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“Share the road,” the cyclists say. “It’s ours too,” they argue, all upset that cars endanger them when they’re on the roads, somehow totally oblivious to the fact that the danger might actually be self-inflicted, considering that in any three-second span near an intersection a bicyclist is likely to weave between cars, run a stop sign, hop up onto the sidewalk and then back onto the street before considerably slowing down traffic while also breaking another five traffic laws. And all the while they’re completely unaware that they’re a wildly unnecessary, self-righteous nuisance, and that the only danger to themselves is themselves. (I mean, even if an accident isn’t technically their fault, if I willingly went jogging near a train and suffered a train related injury that was also not technically my fault, I’d still kind of deserve it.)
White bicycles on the side of the road illicit at best mixed emotions from me. “One less,” I often find myself thinking as I nod silently and appreciate the fact that there’s no one wobbling in front of my car, forcing me to drive 20 miles under the speed limit. The only way a city cyclist could find a more publicly inconvenient way to exercise is if they worked their upper-body by throwing rocks at cars. (Which, incidentally, is sort of an actual thing here in Austin.) And if that’s how they commute? Just invest in a Smart Car pass, asshole. You really think anyone wants to eat with you or do business with you while the entire back of your shirt is drenched, your ass is a post-Katrina ninth ward nightmare, and your scrotum is dripping like a broken faucet?
So all that said, seeing this cyclist in New York City taken down hard, pinned, and cuffed by New York’s finest for, fucking surprise, obliviously pedaling through traffic — in this case almost wandering out in front of President Obama’s motorcade — brings immeasurable joy to me. Especially because you know this “Share the road” dick hole was thinking the exact same thing every other cyclist thinks, “Oh, these rules are for cars. I’ll do what I want.”
Break out the nightsticks, guys. He’s white. No one will care. My only regret here is that they didn’t let him through so Obama’s RPG proof tank-limo could obliterate like a tomato pitched softly to Giancarlo Stanton.
I do not like cyclists.