Sigh. I like my bike. It doesn't have a clock. Or warning ding dongs (keep it clean). Or a mobile telephone. Or air conditioning. Although, it would be nice to have air conditioning. And windows to let the breeze in. And a roof. And more comy seats, shaped like chairs instead of saddles. Big lazy armchairs. And a radio. So I could listen to talkback and wonder how society survives with such a poor gene pool. And more wheels, so I wouldn't have to put my feet down.
If your auntie had balls, she'd be your uncle.
I'm on the side of the right and the good here - I like my bike without the bells and whistles. I check the gas and watch the mileage. I know what gear I'm in due to urgency of the frenetic thrashing betwixt my legs, and I know if I have to go down more gears because if I don't, the yoke doesn't magicially lift as I rotate the rotary propulsion modulated on the right grip.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
Bookmarks