Saturday, May 14, 2005

(“Find the story in the clutter of Fun " is today's little foray into whimsical story-telling. The story springs from my childhood "relationship" with my bicycle. My tiny little brain, drunk and deranged on the fantasies of youth, believed that I was the living engine of my bike which was in actuality a spaceship. When I went up hills I was close to the gravitation pull of a planet and I the engine had to give more "thrust". That was the content of my daydreams as I cycled home from school.

I still ride a bicycle. The one I have now is a black cruiser that instills fear in the hearts of those in my upcoming path and respect in the loins of those in my wake. It's called the "Scurvy Bike" and no one dares touch it for fear of disease-riddled reprisals. Here a picture of the "Scurve" being ridden by my girlfriend:

the scurve
Just thinking of the bike brings a quick little story to mind. Let's call it "Thus Spoke Zarathustra the Spoke":

"Hey I'm feeling dizzy," spoke one spoke to another spoke.

"Yeah me too," spoke the other spoke.

That's when vomit spindled out from the spinning tire all over the cyclist who from that day forth swore off any further drug use. Drugs are dead, he thought to himself.

If only he had known the facts. Improbability had barfed all over his leg. The universe was stranger than anything his drug messed mind could ever conjure up.

Thus the End.

So anyway here's today's short short story...)


He got on the bike.

He rode the bike.

He imagined things which were untrue about the bike.

He got off the bike.


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