Death Peddle
Ok I have to say this - and this isn't in direct correlation to anything - but I have to openly admit my hatred for middle-aged men and young women who cycle.
First off - anyone who openly competes in athletics in a sport which takes 0 athletic ability bother me. This includes morons that lift weights, run, swim, anything that takes time over skill. Second off - watching old men and young women participate together in a a sport (fuck that a - - - umm - - - hobby) makes me puke. And that's what cycling is people. Don't let the Michelob Ultra adds fool you - - it's 40 year old professional men buying 1000$ Cannondales for gold digging 25 year olds.
I was walking to work today and noticed a bike rally. Sorry, I should say a fucking cycling rally, a cycling club, a fucking cycling get together. Whatever the fuck it's called. It looked like a Smith Barney commercial. AHHH!
It was a sea of bald, dumpy, men in spandex padded pants with sunglasses on. They had their little clip-in shoes and their fuckin grandpa beards or slicked back hair underneath their protective pointless aerodynamically shaped helmet.
Captain Awesome!It was a sea of young women with their over developed brains wanting to ride behind sugar daddy while he climbed the arduous "hill"/"Mountain"/ fucking street that is Charles street. "Go Bob! You are really feeling the burn!" They'll say as he hits the intimidation that is North Avenue. They have their little padded ass pants on with the US postal service uniform and fucking live strong bands and breast cancer ribbons and support our troops earring and give money to Bill Swaggert pins on their tits. AHHH!
Look at meeee! I'm cycling daddy - I mean boyfriend. If I was riding up a fucking street I have no need for this kind of gear. It's overcast today and these people have on sunglasses. Oh how I loathe them. I LOATHE THEM more than anything. It's the stench of them that gets to me. It's their flamboyant and flippant aristocracy that gets thrown in my face by saying "Hey it's 8:30! I have a US Postal jersey on, just like lance, and I don't have to be at work. I closed down my dental practice for the day and decided to ride my little bike and wear a t-shirt that says 'One less car'"
Oh how I loathe you. How I want to put a hockey stick in the spokes of your tire and watch your old decrepit ass fly over the handle bars only to be greeted by the boot of my heel coming down to realign your jaw and that scruffy old man beard.
Loathe you - I loooooaaathe all of you.I've got a new hand single that you peddlers of pestilent life can give each other. You take your whole hand and move it in a thrusting motion when you are going down a hill. You do this to emulate the fisting job you are performing on your soul's vagina.
401K's!!!You smell of awfulness. You reek of everything that I hate about getting old and losing my innocence.
I battle your shambled sacks of death on a daily basis. Other people want you. They want to be you. They want to ride their little bikes and throw a finger to the world. They want to be 55 and fuck 25 year olds. I on the other hand want to buy a semi-automatic weapon and go to those parks where you fucks mountain bike on the weekends and I want to shoot up your entire parking lot of SUV's with your green peace stickers and support our troop magnets. You are fucking hypocrites. You sick fucking people. You are the reason behind my snarl. You are the pointless. I hope they bury you with that stupid fucking bike. Sorry, that stupid fucking cycle.
So remember when you pick up that Mr. Thirsty on Monday, or that scalpel, or that law book, or maybe even sit down to type at a computer, that there are people out here in the world who hate you. And I'm not bitter about my life. I love me. I hate you. You are my opposite but with a sickly glow. They have a sick pedophile glow. You are the liberals that fight your battles with flaccid penises. You are death to me. If you want to know why I detest them so much, it's because I associate them with death. I associate them with wretched disgusting death. The same characteristic they would no doubt give to me.
