Grumpy Bastard on Cycling

This week, I have begun to cycle more. I’m a big fan of cycling because one of my favourite people in the whole of the UK is a large advocate of it. Yes, he might break ranks in the Tory cabinet and tell outright lies, but at least his hair looks fantastic perched on top of his head, like immaculate thatch on a traditional British cottage. I could almost write dedicated love poetry for Bo Jo, but I’d certainly feel like I was cheating on the King of the Tories, or as he would prefer it, Rex Cuntz. Rees-Mogg and his charmingly elitist outlook is what gets me out of bed in the morning – if only to realise that my parents aren’t wealthy enough for me to ever get a better bed or indeed even aspire to a better bed. However, it is not for me to question the wisdom of the class system, as it did spawn the greatest Empire that humanity has ever witnessed, on which the Sun Never Set and the Screaming Never Stopped. It definitely had a net positive effect on humanity in general, unless of course you count the poor bastards that were busy being exploited/murdered/enslaved for the good of the mother country, and, somehow, they are conveniently easy to ignore. It is also critical to remember that inequality is only real when we talk about it: the less it’s mentioned, the more likely it is that the dumb fuckers that make up the modern-day peasantry will continue rutting in the dirt without a care in the world. Best to keep it on the low down, otherwise they might do something about it and that would be disastrous. No one wants another 1917.

Anyway, to return from my eulogy to those greatest of men and woman that make up our ruling aristocracy, I have started cycling more, and I have only one observation to report. The bane of cyclists is not left turning buses or pedestrians that fail to hear you approaching and simply step out into the middle of the road with all the care of a Samurai charging Gatling guns. It is instead people that drive very large cars. For some reason, probably a superiority complex, these people drive these vessels without paying attention to their surroundings, and when their surroundings rudely intrude on their serene progress throughout the cramped streets of London, their sole response is to gesticulate violently, before headbutting the horn and volubly exclaiming, “get off the road, you wanker.” My reasoning for this response is that they are not used to having to interact with poor people such as myself except when my person is being crushed between their Land Rover with four-wheel drive and some railings. I am almost convinced that the only reason that they fail to go through with crushing me to death is that they don’t want to have to clean the blood off their car. As a defence mechanism, it’s not much, but it certainly beats being forced to become some sort of human mashed potato. In fact, it’s almost like that lizard that squirts blood out of their eyes to confuse their enemy. That is my final defence mechanism: stay away or I’ll bleed on you.

Therefore, I’d like to offer some upgrades that could make this defence mechanism completely obsolete. As far as I’m aware, there are not very many options, as the whole idea is to minimise the risk of mess. My first idea is to attach heated Boadicea blades that would instantaneously cauterise the wound. Yes, it would make the car a little wider, but I don’t think that has ever been a consideration that has put you off before. Secondly, similarly to the red flag men that walked in front of the car, you could utilise some plebs of your own to run alongside and beat any unwanted cyclists to death. Minimise the mess to yourself and further the cause of the class system by setting the Third Estate against one another. What’s not to like?

This article may not really be about cycling. Ha ha got you.