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Внимание!
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In the 1960's, large packs of youths on motorcycles were a common sight on the open highways of the United States of America.
These groups were uniform in appearance, easily recognised by their long hair and black leather jackets. They had a very bad reputation for aggressive and destructive behaviour. Most considered themselves rebels and had little respect for law and society. They were called Hell's Angels and individual packs were known as chapters.
One hot summer, a chapter of about thirty Hell's Angels from San Francisco were cruising along an empty Californian highway
looking for fun, which was generally at the expense of the general public. The first hour was spent encircling cars with their bikes and glaring with malice through the windows. This was guaranteed to put the fear of death into the occupants who had been fed by the media with unsubstantiated stories of robbery, rape and murder. The Angels thrived on such infamy. Around noon and tiring of the game they came across a small roadside restaurant. The leader of the chapter led the pack into the relatively empty parking area
and informed the others that it was time to have some more 'fun'. With broad grins on their faces, the group entered the cafe which was almost deserted. The owner was cleaning some glasses behind the counter, while two rather ordinary-looking men sat quietly at the back of the cafe. They were absorbed in their meals and newspapers. As the door was slammed shut, the largest of the men threw his newspaper into the air, leaped to his feet and rushed out of the back door with a terrified look on his face. The Angels laughed derisively.
Three Angels strode nonchalantly across to the remaining diner, who was short, skinny and balding. They surrounded his small table and stared menacingly at him. He seemed oblivious to their presence. One of the Angels took the buttered roll out of the man's hand and began to stuff it into his own mouth. The man failed to react. A second Angel tore the newspaper from the man's hands and slowly ripped it to shreds. The man made no eye contact with the Angels.
Then the leader took the fried egg from the man's breakfast plate and placed it neatly on top of the man's head, completely covering the bald area. This comic sight was greeted with uproarious laughter and stamping of feet.
Despite this provocation and humiliation the man continued to sit with a stony face. Then, as the fried egg slid from his head, he rose to his feet slowly, and with head bowed submissively, he left the cafe without saying a word. With a smirk on his face the leader watched the man leave. Then he strolled to the counter and said disparagingly to the owner, "Not much of a man, eh?"
The owner reflected for a moment and replied, "He's not much of a truck driver, either. He's just reversed over thirty motorcycles."
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