Tuesday, November 1, 2016

And while I’m at it, F**K You, too, Wasp.

You can kiss my ass, little winged asshole of hate.

Lesson one, kiddos: If you’re going to wear lace up tennis for riding, tuck the goddamn laces in. I hit the pedal hard on the downstroke, it caught my lace, and loosened it enough where I thought, “Gee, that could be a problem. Maybe I should tie that, soon.”

Lesson Two: This is the important part of the lesson, so pay close attention. If you’re going to stop and tie the laces, get off the bike and do it. Don’t try and be fancy and all impressed with yourself and think, “I’ll just pull up next to that light post and rest my foot on the cement block and tie up. I won’t have to get off the bike! I’m so smart! Look at how awesome I am!”

Because you know what happens when you do that? You pull up, and the base of the light post itself is slightly rusted, and a bit loose, and you know what lives in that base? You know what’s waiting for you should you happen to bump it accidently while tying up your cool red and yellow blend laces?

HATEFUL ANGRY BUZZY STINGY ASSHOLES! THAT’S WHO’S WAITING FOR YOU!

It took a moment for Brain to realize what was happening. What are these things? What are they doing?

Then the Brain realized, and I started to pedal. And these little bastards realized I had interrupted their nightly session of bee torture, ant devourment, or whatever the hell wasps do when they’re not terrorizing humans, and they gave chase.

I thought I’d escaped. I thought I’d cleared the hate cloud of stingy.

You see, my Clydesdale form betrayed me, because the energy required to get up to escape velocity is great, and forward motion doesn’t happen immediately, and one particularly lucky little shit head caught me. He nabbed the prize. He enacted cold, hateful revenge on the chubby human.

He got me right on the back, right next to the little backpack that holds my gear, right on a spot of back that is just out of the reach of my arms. A spot I couldn’t reach, couldn’t scratch, couldn’t anything. It was a perfect spot. He was the Robin Hood of wasps by splitting the apple and putting his little arrow of hate right on the money.

I thought I’d escaped, and then I felt it, and this is exactly what it felt like:


via GIPHY

And I was less than five minutes into my ride.

But I kept going. I can’t say if that was the smart option.

This wouldn’t be the first obstacle of the night, because it was Halloween. The roads were full of careless cars, joyous, exuberant dogs looking to chase something, and oblivious small kids dressed as Harley Quinn and Disney Princesses looking to get high off sugar and scary pumpkins, and in that search for blissful candy utopia, they’d run headlong into the street, unaware of anything that might cause collision or concern.

I dealt with them all, but it was the wasp that truly put a stamp on the night. The wasp, and all his evil, malevolent kind, will forever be branded into my memory, and the two little lessons I learned will always hang in my brain on the carvings that contain the commandments I follow on a daily basis.

All things considered, it was still a good ride, because as you know, any time on the bike is just about better than the majority of other things you’ll do during the day.


And to reiterate, wasps can kiss my ass.


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