Black Biker Hat That Increases Testosterone in Men

Let me be perfectly clear to anyone reading this, I am NOT Barry.

This is about Barry... a neighbor of mine back in the day, when I had neighbors, and not "Fellow Homeowners" in an :Association." My old neighbor Barry is why I am reviewing this hat.

Barry was born frustrated.

And frustration kept sticking to him his whole life, like Super Glue between your fingers. Hard and fast, and it wasn't coming off easy. Barry was tenacious in picking at the frustrating glue of his life, but because of who he was, he would end up just getting more stuck.

The specific glue-picking I am relating here involves when Barry wanted to buy a motorcycle. That would free him up, he figured. Free him up from the unbearable weight of being Barry. He test drove a few around the dealership parking lot, even did quarter mile on a Vespa at the hipster dealer, but he never had the intestinal fortitude, the huevos rancheros, to actually buy one.

Classic Barry.

Barry liked the idea of buying a motorcycle enough to keep talking about it every time I saw him for over a year. He knew so much about motorcycles by the end of that year, that he could have been a salesman, or talked to mechanics in their own jargon about arcane parts. But all that knowledge collection was comparable to someone watching youtube videos on how to remove super glue from their skin, but not removing it. Barry still hadn't bought a bike.

While he was getting ready for this big purchase, Barry bought this faux leather Biker Hat to inspire him to do it, and to let us all know that he was serious. He wore it on the weekends a lot. And though he would never cop to it, sometimes when he was done be mowing the lawn, I heard him try to talk like Brando from The Wild One. That engine noise got him inspired, I guess.

I think that Barry thought by wearing this hat that he was showing the local skate punks that his house was no longer going to be the one they vandalized. (I mean, because no kid wants to mess with a pasty paunchy man wearing khaki shorts and a Black Vinyl Biker Hat, right?) Barry was feeling good and let them know, in his odd-sounding voice, because he now had confidence! This was his first step in getting a motorcycle: getting the hat! In his mind, I think he saw himself as cut and sexy as the leather man in Village People.

But at some point, perhaps when his wife laughed at him because he wanted to wear it during sex, or after his 8 year old crashed her Big Wheel into a tree and needed stitches, or when they gerrymandered our Congressional district and he understood that his vote didn't matter in the big scheme of things, the frustration that always haunted him came back hard, and stuck to him, right in the place he had opened up to purchase a motorcycle one day.

He didn't ever buy a motorcycle, at least when I was living on the same block. I saw he kept the hat in his office shelf though, right next to a broken bobblehead of some baseball player he admired when he was a kid, and the urn with his grandfather's ashes. I moved when I got divorced, and I heard Barry and his family moved a year later, after some software thing he created was bought by Google for 50 million bucks.

New Barry.

I like to imagine when he signed the paperwork with Google, he was wearing this hat. I also like to imagine him being chauffeured to work in the sidecar of a motorcycle, letting his glue-free fingers wave in the air.

Using the Amazon Prime Rib rating system, the system heralded on the Internet for its hairy chest and healthy prostate, I give this Black Biker Hat 2 Bezos of out 5.

This is not because of anything negative, but rather to honor the two balls that it gave Barry, for however long he wore it. This cap gave him two bald Jeffreys that could swing low, to and fro, and with those, enough spunk to come up with something made him rich.