>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
April 19, 2006
If you ride a bike around, I hate you.
This is strictly for those who live in the city and have to put up with this nonsense, but Christ, I’ve had it with people riding bikes around like they’re real vehicles. They’re not. Is there anything more obnoxious than driving down a busy street and getting stuck behind some cockrag on a goddamn Royce Union?
“You’re not a car!” I scream from the rooftops.
“Hey man, my bike is a 10-speed!”
Shut the fuck up.
In the interest of full disclosure, I used to ride a bike. Then I got a driver’s license. So the way I saw it, I was done with bikes. Now that I’m old enough to bang girls, I don’t continue to stick my penis in the dog. It’s all about progress.
“Suddenly we're opening the floodgates. If we let bikes on the roads, how about scooters? Pogo-sticks? Pogo-balls?”
How do I hate people who ride bikes around like it’s a car? Let me count the ways:
1. It makes you look like a douche.
Bikes are like minivans and fat chicks: there’s no possible way to look cool riding one. And for all you guys who ride bikes round, listen up…
Heterosexual males want to get laid by females, right? Okay, well I surveyed 100 women and asked them who they’d rather bang over a guy riding a bike. The answers might shock you, but women would rather bend over for rodeo clowns, Pedro’s midget friend, guys who start Lord of the Rings Facebook groups, Hideki Matsui, the fat gay guy from The Sopranos, and the guy who dances to the Venga Boys in those Six Flags commercials.
Now granted, I didn’t ask any girls anything so it’s hard to say how scientific my survey is. With that said, if you ride a bike, girls won’t bang you. Just trust me. To paraphrase George Costanza, I know less about women…than anyone in the world, but I know this.
2. Just drive a car.
Don’t give me that whole conserving gas argument. We’re not going to run out of gasoline. And global warming is just a conspiracy to take your minds off the unjust war we’re fighting (I read that somewhere). I realize bikes are cheaper and don’t use gas and give you good cardio, but you look like a douche. You can’t even pick up a girl on a bike. Where’s she going to sit? On the pegs? Why do you even have pegs, Dave Mirra? God you’re such a cocksmoker.
Seriously, if Brad Pitt was on a bike and Ugly Justin drove a car and we both tried picking up some broad, I guarantee she’d kick Brad Pitt to the curb and settle for a life of sexual dissatisfaction with me. That’s how gay bikes are.
3. The physics are all off.
How fast can you honestly ride a bike? 20 mph? 25 mph? Meanwhile, the average adult white male with a manhood problem drives 106 mph. You’re slowing traffic down! And in Boston, where I was once yelled at by a truck driver for crossing the street in a crosswalk with a red light and the WALK signal, that’s bad for business.
See, that’s how I look at it, if you’re vehicle is too slow to keep up with traffic, then you shouldn’t be on the road. And furthermore, where does it end? You know that argument people have against gay marriage that if we let gays marry, suddenly we’re opening the floodgates and we’re going to have to allow all sorts of incest and bestiality to be recognized? That’s how I feel about bikes. If we let bikes on the roads, how about scooters? Pogo-sticks? Pogo-balls? (You remember Pogo-balls, don’t front.)
4. Again, you’re not a car.
And if I want to cross the street, and real cars and trucks are nowhere in sight, I’m fucking crossing. You can’t stop me. If I see you, I’m not stopping. You should have to stop for me. And you may be thinking, “Gosh that’s awful ignorant of you, Justin,” and you think wrong. Why? Because why do you stop for cars? Easy, because cars can fucking kill you. A bike cannot. In fact, if Joe Schwinnfucker nailed me with his bike, he’d more likely be hurt than I. Think about it. At worst, I’ll be knocked over, mildly inconvenienced, probably drop my Snapple. You’re going to fly off a bike doing 20 mph. You’re probably going to over the handlebars. Probably into a pile of broken glass. I don’t care how many helmets or elbow pads you’ve got on; that’s going to hurt like a sonofabitch.
Yeah, I think I’ve got the right of way on this one.
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