Are You The Keymaster? Because I'm The Gatekeeper.

First of all, I'd like to congratulate the scumbags at the Daily News for the most disgustingly offensive and profoundly fuck-tardedest bike share reference to date:

The victim was not believed to be riding a bike from the city’s long-awaited Citi Bike program, unveiled Monday.

Oh, also, this:

Critics have warned that cyclists will be injured because helmets are not required in the program. It is unclear if the senior killed Monday was wearing protective gear.

In case you're not familiar with Brooklyn, Bensonhurst is nowhere near anyplace with a bike share station, thus the chances of finding a 74 year-old (or really anyone for that matter) riding a Citi Bike in that neighborhood are virtually nil, but why let that stop you from passive-agressive victim-blaming and micturating on someone's grave to promote your moronic agenda?

By the way, the person who wrote the article tweets at @bpaddockNYC, where he apparently solicits quotes from people whose friends and loved ones have just died, and not for nothing but his phone number is all over the place.

Now you have some "digits" to scrawl on a cocktail napkin the next time some sleazebag hits on you in a bar.

Actually, the saddest part of all of this is that this guy isn't even disgracing dead people for huge sums of "fuck you" money.  He's just doing it for the pittance they must pay at the Daily News.  He's morally deficient and broke.  Ironically, this scumbag "journalist" would be living a far better lifestyle in Portland riding around on a bike, making espressos for a living, and satisfying his journalistic fantasies by interning at BikePortland in his spare time.  That life seems a lot better to me than waking up in a shitty apartment and sending out tweets like, "Sorry your grampa died, please call me," but then again I have this thing called a "soul."

Speaking of sleazebags, yesterday saw the official debut of the Citi Bike program, and even though I was a founding member with a number in the low-300s (equivalent to like a second-row start in a cyclocross race), my key did not arrive with last Friday's mail, prompting me to post about the irony of Anthony "“When I become mayor, you know what I’m going to spend my first year doing? I’m going to have a bunch of ribbon-cuttings tearing out your fucking bike lanes" Weiner receiving one before I did:

By the way, in true sleazebag fashion, Anthony Weiner is now suddenly pandering to the bike demographic:

Gonna take @citibikenyc to my first debate today.@howiewolf impressed? #AnyoneGotAHelmetICanBorrow?
— Anthony Weiner (@anthonyweiner) May 28, 2013

I hope his shallow attempt at pandering actually transforms him into a genuine bike lane advocate, and I also hope someone from Citi Bike disinfects that seat.

Anyway, I can only assume someone at Citi Bike heard my kvetching, because that evening I received a call from a courier informing me that he was going to be hand-delivering my key the following day.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't really need the key before Monday since I had no plans to be downtown that day, and that I was really only bothered by the idea that I didn't have my key, so instead I let him ride his scooter all the way up to where I live (which is still in New York City, but just barely) in the rain.

Hey, he's a courier, they live for that stuff.*

*[On the off-chance someone from Citi Bike is reading this, I'd like you to know your courier was highly professional and diligent, and I'd also like to thank you for getting me the key.  I think your name is "Danni" but I may be reading the note wrong.]

Unfortunately, not everyone is a highly influential semi-professional bike blogger, and that includes my wife, who also didn't receive her key.  So what were these people supposed to do if they wanted their keys by Monday?  Pick them up their damn selves, that's what:

So yesterday, my wife, one of my seventeen children (my favorite one, the other 16 are a bunch of assholes) and I boarded a subway train and headed downtown to get her key.

(I should point out she didn't really need her key on Monday either, it was just a good excuse to go downtown, and the fact that we ended up doing so only made the poor courier's journey twice as moot.)

At the risk of blowing my massive "street cred," I should point out that the years have been kind to me.  I've come a long way from my humble origins, and I've grown increasingly soft as I enter middle age.  Whereas I grew up in a relatively affluent community adjacent to the city line, I now reside in a different relatively affluent community adjacent to the city line.  Therefore, I was shocked when I emerged from the subway in Union Square and encountered this assortment of "street toughs:"

This is a common sight in Manhattan shortly after the end of the spring semesters at Bard and Sarah Lawrence.  You'll notice that this is an ideal spot for soliciting donations from people getting on and off the subway and then going across the street to spend those donations at Whole Foods.  You may also notice that the guy with the pointy hair is wearing Nikes, which I really hope he found in the trash:

Back in my day, if you had pointy hair you were supposed to eschew products from giant mega-corporations--though I suppose the one with the Pepsi gets a pass, if only because Pepsi is part of punk rock history:

Incidentally, I harnessed the power of the Internet to see if PepsiCo was guilty of any human rights violations (besides owning Pizza Hut, which arguably qualifies), and I found this on a popular user-edited e-encyclopedia:

Criticism

PepsiCo has drawn criticism for collaborating with biotech companies that use technology originally derived from human fetuses in order to develop new food products.

I have no idea what that means, but just for the record I'm staunchly against forcing fetuses to take the "Pepsi Challenge."

Fortunately I succeeded in running the gauntlet of voluntary street urchins without either being solicited for donations or called a fascist breeder and made it to the Citi Bike tent:

Where at least one person was clearly so fucking psyched that he was packing a helmet and wearing his fastest "speed sweatpants:"

Meanwhile, my son Wildcat Rock Machine VIII was getting antsy, so while my wife waited for her key I took him over to the playground, where at least one little girl was wearing this t-shirt:

Yep, those $20K-a-year preschools can get pretty anarchic, but these kids have to learn how to skulk around in Union Square somewhere.

Why someone is not yet marketing a GG Allin-themed t-shirt for toddlers is beyond me:

I'd get in touch with his estate, but I'm afraid someone might throw feces at me.

Anyway, it wasn't long before my wife got her key and joined us at the playground, just in time to break up a typical playground fight.  (Some kid totally cut me on the slide, it was MY TURN!!!)  Next, we headed off to get Wildcat Rock Machine VIII's septum pierced, and then we boarded a subway train back to Lob's Country.  Alas, we did not sample the bike share, because while personally I have no issue with carrying a helmentless child under my arm as I ride, I'm pretty sure that would land me on the front page of the Post.  (Headline: "BIKE SCARE: Hipster Uses Toddler As Battering Ram.")  I did see others taking to the streets though, and none of them were riding on the sidewalk, salmoning, or using their helmentless children as weapons:

I do have some "business" in the gentriverse tomorrow though, so I'm looking forward to sharing some bike then.

In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be in my hazmat suit, negotiating with GG Allin's attorneys, Doody, Lipschitz, & Brownstein.