A business executive with an extremely hectic lifestyle decides one day that enough is enough. Life is too short to speed through it at a thousand miles per hour. He decides to buy a little place in the country with no neighbors visible on either side, settle down, maybe do a little writing, but most of all, to relax and enjoy some solitude.
The movers finally finish unloading and unpacking all of his things, and the man fixes himself an iced tea and goes out to the porch to relax and enjoy a good book.
After a while he hears the distant roar of an engine, which gets louder and louder as someone riding a Harley pulls up in his front yard.
A six-foot-six biker in full leathers with shaggy, greasy hair, a huge beer gut, and tattoos all over his arms gets off the bike and walks up to the porch.
Slightly nervous, the former executive asks Can I help you?
Hi, says the biker, My name's Rocko. I'm your nearest neighbor at the farm five miles down the road. Pleased to meet you.
When the executive returns his greeting, Rocko says I say you moving in and wanted to come by and invite you to a little party I'm having tonight at my place. I think you'd have a good time. There's gonna be a lot of drinking, probably a couple of fights, and someone might even end up getting lucky at the end of the night.
The executive thanks him for the invitation, but declines, saying that he moved to the country to avoid large groups of people, and doesn't really want to spend any time at a crowded party.
Oh, don't worry about any crowds, says Rocko, it's just gonna be you and me...
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