Just your average morning bike commute. Helmet, Check. Garage door closed, Check. Fat lady in a minivan yelling at me obey traffic laws, Check. Me responding by telling her to shut her pie hole, Check. Getting the fuck you finger before 7 am, Check and priceless.
Here’s the thing, I was wrong. I scooted around you a few mornings ago, and I did it again today. I like to run the light there at Pacific and Rockefeller because when I do, I have a better chance of riding the length of Pacific Ave. without having to stop at every stinking, west-bound traffic control light. It’s the golden ride when the morning commute is stop free. Mmmm, the golden ride. So, minivan-driving-fatty, get used to me buzzing by your crappy van, which probably represents your crappy life, because I’m not going to stop chasing the golden ride because of your sour puss flipping me off in the morning.
May I make a suggestion? Why not park your van a few blocks away, for free, and waddle that fat ass of yours into work a few times a week? And hey, if it suits you, maybe you can j-walk just to piss off those suckers trapped at the light in their gas guzzling automobiles. It’ll be fun, and I promises, I won’t tell on you.
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