Since my tenure in the retail industry, I've become increasingly interested in the kind of thoughts that people use to rationalize the retarded thing they're about to do or say. Like the woman who yelled at me because the cabbages we had on sale were too big and wet, clearly not realizing that it's called the "wet counter" for a reason. Although on reflection, she may have been trying to have sex with me... Then there was the man who asked if he could get some rotton tomatoes half price, because they were rotton and he dropped them on the floor. So, person that stole my bike, what were you thinking?
I was sitting here in my room last night, peacefully writing, when I realized I was experiencing a case of irreversible writer's block, and had infact only managed to draw a rough sketch of a pair of chimp tits, and had been staring at it for the past twenty minutes. I figured I should instead be focusing this time to more noble ends, like not neglecting my parents. So I went downstairs to watch the movie they were watching. Upon my arrival to the TV room, the look on my mother's face suggested she was being held hostage by someone's noxious fumes. My father at her side, looking like he wanted to rage-fuck the TV and twist someone's head off.
Against my better judgement, I sat and watched the last ten minutes of the movie "Australia", a movie which I would recommend you never watch. Five minutes in, I was seriously beginning to wonder if it was physically possible to die of boredom. The only cool part was when Professor Lupin got gored by a harpoon; but that was overshadowed by the near thirty six endings, all of which included Nicole Kidman looking like someone microwaved Barbara Streisand, and Hugh Jackman looking like someone shaved their ass and haphazardly taped the hair to his face.
Awhile after the movie ended, my parents announced that they were leaving somewhere for about half an hour. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally film my music video for The Hot Show by Prozzak, but I decided to do the dishes instead. Sometime after that while urinating upstairs (in the toilet), I heard some rustling in my carport. At first I thought it was the wind from the snow storm knocking stuff over, but when I walked outside, sure enough, someone had trashed my carport, being that there were foot prints everywhere. I was about to shrug it off, thinking someone had just stolen some bottles or something, then I realized my bike was gone.
I'm imagining your thought process right now, bike snatcher, and it's glorious. "I'm going to go walking outside in the middle of a snow storm, break into this garage, and steal the shit out of this bike." Why my house, and why my bike? I live right in the middle of a neighbourhood. Not the corner house or the one right next to the entrance of an alley, I live a ways down my street. Why the fuck would you target my house? You son of a bitch. That bike was like family. It was the perfect excuse to inform a crowd of attractive women that my penis also has 21 speeds, and you took it from me without remorse.
Do you rob innocent men for sport, or act on impulse to satisfy your own twisted addiction? Oh no, I imagine you've been eyeing my house for many, many days. You waited for the cover of darkness. Ever waiting for the shield of a snow storm to abduct my bike and disappear into the wind. Did you need a bike for the spring or something? I appreciate the sentiment, but so did I, you stink fucker. This is the second bike of mine that has been robbed from me. At least the first one was stolen by my friends. But you... You are a sadistic animal. You've succeeded only in taking something away from a man who has nothing.
But please don't mistake my intent with this letter. It's not meant to scare you, and it should not be seen as a death threat. Infact, I'm here to congratulate you. To thank you. I see now that you were just trying to help me. This situation is very prophetic. I probably should learn how to drive now, which does kind of put a hamper in my plans to workout every day in spring and summer, which inturn instills a desire to find, kill you and cannibalize your body, but I must thank you for your generous foresight. I needed this dramatic example to shake myself awake and better my life. Perhaps one day in the future, when the dust settles and I emerge a better and stronger person because of this experience, perhaps then, I will see my precious bike again. Take good care of it for me.
Oh, and if you wake up some day soon, chained to your bed, your daughter's right index finger on your stomach, the silhouette of my dick inching closer to your door, don't scream. This is just my way of saying thank you.
... and no one will be able to hear you anyway, so you're wasting your time. Just because I didn't see your face, doesn't mean that I can't find you.
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