I'd like to register a complaint.

You know, I'm not one to complain.

Just kidding!

(The S.S. Just Kidding, embarking on yet another narcotics run.  Just kidding!)

No, I live to complain.  In fact, I can complain your face right off your skull.  If you handed me a million dollars I'd find a way to complain about it.  ("What is this, American money?  You couldn't at least pay me in Canadian?")  But you know what I like to complain about most of all?

People who complain.

See, there's no kind of complaining more satisfying than hypocritical complaining, since nothing's more annoying than people who do exactly what you would do in their position.  Consider my upcoming visit to Melbourne, Australia for the Melbourne Writers Festival:

I'm both honored and excited to be a part of this.  Not only that, but I'm proud of myself.  That's right, proud.  It seems like only yesterday I started this blog at work, and today here I am, unemployed because I was blogging at work and sitting on the couch in my underpants with three books under my belt (figuratively speaking--I'm not even wearing pants so how could I have books under my belt?) and an invitation to one of the top writers' festivals in the entire world (which is a distinction I just made up).

So am I breaking one arm patting myself on the back and using the other to give myself a congratulatory handjob?

You're goddamn right.

And do you know what I get in my moment of glory?  Do I get a "G'day mate, so glad yer gonna hump the koala [Australian slang for boarding a plane] and head down under for a visit to Earth's Scranus!"?  No I do not.  No, what I get is people complaining that you have to pay to attend the events.  "$40 to ride with you?  Do I at least get my scranus tickled with that?  You suck!"*  

*(So far, nobody has actually said this.)

Well, I don't know if you realize it, but Australia is far.  Really far.  In fact, it's about as far from my home as I can get without leaving the fucking planet.  Given this, do you know when I'd be visiting Australia if it wasn't for the Melbourne Writers Festival?

Never.  Never, ever, ever.

It's not like I don't want to see Australia--I most certainly do.  It's just that if I actually had the time and money to just fuck off to Australia on a whim, I'd have to be an idiot to actually do it when I could just stay home, ride my bike every day, and spend the airfare on booze.

But now, thanks to the Melbourne Writers Festival, I don't have to make the stupid decision to visit Australia since they're making it for me.  See, they didn't give me the option to stay home, ride my bike, and get drunk.  With them it's come to Australia and be in a festival or you get nothing.  Therefore, it's a no-brainer, and thanks to them I'll actually get to see Australia before I die.

So you're going to complain that they want to charge you a few bucks so they can make my dream of visiting Australia come true?*  You've got some goddamn nerve.

*Disclosure: visiting Australia is not, nor has it ever been, my dream.

Anyway, the point is that I'm really looking forward to this, I'm grateful to the Melbourne Writers Festival, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves.

By the way, the same goes for people who complain about the ads on this blog.  "Oooh, they blink, I don't like it.  I need a special bike for riding on gravel.  Blah, blah, blah."  Do you understand these people give me money?  If you get one cheap (free) laugh a week off this blog then I say it's all worth it.  You shouldn't be asking me to remove them.  You should be humping the ads with gratitude--and I mean literally mashing your genitals on the screen.

That's what I'm doing right now.

MMMmmm....

Speaking of paying for things, if you don't want to come to one of my Melbourne thingies, then you can always spend the money on something useful, like a cardboard cutout of Mario Cipollini and Magnus Backstedt (forwarded by a reader):

I don't know if they're doing "bro hands" because they just scored some EPO, or because Cipollini tends to have tacky palms from servicing himself and others and they've been stuck this way since 2005.

Either way, if you do buy it, be sure to give your Cipollini regular treatments with this proprietary Bianchi olive oil rub:

Cipo needs olive oil like your Brooks needs Proofide.

Anyway, all you complainers need to "sack up"--with this Super Happy Seatpost-Mounted Fun Sac currently on the Kickstarter!

I like a good English "soft-sell" as much as anybody ("Please fund my bag if you would," he asked politely, and then adjourned to his study for some tea and sobbing), but I hope that road's not gravel because if it is he's out of his fucking mind riding on it without a dedicated gravel bike:

Holy shit, he's riding on plants now!!!

Please tell me someone's working on an ivy bike, because there's a giant leaf-shaped hole in my stable that only another absurdly specialized bicycle can fill.

Anyway, this reckless cyclist has invented a bag for having "lightweight, unencumbered adventures:"

Now, when I think of "lightweight, unencumbered adventures," I think of this:

But if stuffing a few things in a bag qualifies as an adventure for you, then this is your sack:

I was actually beginning to warm to this particular Kickstarter, but then the inventor abandoned his whole polite English soft-sell and started to get dirty:

("That's what Cipo said!")

Really dirty:

"It doesn't sway from side to side as you ride, or rub against your frame, legs or wheel."

Outrageous!  Is this a bag for unencumbered adventures, or is it some sort of Victorian device for securing yourself to your pant leg?

And then, this:

"It'll come in several colors too."

So will Cipollini after he easts gelato.

Speaking of complaining, yesterday I mentioned the New York Times Portland bike style video, and the commenters on Bike Portland are complaining that the piece did not do their vibrantly self-indulgent community justice:

Please.  The more I think about it, the more amazed I am that the Times managed to find four people in Portland who weren't wearing the standard uniform of a Nutcase helment and a dayglo Showers Pass jacket.

Lastly, elsewhere in the Times, I've finally checked out this interactive bike map of theirs, and I actually like it:

Ideally, every dot in Brooklyn would say "Please move to Portland already" when you click it, but other than that it seems like a useful resource.