It never fails. Sunny evening. The occasional, yet miraculous night off from work. Strollin’ down the street. Telling a friend one of my stories. Aiming to inspire hilarity all around— when my voice gets dropped like I’m an actor in a Cingular commercial.
If you were wondering what else I hate, then allow me to quiet your little curious head. Motor-fucking-Cycles. It’s not even the actual bike I can't stand. If you choose a bike over a car, that’s your decision. It’s the “everybody look at me” battle cry from the head pounding motor sound, which totally disrespects everyone around them and the conversations they may be having. Your motorcycle is the equivalent to the guy who blasts a boom box on his shoulder, while the rest of us carry iPods. And just like the boom boxer in the mall who thinks everyone’s gotta know he’s listening to Master P, bikers are obviously under the delusion that motorcycles are fucking cool. Sorry, faggot. You’re wrong.
Did any of you stop to think that when you’re riding a motorcycle you’re just riding this:
with a motor on it?
Would this be any more cool with a motor on it?
How bout this?
And unless you’re Lance Armstrong (sans yellow bracelet) there’s nothing that says “super douche” louder than rolling up to a night-spot on a beach cruiser.
none of these people are cool
Not to say there’s anything wrong with riding a bicycle. Hell, if I was skilled enough to tackle the NYC streets with one, I would. I’m not cool. Never claimed to be. But with their deafening “look at me” motor revving, these guys think they’re born to be wild. Bad to the bone. Never realizing that once your anthem gets used in a fucking Pet Smart commercial (or any of the many others) it ceases being cool.
Furthermore, when you ride a bike, you’ve gotta wear one of these:
I understand helmet usage is necessary and applaud those who choose to be responsible. But why use all the noise to draw attention to yourself and your sartorial senselessness? This makes you look like some kind of fucking Cyborg alien Star Trek reject. Sup, Klingon? Have fun at your next convention, douche.
Not to mention, if you’re riding one of these, you’re also probably riding one of these:
Try putting a motor on her. See if that improves her chances for landing the cover of Cosmo.
Hey. Everyone’s entitled to their own thing. If Puff Daddy wants to rap all day at home in his PJs, then fine by me. But when he sets up stage under my window and starts performing, then we got problems. So when your bike feels the need to announce itself all over my conversation, as if I need to drop everything I’m doing just to look at you, that’s when you get an “I hate you” post on my blog.
(“Oooooo.” Yeah, I know. Shut up.)