Laughing at others.
I was taking myself home on my trusty chariot when I chanced upon a kerfuffle in the road ahead. It seemed as though there was a ballet of Chelsea tractors, where one was cocking about in an attempt to park in their drive, while another two were faffing about in the road, moving only inches at a time in their best attempt to make life as difficult as possible for their four wheel drive friend.

I sat dispassionately a few meters along the road and accepted the delay to my journey. The same can't be said, however, for the cyclist I noticed approaching from a distance in my rear view mirror. Nonchalance abound I watched him weave his way along the road, making swift progress towards where I was slouched on my bike.

He trundled past me and showed no signs of slowing as he made his way toward the gridlock ahead. The 10 or so yards between me and the blacked out window of the Chrysler Child Killer 120 TDI were dispatched in a few lazy rotations, and his front wheel made firm contact with the man sized rear bumper, propelling his head into the stationary vehicle.

A couple of seconds seemed to pass before he began his cartoon like slide toward the ground, with a perfect squeak and a trail of face grease following his road bound descent. The thud he made on impact seemed to shock my fellow witnesses into a stunned silence and everyone waited with baited breath for some movement from the now prone cyclist. Everyone, that is, except my good self.

If anyone had looked closely at the motorcyclist sat patiently up the road, they would have seen tears streaming from his eyes. Had they not been clucking over the dazed cyclist, and taken a moment to notice, they would have seen the same motorcyclist almost fall off his bike as laughter shook his entire body; laughter that would have reverberated loudly around the enclosed street were it not for the full face helmet that ensured it remained muffled.

I sincerely doubt that this little act of cuntiness on my behalf is enough to warrant an eternity among the fire and brimstone of hell. It was pretty fucking funny though, becoming more so as the cyclist scraped himself off the tarmac and staggered a bit, before swooping down to pick up a can of Strongbow, and then launching into a diatribe about how it was the fault of everyone bar himself.
( Moey, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 11:50, Reply)