Time For A New Hobby

Written by Chevy Chinburn

Everyday people wake, and go about their routine. Teachers drive to school and teach, tradies build houses, bus drivers drive buses and fucking fuck-wits in fucking Lycra get up and ride their moronic stupid fucking obsolete transportation vehicles known as bicycles.

Now if you’re a 15 old kid on a BMX, you get a pass, but if you’ve got hair on your chin, drop the fucking lycra, grow up, go to the gym and start making annoying inspirational posts like the rest of the fitness freaks instead of ruining taxpayer’s mornings.

 

How does one engage in such half-witted behaviour, and not feel remorse? How can they still look their mothers in the eye, how can they bring children into this world knowing the inconvenience and ire they regularly cause productive and hard-working people? Like a group of cowardly gang rapists, they move in packs. They harness support from each other, using the common trait to normalise the loathsome hobby.

You can spot these imbeciles, by their disgusting varicose veins bulging out of their abnormally strained calf muscles, or their homo-erotic lycra dress sense that would be mercilessly mocked in any other environment. Nothing worse than spotting some muppet riding in the lane clearly designed for cars with their ass in the air, the androgynous booty bouncing up and down can trick even the straightest of men.

At the end of the day it’s just selfish, do they know what one of these is for?


Sometimes we have to let go of certain activities for the greater good. I used to like throwing fireworks off my balcony, but considering the legal and safety consequences of that, I stopped. Farmers used to like firing shotguns indiscriminately in the forest, Martin Bryant shot 35 people, so we came together and gave up our guns. It’s time to make a stand, during weekday mornings people are going to work, we have jobs to do, deadlines to meet, and things to produce. With population growth and congestion becoming all too normal, spastics on two wheels have just got to go. I’m sorry but continuing to impede the working man’s day is just plain selfish and pretentious. You’re not that important, get a treadmill, kick a footy, go for a run after work, join a book club if you need friends.

I don’t care that bikes can go as fast as cars or how long you’ve been doing it. Ordinary people have enough anxiety as it is, terrorism, recession, keeping your children safe. Life’s got enough hassles, time to fuck this one off. Have you considered the emotional trauma you’re risking inflicting on a fellow countrymen by doing that bizarre hand motion thing, to indicate you’re turning through a roundabout and some poor battler accidentally hits you? He has to live knowing he caused harm to a fellow human, although he can take solace in the fact that you probably deserved it, but you’re still risking the emotional wellbeing of another person all because you never learn how to surf, or ride roller skates.

Now will these animals heed my advice? I highly doubt it. Time to go to plan B.

NAME AND SHAME

  1. Abuse at all costs, don’t put yourself in danger but don’t take a lycra pests safety in to any consideration either. Push the window down and hurl everything you’ve got. If you’re in a hurry, a quick FAGGOT or spitting in their general direction will suffice.

 

  1. Ostracise them socially, if you know any relatives, friends or neighbours that engage in this folly, call them out, ignore them and isolate. Social leverage can be very effective.

 

  1. We need to attack the source, push the idea of registration on main roads heavily, maybe the financial incentive will see these toads disappear. Burn down a bike factory if you’re truly dedicated.

 

Enough’s enough, a line in the sand needs be drawn, war declared and history made. You’re either with us or you’re against us. Pick the right side of history. Hate on cyclists at every opportunity you get.

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