02/15/2024
Enjoy~ Cindy Sieman
KRAMER VS KTM
By Rick Sieman/August 1980/Dirt Bike
(Notes: The movie “Kramer vs Kramer was playing at the time, and this gave me the germ of an idea. Hey, I know it's a stretch!)
“Tell us, in your own words, Mrs. Kramer, some of the things that led to the breakup of your marriage.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Well, probably the single worst thing was with him and that damned air filter. Always washing and drying it.”
“Say what?”
“Oh, you know. The filter on his bike. Every Saturday, like clockwork, he was always cleaning the filter on that bike of his.”
“But what could that have to do with …”
“I'm getting to that. You see, after he washed his filter in gasoline, he'd take it in the kitchen and wash it again in the sink with soap and water. Then he'd take it out to the dryer and flip the horrid thing inside my dryer.”
“What was the problem with that?”
“Problem? Problem? Let me tell you, mister smart lawyer. He never did such a great job of cleaning that air filter before he popped it into the dryer, and just about every other weekend, all of my underwear would come out all greasy and smelling like pre-mix. That's right. He never looks in the dryer before he tosses that filter in. Just pops the door open, flips the vile thing in and goes off to twirl some wrenches. Doesn't even care what it does to my un**es. That's plain inconsiderate. Even nasty.”
The lawyer spun dramatically, flexed his eyebrows, leaned on the table with both arms stiff and said, “Your honor, it's plain from this testimony, that we're dealing with a degenerate of the worst sort here. I rest my case. Your witness, counsel.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Kramer, just exactly why do you want custody of the two-year-old?”
“Mostly because I think it'll help my husband. You see, he's become so attached to that two-year-old dirt bike, that he's no longer a rational human being. I think he just might do something dangerous, like …”
“Like what, Mrs. Kramer?”
“Well, he was talking in his sleep one night about turning the KTM into a sidehack.”
“Your honor!!! Objection to this line of questioning. Anyone who would turn a perfectly good KTM into a side-hack would border on a monster, which my client is surely not. I must insist that the line of questioning be redirected.”
The judge stroked his chin. “Yes. Of course. Only a walking looney-tune would add a chair to a KTM. Counsel will please rephrase the question.”
“Let's explore some other areas. It has come to my attention that Mr. Kramer has gone to great lengths to destroy Mrs. Kramer's flowers. And these are a point of pride. Apparently, Mr. Kramer takes the oil from his gearbox and pours it in the flower beds of Mrs. Kramer. Now, your honor, Mrs. Kramer works long and hard on these flowers, only to have a load of sk**ky gear oil dumped on the sweet petals of pale rosebuds. Disgusting, isn't it?”
“Hey, I always figured it might make them grow. You never can tell.”
“Your honor, what we're looking at here, is a total disregard for the wants and needs of Mrs. Kramer. This man has apparently chosen to place the value of his bike above that of his wife.''
“Have you priced KTM parts lately?”
“Hmmm. Perhaps you're right. I'll redirect the line of questioning. Mr. Kramer, what makes you think that you're more fit to have care and custody of the two-year-old KTM than Mrs. Kramer? After all, she rides bikes, too, and has expressed an interest in using the bike for trail riding purposes. She feels that a steady diet of racing motocrosses and enduros is the wrong way to ensure a long and healthy life.”
“Well, I've always believed that you have to treat ‘em tough. Make ‘em work hard. Treat ‘em with a heavy hand, but with the right kind of care at the right time and the right place. In the long run, it pays off. You baby a bike and you end up with a bad bike. One that won't work when it has to.”
At this point, Mrs. Kramer leapt up, tears in her eyes. “Oh sure, big mister tough guy. You think that's the way to handle something you love? Well, not me, buster!”
The kindly, white-haired judge held up a hand to halt the outburst. He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his voluminous stomach and spoke in a stern, yet kindly tone:
“What we have here is a classic case of both parties wanting the same thing. If I had the wisdom of Solomon, I could probably figure out which party really cared the most. But, since I don't, here's what this court proposes to do. I am going to take the KTM away from both parties and remand the custody to a professional organization to take care of it until it's of age. I hereby award custody of the two-year-old KTM to Dirt Bike Magazine. Visitation rights can be worked out by the respective lawyers.”
Mr. Kramer jumped up with agony in his eyes. “No! No! Anything but that! Don't let those monsters get their hands on the KTM. I've seen what those guys do to a test bike. I'd rather let Mrs. Kramer have custody.” At this, he put his hands over his face, sobbed, and threw up all over his lawyer.
The judge was impressed. “Well, well, well. We seem to have found out just who really does care about the bike. That bit about giving custody of the bike to Dirt Bike was just a clever ruse on my part. And I think it worked. The court hereby awards custody of the KTM to Mr. Kramer.”
