I know this is probably redundant, because dismissing you is so obvious it hurts, but OH, for the love of GOD, you fixed gear bicycle riders in the city. You’re so tough…defiantly helmet-free, death wish in your pocket, NO FEAR. Playing chicken with cab drivers, flipping off anyone and everyone who dares get in your way, sneering through your Ray-Bans at the pathetic city bike with the handbrakes (psshhh, so ’98) stopping next to you at the signal (when you can be bothered to obey traffic signals, that is).

I want you to know a couple things:

1) You might think a lack of manual brakes on your bike makes you a badass, but it really makes you a fucking retard.

2) Fixies are fast, no doubt about that. They’re fast because they were built for bike racing. In a velodrome. WHERE THERE ARE NO HILLS. OR CARS.

3) Yeah, cars. You hate them because they are always cutting you off, taking up your space on the road, threatening your life. It is a constant battle. But the simple, unavoidable truth is this: If ever the day comes where your face meets the grill of my ’67 Nova, YOU LOSE. Meditate on this fact the next time you hop on your bike after a few too many beers at the bar.

4) Helmets are like, a million times cooler than permanent brain damage.

As much as I would like to see the world rid of your cute little matching hats and nauseating sense of entitlement, I think that the next logical step is going to be fixed gear bicycles on the fucking freeway. What could be more YES WE CAN than allowing bikes everywhere cars can go?

And don’t talk to me about how “practical” your bike is in the city. You sound like an idiot. How’s this for practical: My bike has a basket, a bell, ten gears (so I can ride up those pesky hills you keep having to walk your fixie up), brakes, a super comfy huge seat and a fucking COFFEE MUG holder.

Anyway, could you maybe, just for a second, stop acting like you own the road? I swear if you slam your skinny fist on the hood of my car as you pass, one more time, I will sideswipe you into a goddam Hummer and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. I’m not out to get you, fixed gear riders in the city. I just think you are dumb. You have been dismissed.

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and by the way, you're fired

Thank you, Mr. Executive Suit Guy who gets paid way too much to dictate the lives of all the little people under you, for saving the Company so much money today with your brilliant “Restructuring” plan. I know it must have been hard for you, laying off all my friends like that and then coming up with a clever speech to gloss over it, reminding the red-eyed rest of us (who were lucky enough to get to keep our jobs and have more responsibilities piled onto our already ridiculously full plates) that we should look forward to the future because we will now be a “leaner, meaner machine”.

Nevermind the fact that you’ve been telling us for the past three months that “No one is in danger of losing their job”. We’re totally going to believe you now when you tell us that there are “no more layoffs planned”. Yeah. And blindsiding the whole building at 10 AM on a Monday morning is totally the best way to kick 15% of the workforce out on their asses. Ok, ok, one or two of them were lazy fucks who completely should have seen it coming. But some of those people (and they are actually living, breathing people, not numbers, btw) were completely essential to the well-being of your “machine” and I have no idea how you think this is going to work without them.

So, Company Restructuring, just so you know, we will all be meeting at the bar at exactly 6:02 pm this evening, to slander your evil, conniving ways and probably later deface some public property with either bodily fluids or spray paint in an angry drunken stupor because YOU have been dismissed.

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I see you, 45-year-old man driving by yourself in your mother (who you live with)’s borrowed car to go lurk on twelve year olds at the batting cages. It is totally depressing that the only form of self-expression you are capable of is to leave your faded-ass Garfield or Hello Kitty stuffed animals in the window of your car. SO MANY of them, too. And of course there’s a Kleenex box tucked back there in between Sunshine Bear and Rainbow Bear, for when you are driving 50 in the slow lane on the freeway and someone gives you the finger and you pull over to have a good cry about all the mean people and injustice in the world. WTF. We know you’re a virgin, ok? And we know about your Hair Club for Men membership and the Jingle Cats and Michael Bolton discs you keep in heavy rotation.

Nobody wants to witness this four-wheeled cry for help in the form of lavender polar bears, Shrek wearing a pleather 49ers jersey and other worthless shit you pulled out of the claw machine at Denny’s after spending like, seventeen dollars. We want to get hopped up on Sparks (r.i.p.) and run your fat ass over, put you out of your misery and forget about you forever, but then somebody would probably put fucking stuffed animals on top of your coffin and we’d have to kill them, too. A vicious cycle.

So. If you have some weird obsession with tiny plush objects, please do the rest of the world a favor and keep it in your PANTS. Leave Scooby and Scrappy Doo at home, decorating your bed, so that you have something to greet you when you walk through the door after a long hard day of touching yourself in the movie theatre bathroom during your fifth screening of Twilight. Because I guarantee you, that’s as good as it’s gonna get.

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I want to repeatedly stab myself in the eyes every time I see a girl
wearing one of these. If you’ve been within 50 miles of Vegas (where
this summer we counted 83 sightings of this crime against fashion in
ONE 24 hour period, often with packs of Jennys and Barbies all wearing
the exact same one just in different colors), perused a People
magazine or driven down Sunset around midnight on any given weekend
this winter, no matter if it’s 40 degrees out, you have seen some
idiot face freezing her bitty ass off in one of these pieces of crap.

What I want to know is if these douchebags understand that while they
are parading around with their labiaplastied lips dangling in the
breeze, they are wearing a LIE. A lie fabricated by some obese pimply
“fashion major” asshole who probably jerks off to girls gone wild, who
decided if he put a band of fabric about 4 inches wide on the bottom,
and the word “Dress” on the tag, these dumb bitches would believe they
were actually spending their dad’s $196 on a dress, instead of a
fucking SHIRT, you assholes! And yes we all know you’re not wearing
any underwear, another “fashion trend” I would like to see buried with
Britney Spears’ career.

So. You tweenies and milfs making weekly trips to your coke dealer
wearing “The Dress”, please for the love of god stay away from me and
my beer. You have been fucking dismissed.

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