Tell us about your bike, Bobby.
“I like to ride it, or sit on a rock with it, or just carry it around. When I carry it around, I always imagine the bike being all ‘Whoa: this is backwards,’ and then I’ll laugh, and if I laugh too hard, I’ll sit down on a rock.”
But what about the actual bicycle, Bobby?
“Oh, it’s made of some stern stuff. They were gonna do me a carbon fiber jobbie, but I thought carbon was a bit common, so I had them make it out of boron fiber because, elementally, that’s one better. Also, the seat is made from human skin.”
What? Where the hell did you get such a thing?
“I got it. Don’t worry about it.”
What were we talking about?
“I like everything about biking: going slow, not having any safety gear, taint pain.”
It sounds awful, to be frank.
“And the clothes! White people don’t achieve full white-personhood until they put on some cycling gear! The spandex, the lycra: you look like a superhero! I mean, sure: your superpower is making people want to run you over with their Buick, but that’s still better than nothing.”
I like your gloves.
“Yeah, they’re awesome. Can’t masturbate in ’em.”
Good talk, buddy.