I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but someone is after me. More specifically, someone is after me and my bike. They, whoever they are, had nothing to gain from their destruction, but only wished to torture me. And they suceeded, damn them! Take careful note of the events laid forth, and you’ll soon agree that I have been a victim of an elaborate conspiracy. I bought my bike on Craigslist for 75 dollars from an Eastern European gentleman in Northeast Seattle. It seemed in good shape and certainly worth the price I paid. It rode like a dream for weeks and I was happy. But, then mysterious things began to take place. All of which point to, again, a secrect effort to turn me against my bike. One night I fell asleep at Drew Kreeger’s house in Ballard. I had to leave early in the morning to ride to work. I noticed as I rode down the steady delcine towars Old Ballard that my brakes did not do much to stop my momentum. My back brake worked to a limited degree and my more important front brake was entirely useless. I had to brake mostly with my feet which, as you can no doubt imagine, is less than safe. I realized later that a switch was conviently turned up, rendering my brakes useless and my ride dangerous. I sure as hell did not turn that switch. Well, who did? This was not the last time this would happen. On another occasion I was housesitting (in an apartment, but I think the term still applies) for some friends who lived out on Greenlake. I got to watch their Pug, Gatsby, all week and hang out on Greenlake and watch OnDemand episodes of Flight of the Conchords. And eat free food. And get paid. It was a perfect situation…until disaster struck. I parked my bike on their back deck which led out to a community courtyard. In the morning, when I walked outside to begin riding to work again, I noticed that something had been taken out of my basket. The dirty bastards had taken my bike lock. The lock was useless to them since they did not have a key to it. This proved to me that whoever was after me, did not seek to steal anything material from me but sought to take away my comfort, peace of mind, convience, and perhaps even my life. This event also proved that whoever was at work was a professional. Who else could sneak into an apartment, undetected? My theories were further proven in another event.I again spent the night in Ballard and ventured to work down 15th street on a clear blue morning. Since I am required to wear shoes at work, by decree of some oppressive anti-sandal regulation, I put my beloved Birkenstocks in my basket. When I arrived at Pike Place, one of my sandals was missing. I vaguely remember being passed by another bike on my right that morning. The only logical explanation is that the said rider took the one Birkenstock out of the basket. My heart was beaten and torn by the loss. Then the final straw. Last week was the worst for the me and my bike. As I was riding up a steep hill towards my home late one night, I noticed that my gears were making a funny noise. Then I heard a metallic clank against the pavement and saw that my rear derailer was completely falling apart. I had to walk the bike the rest of the way home and made plans to get everything fixed the next day. I took my bike into a bike shop and had them fix the derailer so I could at least get back to riding. While there, I decided to make a few other small improvement, such as new handlebars and breaks, among other things. With the addition of parts and labor, this proved to be a fairly expensive procedure. When I got my bike back the next day I could have not been happier. My bike and I were starting a new chapter. The bike rode like a dream, and looked damn good all the while. I decided to take the bike out to Ballard. Just as I reached Market Street, something horrible happened. My frame completely broke. It didn’t bend, or morph. It snapped. An old man who witnessed the event said he had never seen such a thing. I was more than suspicious. And then it all made sense.Who would have the most to gain from my loss of a bike? Oil companies. The evil oil companies have work tirelessly on associating my bike, and in turn all bikes, with misery. That is why all these horribles things have taken place around my bike. When I think of a bike, the oil companies want me to think of danger, loss, greif, and destruction. It’s the only logical explanation. They want me to completely throw away the idea of riding a bike and buy a car and spend unthinkable money on their gasoline. Nice try Exxon Mobile. But it won’t work this time. Next time, try screwing with someone who could actually afford a car.
Michael, perhaps the oil companies have planted an imposter repairman- saboteur at the bikeshop! Those bastards are certainly bold.
Interesting choice of spelling of word “expensive” in paragraph six. Freudian slip, right?
It was me.
Expenisive.
That’s funny.
Highly enjoyable. Lowly believable. But what an imagination!