Bicycles fucking suck.
Today's just like every damn day of my life - organic, eat, class, organic, eat, ect. - and just as sure as my day is boring as hell, every day at some point I nearly get Christopher Reeve'd by a 10-speed spawn of hell. It has GOT to stop.
Before I go any further; yeah, I know who rides a bike. She's exempt, okay? She's always exempt - it's about the only side benefit she gets from suffering me. Poor girl deserves to ride something...
You biking bastards are so clever, aren't you? Trying to dart back and forth between people nonchalantly, feeling the wind in your hair (god damn all of that extra hair, gimme), feeling the hard plastic seat on your groin or whatever is motivating you to come inches away from apathetically incapacitating anyone unfortuate enough to be caught in your path. Save your Lance Armstrong circlejerk fantasies for Road Rash; don't take it out on us.
As a sign of infinite mercy, I have outlined to you all how to best resolve this issue.
1) Resurrect 1920s bicycles
Yeeeeah, remember those huge bastards? training wheel in the back, fuckin' table for a front wheel? These bikes would provide me with much amusement, watching people
mountain climbing to the top of these things
2) cards in the spokes
It wouldn't be so bad if you were'nt so quiet when you bum rushed me. Optional bell ring or silly horn. Oh, and not baseball cards - fuckin' Hallmark, I want to hear
your ass from a mile away
3) Unicycle
they're just funny. And I can kick you over easier.
4) Hunting permit
Yeah, I said it. Like the duck shooting gallery at the carnival, only this time with accomplishment
So can you tell someone ran over my foot today?
Before I go any further; yeah, I know who rides a bike. She's exempt, okay? She's always exempt - it's about the only side benefit she gets from suffering me. Poor girl deserves to ride something...
You biking bastards are so clever, aren't you? Trying to dart back and forth between people nonchalantly, feeling the wind in your hair (god damn all of that extra hair, gimme), feeling the hard plastic seat on your groin or whatever is motivating you to come inches away from apathetically incapacitating anyone unfortuate enough to be caught in your path. Save your Lance Armstrong circlejerk fantasies for Road Rash; don't take it out on us.
As a sign of infinite mercy, I have outlined to you all how to best resolve this issue.
1) Resurrect 1920s bicycles
Yeeeeah, remember those huge bastards? training wheel in the back, fuckin' table for a front wheel? These bikes would provide me with much amusement, watching people
mountain climbing to the top of these things
2) cards in the spokes
It wouldn't be so bad if you were'nt so quiet when you bum rushed me. Optional bell ring or silly horn. Oh, and not baseball cards - fuckin' Hallmark, I want to hear
your ass from a mile away
3) Unicycle
they're just funny. And I can kick you over easier.
4) Hunting permit
Yeah, I said it. Like the duck shooting gallery at the carnival, only this time with accomplishment
So can you tell someone ran over my foot today?