Archive for Cycling

Muti-tasking Or Being A Useless Twat?

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 17, 2008 by Buck Frain

Multi-tasking. What the fuck is the modern obsession with doing 50 million things at once? I don’t fucking get it! Yes, life is busy. Yes, the world is moving faster than it did before people had mobile phones, wi-fi internet or the wheel. But, seriously, are you saving time by doing a half-arsed job of a bunch of things? What the cunt are you doing?

 

 

It makes me sick. I’m a singular focus person. I like dedicating myself to a single thing and doing it properly before moving on to the next thing. I’m also a guy and doing more than one thing usually fucks me up. Women seem to be better at multi-tasking and good luck to them. I draw the line at walking while listening to music or watching telly while drinking beer, that’s the limit for me. Whatever! The thing that nauseates me, like a floating turd in my breakfast cereal, is the useless cunts who insist of multi-tasking at the expense of both tasks.

 

 

The attention-deficit FUCKHEADS who try to compose text messages while riding bicycles. These are truly useless people and I want to buy a big car just to run the fuckers over. No clue! No fucking clue where they’re going, what’s around them and I dread to even think about the spelling in their stupid messages. They cunt along at walking pace all over the road like they’re just screaming to the world: KILL ME NOW!!! Oh no, I better answer the message now or my pathetic social life will crumble. Ooh, no but I’d better not stop pedaling or time will stop and I’ll miss my vegan-sexual-philosophy tutorial. DIE!!!

 

 

DECIDE!!! Text OR ride! Not both! You’re not saving time. If you stop, type and send your message, then start riding again, you’ll be riding faster and you won’t give everyone around you the steaming shits by forcing the guilt of manslaughter on them, and the person who gets the message may even understand it. What the fuck is the point in fucking up both tasks? It fills me with boundless fury. They don’t deserve the oxygen they’re wasting on their atrophied brains. They should be legally designated outlets for public indignation and repressed rage. I want to snatch your stupid phone out of your hand and smash it on the road, and when you come back around to ask me in your neo-hippy-passive-aggressive way what my problem is, I want to swipe you off your bike with my cricket bat and smash your chinless body into a greasy paste in the bike lane!

 

 

Multi-tasking is bullshit, except when done by girls…sometimes, and only because they can make it work. Note the word can, they can make it work, and if they do – fine. Anyone who can’t should abstain from it and just learn to fucking well PRIORITISE!!!

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Eugenic Fantasies Inspired By Vocal Toolishness.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 22, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

Yobbos who yell things out of cars. They are the stupidest creatures on the planet. Aside from the fact that they have nothing to say to anyone ever because their brains have atrophied from a lack of education and an excess of pre-mixed bourbon and cola, they fail to realize that whatever they scream out of the window of their work-in-progress Holden Commodores is unintelligible to anyone other than themselves. The slurred speech of drunken fucktards is bad enough but when flying past at 80km/h it’s completely indecipherable. It might as well be shrieking baboons. In fact, if angry baboons were caning a Commodore up Royal Parade shrieking at cyclists you probably wouldn’t know the difference. I’m pretty sure they weren’t baboons.

 

I find cycling quite a focused experience. There are plenty of things to be watchful for, fuckwits opening car doors without looking, fuckwits changing lanes without looking, fuckwits in trucks, taxis, buses, old fuckwits in hats, fuckwits in Volvos, any fuckwit with a fish sticker anywhere on their car and all manner of other psychopaths. But despite the exhaust fumes and the constant threat of death, there is something free and solitary about cycling that I like. Plus, it keeps me away from the plethora of annoying cunts I might take to task for their various transgressions should I be locked in close quarters with them on public transport. Yes, cycling is wonderful…until some cockbrain screams in your ear as he and his fuckwit mates hoon past. Screaming…for free…just because they’re tools.

 

It had been a quiet ride, so the jolt of random, aggressive toolishness scared the absolute shit out of me, I swerved away from the sudden noise and realised this placed me on a collision course with a very nice parked BMW, still spooked, I think I must have over-corrected and braked at the same time. After that everything is crystalline: the front wheel locked and its tyre gripped the bitumen perfectly pitching the back wheel off the ground and me forward towards a muddy white lane marking on the oily black road. My hands came out in front of me by reflex and I thought for a fragment of a second I might be able to roll out of it. One of my shoe cleats, however, had not disengaged from the pedal so the bike pursued me and, as my body was slowed by its impact with the somewhat unforgiving tarmac, my bike found safe refuge by pounding itself into the yielding softness of MY BALLS!!! Fade to grey.

 

I lay tangled in my bike in a crumpled mess on the road. My face resting against the soothingly cool, filthy bitumen, my knees and hands hurting somewhere vaguely in the distance. I writhed half-heartedly in near silence for a while. The all-consuming grey fog of ball-pain gradually lifted and I kicked myself free of the bike, rolling over to inspect the damage. Torn jeans, minor grazing, some juicy bruises to look forward to – Ah, get fucked! The bike appeared fine so with effort I gathered myself up.

 

The last time I fell off my bike was 1989…hmm, that unique mixture of pain and humiliation never changes. My inner seven year-old wanted to cry but thankfully my inner nine year-old was there to call him a pansy so we all got ourselves on the bike and eased into the tight, uncomfortable ride home you get peddling with unskinned flesh.

 

I’ve always been averse to notions like eugenics but…maybe I’ve been too hasty. Fuck ’em! If we could isolate the gene for a propensity to be a complete fuckhole in a car, and compulsorily sterilise anyone with it, the fuckwits will never pass it on to anyone ever again – the world would be a much better place. Genius, and while we’re in the lab there’s a whole bunch of other fuckers out there who shouldn’t be breeding. Bring it on! We can lay waste to all the world’s fuckwits, sure it’ll take a good 100 years for the current crop to die out, but what a grand day it would be, a world without fuckwits…

 

I think I need to have a lie down. Must take the helmet off.

 

 

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