Fat Coloured Condoms

In Brisbane yesterday, where it doesn’t cost $423 when you are penalised for shooting though a red light on your pushie, I sneaked through the straight section of T-intersection on a red after thoroughly checking for cars (there were none in sight).

I was on my single speed Brisbane special – see exhibit below.

Lo and behold, this fat fucker on an expensive carbon fiber road bike that had obviously lost his peloton, decided to offer me some free advice:

“You shouldn’t be going through red lights mate”

Nasally accent and all, reminiscent of say a law firm partner or even a Vice President, Health & Safety for Orica. Or near equivalent. The spiritual disaster that I am thinking of has three kids, all in private schools, a 300 square modern home, at least three cars, a wife he hardly speaks to and certainly doesn’t fuck, more debt than can be tolerated, and a complete dearth of anything approximating wisdom.

Long accustomed to the brain warping impact that exertion has on the feebly bodied, I chose to ignore the thing.

And then, 100 meters down the road and apropos of no common sense that I understand, he came at the subject a second time.

“The trouble is you give us all a bad name”

He was behind me and I was surprised he was still there. Must have just about fucked him to catch up. Now that’s motivation!

Really, these people feel so protected by the nanny state that they are essentially fearless.

Actually, I think they are senseless to fear. Just like the Dodos were on Madagascar.

[Segue] This old letter describes catching dodos before they went extinct in 1662; “These animals on our coming up to them stared at us and remained quiet where they stand, not knowing whether they had wings to fly away or legs to run off, and suffering us to approach them as close as we pleased. Amongst these birds were those which in India they call Dod-aersen (being a kind of very big goose); these birds are unable to fly, and instead of wings, they merely have a few small pins, yet they can run very swiftly. We drove them together into one place in such a manner that we could catch them with our hands, and when we held one of them by its leg, and that upon this it made a great noise, the others all on a sudden came running as fast as they could to its assistance, and by which they were caught and made prisoners also.”

What I actually said when I finally decided to tell the dodo to fuck off was this:

“It’s you fuck clusters of fat coloured condoms wobbling along at 10 k’s that give us a bad name, mate”

I wish there was some convention preventing the proffering of non-professional free advice with respect to individual conformance to laws and statutes.

That seems reasonable, doesn’t it?