This Takes The Shit Cake
NOT the Ferrous. The Ferrous is great, it's a god damn gorgeous bike. I built it up today, and it is frickin' awesome, I can't wait to race the thing this Sunday. Weighs 22.5Lbs. all rigid with it's wee tires. It's definitely a whole lot steeper and quicker in the front end than the Rig, totally different animal, but one I think I can tame. Grrr!
The shit cake...this morning I'm riding into work (yes, on my bike) down Cameron Ave. in Cambridge, I'm going over 30MPH, I'm behind a car, a guy in a really cool vintage Saturn, revs past me and cuts me off to get in-between me and the other car going slightly over the speed limit. As traffic slows coming up to the light I return the favor, not coming as dangerously close as he did because I might actually die if he didn't slow down like I did when he cut me off.
I pull to the left of right turning traffic and continue across Mass Ave intending to take a left turn on Cedar. Here the douche comes careening past me, weaving from side to side in a most threatening manner. It's a one way, so again I am to the left of right turning cars. He darts left and closes the gap between me and the curb, stopping me from taking the left turn, he's yelling stuff, but it's unintelligible at this point.
He then accelerates away only to turn almost immediately into a parking lot on the left side of Cedar St.. There is something about me being on a bike that somehow makes me tougher than I really am which is none...none tough. I follow him into the lot where he (and I am absolutely not being at all hyperbolic here) begins to basically do donuts around me screaming (still not getting a word) smoking the tires of his mean machine. Of course I'm going all Tourette's on him, questioning whether he possesses male reproductive equipment, suggesting that he may be the recipient of a recessive gene which is linked to androgenic alopecia, I think "Douche Bag" was possibly thrown in there a few times as well for good measure.
Ok, here's the part of the interaction with this gentleman which takes the "Shit Cake". He comes out of one of his front wheel drive donuts and is going right for me...uh-oh, I may have misjudged this situation I think to myself, but he pulls right up to me, not quite stopping and holds something out the window at me. It's a can of Mace or Pepper Spray. He sprays it...from the window of a moving car...wow. Needless to say, the stuff never makes it to me, not even close.
He charges across the parking lot and parks. Yes, parks his car. This was his place of work he had lead me to. Genius.
A grown man with a mustache who feels the need to carry a can of Mace, who is terrified enough of a another man with the physique of Twiggy that he feels the need to brandish said product (albeit in an entirely ill-advised manner) which is generally marketed toward gunless rent-a-cops and women who traverse dark parks or college campuses late at night. That is a rare breed of man.
As he stood across the lot rubbing his eyes, I yelled "You maced yourself? Oh my god! You are an Asshole AND an idiot!".
The shit cake...this morning I'm riding into work (yes, on my bike) down Cameron Ave. in Cambridge, I'm going over 30MPH, I'm behind a car, a guy in a really cool vintage Saturn, revs past me and cuts me off to get in-between me and the other car going slightly over the speed limit. As traffic slows coming up to the light I return the favor, not coming as dangerously close as he did because I might actually die if he didn't slow down like I did when he cut me off.
I pull to the left of right turning traffic and continue across Mass Ave intending to take a left turn on Cedar. Here the douche comes careening past me, weaving from side to side in a most threatening manner. It's a one way, so again I am to the left of right turning cars. He darts left and closes the gap between me and the curb, stopping me from taking the left turn, he's yelling stuff, but it's unintelligible at this point.
He then accelerates away only to turn almost immediately into a parking lot on the left side of Cedar St.. There is something about me being on a bike that somehow makes me tougher than I really am which is none...none tough. I follow him into the lot where he (and I am absolutely not being at all hyperbolic here) begins to basically do donuts around me screaming (still not getting a word) smoking the tires of his mean machine. Of course I'm going all Tourette's on him, questioning whether he possesses male reproductive equipment, suggesting that he may be the recipient of a recessive gene which is linked to androgenic alopecia, I think "Douche Bag" was possibly thrown in there a few times as well for good measure.
Ok, here's the part of the interaction with this gentleman which takes the "Shit Cake". He comes out of one of his front wheel drive donuts and is going right for me...uh-oh, I may have misjudged this situation I think to myself, but he pulls right up to me, not quite stopping and holds something out the window at me. It's a can of Mace or Pepper Spray. He sprays it...from the window of a moving car...wow. Needless to say, the stuff never makes it to me, not even close.
He charges across the parking lot and parks. Yes, parks his car. This was his place of work he had lead me to. Genius.
A grown man with a mustache who feels the need to carry a can of Mace, who is terrified enough of a another man with the physique of Twiggy that he feels the need to brandish said product (albeit in an entirely ill-advised manner) which is generally marketed toward gunless rent-a-cops and women who traverse dark parks or college campuses late at night. That is a rare breed of man.
As he stood across the lot rubbing his eyes, I yelled "You maced yourself? Oh my god! You are an Asshole AND an idiot!".
I'd like to name my new ride. I have two potential names "Dunderchee" and "Thunder-Catcher" .
I'll explain. When I was a child I heard the song "Dirty Deeds" by AC/DC. I misheard the lyrics "Done Dirt Cheap" as "Dunderchee". I thought there was a horrible creature called The Dunderchee which performed "Dirty Deeds". "Dirty Deeds and The Dunderchee". That makes sense...see.
Thunder-Catcher. In the Philip Roth Novel "Sabbath's Theater" (I don't have the book in front of me so this may not be 100% accurate, but the idea's there) Mickey and Drenka are in a house weathering a Thunderstorm. Drenka says she hopes there's a "Thunder Catcher" on the house (of course meaning a lightning rod, kind of a lost in translation thing). Mickey replies that he's "The Thunder-Catcher on this house". I was always thought "Thunder-Catcher would be a bad-ass name for a Metal band...or a bike.
Decisions.
5 comments:
right on...it is looking good.
Dunderchee!
What the hell is "androgenic alopecia??"
"Thunder catcher?!?!" NO WAY. In my world and "thunder catcher" is a diaper.
Dunderchee for me. It works. You did get it kinda dirt cheep. Well cheaper than the suckas that don't pull a wrench.
The fact that some guy attempted to Mace you is crazy. "That's assault brutha." You should have called the po-po and had him incarcerated. Mexicans with machetes, now this? I'm guessing you'll be getting a gat in the face the next time someone goes road roidal on you. Stay low.
frickin laugh out loud funny. stupid douche.
I agree with adrian, dunderchee sounds best. Imagine crossing the finish line to a race and screaming "dunderchee!" If you yelled "thunder catcher" they might just think you were coming out of the closet...
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