Steady Clappin'

Unless it’s terribly interesting or pertaining to some sort of music or design or art area, I don’t write about myself on this site. Mainly because I’m a white guy that lives in Utah. However, the events of yesterday have forced my typing hand. To begin, I don’t have a car and my scooter, Fernando, is currently incapacitated and in need of some sort of new belt or chain or something. I ride the bus and train to work. I have an old road bike that I use for little errands, getting around the neighborhood, exercise, and keeping my social status within the hipster community. Yesterday, she was taken from me—ripped from her pleasant little home in my apartment’s courtyard. The above picture is the last known photograph of her.

I’m not really going to write about Artemis (that was my bike’s name. It was an Olympia) or the douchebag that stole her. I am going to write about people that steal bikes in general. There is a special place in hell for you guys that take other people’s property. All it will be is an endless stretch of highway, and you will be forced to ride across it on all your Huffys with no helmet. And you will be ran over for all eternity by an old Asian lady in a giant Buick.

Shoplifting from Dick’s Sporting Goods is one thing. I certainly don’t condone it, but it’s essentially a giant faceless corporation with a phallic name. They expect it to happen and it doesn’t exactly affect them in any meaningful way. Other than dressing up like an actual penis, stealing from another human being is about the dickest thing you can do.

In conclusion, all you bike thieves are terrible people and I hope you crash and get road rash in really embarrassing places.