When people think of secret societies, they usually think of groups like the fabled Illuminati, San Francisco’s Bohemian Club, or even organized crime syndicates like the Mafia. But there’s another secret society that has members all over the Bay Area.
They are comrades of a curse. They come from all creeds, classes, religions and bloodlines. But they all share one thing in common: unattended cars that bind them in brotherhood.
This isn’t a bond forged in blood, but instead by broken glass. And maybe sometimes blood if you don’t see the broken glass and it sticks in your ass, and then your ass starts to bleed. But even if you aren’t penetrated by the left over shards of opportunistic sociopathy, you’re very likely to leave butthurt.
However, a pained ass is a small price to pay for admission into the ever expanding Brotherhood of the Bipped. A true rite of passage for Bay natives and transplants alike.
I remember my first initiation into the Brotherhood like it was yesterday. It was January 2020, and I had dined at a fine Nob Hill eatery. My car was left unattended for no more than two hours, but while I ate incredibly mid pasta for the price I was paying, completely unbeknownst to me, I was lucky enough to be selected.
A fine young upstart looking to make a name for themselves in the highly competitive Bippers Hall of Fame, found my car suitable for initiation.
They floated like a butterfly, and stung like a bee. They broke my window, left an empty can of orange soda in my car (generous) and increased an auto bodyshop’s business.
Me thanking the lord for the opportunity.
Some may see this individual as a degenerate. I see them as noble job creators that took the initiative to deflower my virgin window to stimulate economic growth on a local level. Bippers support small businesses in their own unique way oftentimes for little to nothing in return.
However, after my initiation in the Brotherhood, despite parking my car in prime membership territory for years (San Francisco, Oakland, Vallejo) I have been spared the pain of economic stimulus.
But like all memberships, they require renewal. And yesterday my car was fortunately found by a friendly neighborhood initiator of the East Bay chapter of the Brotherhood.
Not only did they bip my car, they attempted to upgrade my membership. I was just a lowly entry level member, but this man thought it was time to make me a lender (one of the highest honors in the Brotherhood)
But unfortunately, they were only able to process my renewal, my application as a certified lender was left half finished, as evidenced by the fact my fucking ignition was left lovingly hanging below my steering wheel for me to discover as I attempted to get my morning coffee.
To the initiator that found my vehicle sufficient for borrowing in the Brotherhood of the Bipped:
Thank you for selecting my Kia Soul for your unsuccessful crime spree.
Sincerely Abe,
A member of the Brotherhood.
