Biker ASSessment

I have a problem.
You have a problem.
WE have a problem.
If one more motherfucking hipster ass too cool for school my bike costs more than your parents mortgage payment douche fuck comes close to running me over again I will and this is my solemn web oath.


Here’s the thing. You are on a bike. Not a car, not a van, not a god damn armored vehicle. Therefore I am an equal threat to you Speedy. And if I decide to push your ass you will go flying and suffer a much worse fate than I. Understand?

Last time I checked a red light means stop. Let me make it easy. Red. No. Green. Go. So regardless of what delivery you are rushing to drop off your ass needs to hit your brakes.
Sidewalks are for walking. Sometimes sleeping. Dog poop. You know the New York norm. They are not for your bike riding ass.

A little story: Nina had just gotten a tattoo. It was fresh, covered in A&D. I was chillin, you know walking. As one does on a sidewalk. When bam. Thought I’d been shot. O no, just rammed into by a fucking biker. Whose brake cut into my arm. Cut. As in drew blood. Now if mad is what I get when strangers touch my tattoos, livid/murderous is what I become when someone fucking cuts one. But before I could impale, dude rode away. Just like that.
And than I started crying.
True. Story.

Seriously? Get your ass in the street with the other “vehicles” and fuck off.
This holier than thou elitist attitude that has been acquired by Brooklyn bikers is just gross.
I get that in Brooklyn you can be a pretentious son of a bitch who only drinks fair trade coffee with an opinion about everything and a stick up your ass and have a nasty beard or ironic mustache and you’ll still get you dick sucked by some art school grad who thinks your douchary is damn sexy and that your moonshine is the best in the entire loft community. But guess what. You are not cool in my book. You are not interesting purely based on the fact that you have mastered something that most suburban children have by the age of 7.

I’ve seen bikers cut off kids, old people, team mascots, Obama, Elmo, refugees, you know EVERYONE. Its not safe brah. You are a hazard to cars. To people. And to my infuriated self. I get that for the longest NYC was not assisting bikers in bike safe lanes but now that you have that right stop fucking abusing it. Drivers in New York already don’t give a fuck. One little bump to your 500 dollar tire and you will be sent flying into the abyss. You are young, but you are for sure not invincible.

Now let me lay off the hipster for a second because there is a whole nother kind of crazy on a bike. The bike gangsta.
Big black guy.
Looks like he just got out of jail.
Barking through every pedestrian walkway. I know you’ve seen one. And I know you’ve peed your pants. They do have the one up. Because I would never. Ever. Even for a millisecond think to push, yell, fuck even poke one of these guys. You would get cut. They would continue their delivery. Da end.

Ugh and than there’s Miss Holly Golightly herself. Girls who think biking is cute. They ride in heels, ballet flats, sandals basically any shoe that any sane person would never ride a bike wearing. Said person also more than likely has a basket on the front or back of her bike, which permanently holds a flower and is filled with a rotation of farmers market produce. Now I would take no offense to a cute girl on a bike except these girls seem to have nothing going on between their ears except for the wind that their eco bike is creating around them. This la de da I was a fairy in my past life attitude simply doesn’t fly in NYC road thought. You can always go back to Oz though. Oh and uhm, call me.

Let us not forget the angry dykes…who I’m not going to talk about… Because I’m shunned enough every time I go to Metropolitan.

I’m over dealing with this douche bag nation on two wheels. I hear bikers toss around the word respect a lot.
Really cous? Respect. This.


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