Nothing says “You’re Fat” like…

… blowing out another bike tire.

Yes, my fat ass managed to assassinate yet another rear bike tire.  Only this time the victim wasn’t the cursed fold-up bike, it was my old mountain bike.

Fuck you, innertube!

I was about two-thirds done with my ride and quite far from home when I noticed that it was becoming more and more difficult to pedal.  At first I attributed this to a long day at work and me being sort of tired.  Plus at this point in the ride I’ve done a lot of uphill riding.

But it kept getting worse.

Then I had to dodge around something along the path and I noticed that the ass-end of my bike felt really loose.  One might even say “squishy”.  So I looked down and sure enough my rear tire was looking distended where it met the pavement.

Motherfuckitalltohell!

I was already heading for home (thankfully a lot of downhill) and I pushed it as hard as I could.  At the bottom of the park I ride through, I jumped off my bike and checked the tire.  It wasn’t completely flat yet, but it was well on it’s way.

And I had another couple miles to go.

I hopped on and rode as best I could.  About one mile from home the tire was totally flat and eventually I had to get off so I could walk it home.  What a fucking pisser!

So now I have a foldup bike with a broken pedal, and a mountain bike with a flat tire.  Perfect.  Evidently I am too heavy (and apparently too rough) to have nice things.  At the rate things are breaking, someone is going to need to take me out to “pet the rabbits”, you know?

But I ask, does it look like my nickname should be Mongo?

Bwah-ha-ha-ha!  Attack of the stealth man-ty shot!  And you thought I wouldn’t slip this one in!

Ahem.

P.S. objects in mirror may be smaller than they appear– especially since an Aveda candle is shoved in the front pouch)