Man puts wife up for sale along with Harley:

[Blue_Tires]

Bob White, of Charles City, Virgina, posted an ad on craigslist reading: "Wife says: 'Harley goes or she goes'... Your choice. Both in excellent condition: $5,900."

Mr White says he will consider best offers under his target price and also trade-ins. He is also offering either a pick-up or delivery service.

His humourous ad reads: "Sportster: 2006 XL1200L Sportster in excellent condition. Wife: 1959 model year in excellent condition, considering.

"Sportster: Only 6,500 miles (less than 900 miles per year!). Wife: High Mileage.

"Sportster: Well maintained... and it shows - see the pictures. Wife: High maintenance - and it shows - see the pictures."

He goes on to describe the Harley as "great for beginners or seasoned riders alike" and a "beautiful bike, pearl white with black and orange accent strips".

While his wife, who he does not name, is described as "the expert's only model" and "beautiful edition, white with a mean streak".

And he concludes: "Sportster: Come out and test ride before you buy. Wife: Don't even go there."

http://web.orange.co.uk/article/quirkies/Man_invites_offers_for_wife_or_Harley_Davidson?WT.mc_id=ON_MEC_A_AffWin_Skimbit&WT.tsrc=Affiliate&awc=3515_1386357624_95921c886a46dee8bf3f0afc7a3a3ba4

http://gawker.com/wife-tells-hubby-to-choose-between-her-and-harley-hubb-1477955024/@neetzanz

I'll hazard a guess and say Bob White of Charles City is the DUer we call "underpants"

[BlueStreak]

1. Take my Harley, please

[HappyMe]

2. That's funny.

[loli phabay]

3. very imaginative advert. cant wait to read the wifes ad selling him

[HappyMe]

4. I saw one years ago where the wife was

selling off the guy's fishing stuff and he was included.

[Major Nikon]

5. I told my wife I would never sell her

I'd be happy if someone just took over payments.

[Brigid]

8. !!!!

[In_The_Wind]

6. I didn't know that underpants owned a Harley.

[jmowreader]

7. Kipling has something to say about such ultimata...

“You must choose between me and your cigar.” Breach of Promise Case, circa, 1885

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas—we fought o’er a good cheroot,
And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face.

Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There’s peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away—

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown—
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ the talk o’ the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old—
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar—

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket—
With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee’s passion—to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew—
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse!