So the New York City bike share system hasn't even launched yet and already the stations are being vandalized--not by aspiring young gangsters, but by yuppie gentrifiers:
Their objection is that the Citibank advertisement on the kiosk is not in keeping with their historic landmarked streets, an objection they raised last year despite the fact that they're more than happy to park their anachronistic Subarus and Volvos all over the fucking place. Well, not having gotten their way, they've simply resorted to vandalism like the petulant children they are. This is a shrewd move, because now instead of looking anachronistic the stations look just plain shitty.
This sort of behavior is typical of the New Brooklyn Douchery. If they're so hell-bent on maintaining the illusion that they live in an earlier, quainter century then they should move to an actual small town and join the Amish. Or, if they really don't want to leave their beloved Brooklyn, they can join their neighbors the Hasidim. Now they know how to keep bikes out of their neighborhoods, along with pretty much everything else.
But no, the real problem here is that when these people go out for an expensive dinner at a quasi-rustic restaurant that opened six months ago and then walk back to their $3 million brownstones they don't want anything interfering with their charming gas-lamps-and-wainscoting fantasy--apart from the brand-new Outback parked out front, and the soft glow of real estate porn from their iPads. I mean, come on, everybody knows they didn't have banks in the 19th century.
Maybe the DOT should accomodate them by giving them their own period-correct bike share system, complete with pennyfarthings and advertisements for snake oils and brain tonics. They could be staffed by an old-timey barker who keeps them awake long into the night. "Velocipede share! Get your velocipede share, here! Step right up, folks!" Finally, the DOT would complete the illusion by sending a horse manure spreader down the street every couple of days.
Maybe that would shut them up.
Anyway, moving on, they may call Florida "America's Wang," but as far as I'm concerned Washington, DC's got our wang right here:
(The flags are the pubes.)
Note the scaffolding, which gives it kind of a "doggie boner" vibe.
Yes, the reason I was able to take a crooked picture of the Warshington Monument is that I was in Warshington, DC this past weekend flogging my new book, "Bike Snob Arboad." I rode all the way there, too. All the way from Maryland, that is:
Well, all the way from a part of Maryland that was about four feet from Washington, DC.
Once in DC, I followed my number one rule of riding in city traffic, which is "Never get in an argument with anyone who's a jiu-jitsu instructor:"
One minute you're shouting, "Get outta the bike lane!," and the next minute, "estrangulamiento:"
Is it me, or does this form of fighting seem oddly consensual?
Anyway, the driver of the jiu-jitsu mobile was driving perfectly responsibly, but I was careful to keep away nevertheless.
[By the way, just in case you are ever attacked by a jiu-jitsu instructor, the best defense is to slip away while he's slowly disrobing and coating himself with body oil.]
Speaking of molestation, next I saw a couple of Mormon thugs trying to convert a neighborhood youth:
I suspect that either the victim incapacitated them with some jiu-jitsu moves, or else the missionaries went back to their room and simply did some jiu-jitsu with each other.
Then, I was brutally "shoaled:"
"If only a comic book superhero would come to my rescue!," I cried--and then, incredibly, my wish was granted:
"I'll be right with you as soon as I'm finished urinating," said the Silver Surfer, after which he, the Incredible Hulk, and the Intergalactic Sex Nurse incapacitated the shoalers with some jiu-jitsu "estrangulamiento."
Leaving everybody to groan and writhe the night away in the street, I finally arrived at BicycleSPACE, in front of which was parked this old-timey truck, which I like to think belonged to the evening's musical entertainment, the Sligo Creep Stompers:
In today's Brooklyn people will pay you good money just to park a vehicle like that in front of their brownstones.
Inside, BicycleSPACE was full to bursting with finery from Brooks:
As well as this BikeSnobNYC merchandising Diorama of Douche:
Though the rabble were still waiting outside:
Occasionally, I'd poke my head outside and mock them:
By the way, I actually own this jacket, and I'm extremely fond of it:
Though it wasn't until I saw it on a dress form that I realized it must make me look like a Popinjay Paratrooper being air-dropped into the Republic of Fopistan.
Turning to the wall, I stood mesmerized by the British leather goods:
And then, fortifying myself with free Hedrick's gin punch, turned again to mingle with the Washington, DC power brokers:
Yes, every single person in this picture is a lobbyist for the gun industry:
After high-fiving the lobbyists for their successful congressional cockblocking I excused myself:
And then adjourned to the theater area:
Where I prepared to bore the tweed pants off a group of people drunk on gin and "roots music" with my multimedia presentation:
Sure, it's no IMAX movie, but I think I did pretty well with a production budget of only $35,000:
One day I'd like to do it in 3D, because some of the images would really "pop" that way:
Soon, I Unleashed the Boredom:
After which people looked at me disgustedly:
In fact, they told me exactly where I could stick my presentation, and so the next day I took them literally by going on a voyage to Uranus:
Nevertheless, many thanks to all who attended, and to BicycleSPACE and Brooks for letting me be part of it.