29 September 2008

Your Bike Is Farts

In case you haven't noticed, I'm sick of music. This is a post about bikes.

New York has always had a history of bikes, because it's "healthier" and "more convenient" and there are fewer "mole people" than riding the subway. But keep this in mind: you are a gaggle of cocks if your bike looks like this:

Yes, I get it. Orange is as ironic as Jay Reatard sober. Thin tires are retro like The Strokes used to be before you all happened to spontaneously realize they were shitty, without listening to anyone else's opinion. But you know what I find not cool? I find it not cool when there are 27 of these fucking things parked on every block on Bedford until you hit the Hassidic neighborhood.

Ok, they don't all look like that. Because some of them look like this:

Curved handles? Check. One speed, suitable only for downhill travel? Uh huh. Obnoxious coloring? Yep. If any of your friends have heard of the brand, then try to sell it to someone from the East Village. That failing, leave it locked in front of the Charleston until somebody (probably one of your other friends) steals it while they're drunk/high.

If only to piss of the kind of people who are personally offended by a steak, I am planning on getting a real bike. And not just any motherfucking bike. A bad-ass, mountain-climbing, ass-fucking bike. The kind of bike that is made out of other weaker bikes. And unborn babies. I will call it "Cat Cancer 4000." Get this image in your head:

That's just a starter. You can start masturbating now. It all begins with an obnoxiously huge logo on the side of the chassy (which I will call the "mega chassy")--a brand name that everybody automatically associates with bikes. Schwinn, for instance. The bike will be pitch black from the dried blood of endangered species, with gigantic fucking yellow Schwinn logos all over it, even on the mountain-bike tires (tires feature treads that are at least seven inches deep and lined with razor blades).

And no fucking retro hard-to-ride bullshit. This baby'll have dual shocks. No, fuck that. Quad shocks. I'll have shocks in the places on my bike that don't need shocks. I'll even put shocks on parts of the bike that will hinder its performance. I'll put shocks on the kickstand and in the seat. There'll be shocks for the shocks.

And no fucking hipster one-speed. "Cat Cancer 4000" features 180 gears, one for each degree, so it can go up vertical inclines as well as ride upside down from ceilings and the bottoms of other bikes. It'll also have four wheels. And I'll build the whole thing out of sticks of dynamite. Not because I want it to explode, but so that I have that option available to me if I ever end up in a situation that requires a dynamite bike.

And did I mention I'll never ride it? That's right, Jerry. Instead of riding "Cat Cancer 4000," I'll buy a solid steel H2 and leave it running in front of an organic grocery store (or contemporary art museum (that means you, P.S.1)) non-stop until I am dead or totally broke, making it impossible to purchase more high-lead-content gasoline from the Taliban.

So how will I get around the city? I'll just shoot myself. Now that's a motherfucking bike.

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