn. Gut Buster paid the tab by letting the bartender tattoo “TIP JAR” around his belly button. It’s still there. Still works.Day Ten – Iowa jail (population: two Gut Busters) Power & Betrayal-Outlaw Motorcycle Club Life By James Hollywood Macecari Iowa state troopers do not share Nevada’s sense of humor. After Gut Buster mooned a weigh station “for science,” he and Knuckles got quality time in the Polk County drunk tank. Gut Buster spent the night trying to teach the cells “Irish yoga” (bending over to pick up the soap on purpose). The guards finally released them when the jail ran out of bologna and morale. Day Twelve – Sturgis They limped into the Buffalo Chip looking like roadkill that learned to ride Harleys. Gut Buster took the main stage, belly full of tequila and pride, and announced to 50,000 people: “We came for the rally, but we stayed for the memories… and the bail money!” The crowd roared. Someone set a porta-potty on fire in celebration. Final tally: 4,200 miles 11 strip clubs 7 fights 3 nights in jail 1 prospect who now answers only to “Picasso Puke” Zero regrets Gut Buster Gallagher raised a beer the size of a toddler and bellowed the club’s new official motto:“Gut Busters MC, baby, ride hard, eat harder, and never pay for a damn thing twice!” “Trailer Trash Threesomes And Broken Condom Gospels” live on Spotify! https://open.spotify.com/album/63PF1FvyFdLysLurmcdwVQ