In Kenosha, Wisconsin, there is a motorcycle dealer called Uke's Harley-Davidson.

My IMMEDIATE thought, thanks to Los Interwebs, was "The only way a uke is going to be touching the handlebars of a Harley is if he's gripping them while getting fucked up the ass by the bad boy seme who owns it, after being terrified/thrilled by a dangerous drive when he hitches a lift after his cute little moped breaks down."

I was hard pressed to come up with an explanation for my brother (who was driving) re: why I suddenly started chortling.