Monday, July 18, 2011

Buffoons on Bikes

There are two sports I detest. Soccer and bicycling. I suppose virtually anyone can climb on a bicycle or kick a ball. That doesn't take a high degree of skill. The moonbats might disagree. They love soccer and bicycling because it gives them something to do when they are not drinking wine or planning new laws to govern how the rest of us should live.

Today I shall talk about idiots on bikes.

Most of us learn how to ride bicycles when we are children. In the old days, parents taught their children to ride by holding onto the bike, running along side of us while holding the contraption upright, and then giving us a huge shove. Oftentimes this tactic resulted in the handlebars getting thrust violently to one side or the other and we would wind up crashing into a giant heap and gathering road debris with our asses. Moonbats would never allow such an episode now. I've seen their children on bikes with helmets, elbow and knee pads, training wheels and horns. If moonbat children fall over, there are therapists and injury lawyers made available to them.

Most of us managed to survive learning to ride a bicycle without a helmet. More people are killed each year as pedestrians than will ever be killed on bicycles. But good helmet marketing by corporate America, central planning, peer pressure and law devising by the moonbats will make you think that death is imminent should you leave a helmet at home. In fact, I gather nasty looks from moonbats all of the time. They are professionals.

Oftentimes, I ride my motorcycle without a helmet. My favorite thing while riding the big bike is spotting a moonbat family on bicycles, all wearing helmets. I wait for them to give me one of those "you are a dumb ass looks" and when that happens-  I like to glance back at them, roll my eyes, and shake my head. Sometimes I just forcefully exhale air and make some disgusting guttural noise - because I learned that in Libertarian charm school. I don't know about you....but...

When people tell me to do something, even discreetly or by visual cues, very often I buy twenty bucks worth of kiss my ass.

Each weekend, in Woodside, Ca., hundreds of grown men men dress up in their Lance Armstrong suits. Yellow, red, and blue nylon suits. Italian names and logos emblazoned everywhere. Helmets that look like alien heads. They look like dorks. The first time I saw this I thought it was Halloween. Up and down La Canada Road they would ride. Skinny men. Old men. Women. It is like some sort of bay area fashion show. Fortunately, in Idaho that adult idiocy hasn't caught on yet. The other day I did spot one of those buffoons at a coffee shop walking around is his suit with the funny bicycle shoes. Imagine my shock when he told the gal at the counter he was from San Jose.

That reminds me. I have to call Governor Otter and make sure we are locking the gates at night. I think a few left coast nutters on bikes are sneaking in. Maybe we could get one of those checkpoints like California has. To hell with fruit and vegetable questions. We will ask people probing questions. Turn them back if they sound like moonbats or have bicycle racks. Or if their car has one of those co-exist bumper stickers on it. We will just impound it and ship it back to Vallejo.

Thankfully, unlike Seattle, you can still ride a bicycle without a helmet in Boise. The statists are not in control here. Personally, I simply can't ride a bike anymore. Too many negative connotations attach. I have that picture of Obama on his bike with that alien geek helmet sticking up on his noggin as he rode around Martha's Vinyard this spring. That cinched it for me. My bicycling days are over.

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