Perhaps inspired by GrodsCommenter Hip’s excoriation of ill-mannered yoof in a recent thread, I found myself doling out some more improvised justice yesterday afternoon, this time to a couple of punk teens at the local park.

Truth be told, I wasn’t in a good mood to begin with. About two minutes in to the walk, my dog bounded off to say “hai!” to a young boxer on a lead. It was an entirely friendly meeting, complete with mutual bum-sniffing and wagging tails. But since the boxer’s crabby-looking owner had a face like a puckered arsehole freshly buggered with a lemon wedge, I called my dog to come back — which he duly ignored.

As I walked over to grab my dog, who was still having a great old time with his new mate, the boxer’s owner glared at me. “Why don’t you try putting him on a lead?” she snarled.

And instead of pointing out that this is precisely how dogs socialise in a designated off-lead park, and that anyone who is uncomfortable about it should consider walking their precious mutt where leads are mandatory, I answered her question with another question: “Why don’t you go and fuck yourself?”

Thus was the tone set for the rest of the walk.

Before too long, I noticed a ruckus approaching and turned to find two boys in their early teens riding BMXs recklessly with large branches balanced on their handlebars — god only knows why.

“Gits,” I thought as they zoomed past.

Some way further along the path — which winds its way between a creek and a densely wooded area — I came around a bend and saw my dog sniffing at one of the BMXs, which had been abandoned on the creek side of the path.  I was a good 20 metres behind my dog at this stage, and at first couldn’t see where the kids had got to.

As I neared the bike and my dog, I heard some scuffling and saw some movement from among the trees — and suddenly noticed that the little bastards were hurling sticks and stones at my unsuspecting, defenceless pooch.

So I picked up the bike and threw it in the creek.

Most readers know that I’m a keen cyclist (not the wang pant-wearing, hell ride-riding variety; rather the commuting to work and the pub variety) and I’ve written before about close calls I’ve had on the streets of Melbourne thanks to idiot drivers. So I did enjoy this cyclist awareness advertising campaign aimed at the vehicle drivers of London. Bit weird, but cool.

In this episode The Editor, John Surname, Prophet, Jeremy Sear and Craig discuss the following:

* Kardboard Kevin
* MX
* Bike riding
* Tennis grunting
* Immature international cricketers
* World Cup 2018
* Melbourne F1 Grand Prix
* The Oscars
* Much, much more

** For some reason Episode 4 seems to play when you click “play now” instead of Episode 5. I’m looking into this error — probably something to do with the cache. For now, click on “play in popup” to make sure you hear the latest episode **

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 GrodsCast 5 [31:42m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Riding my bike to work this morning I scored the double whammy of bicyclist experiences: abuse and near death.

First I was riding up a suburban one-way street (the right way) and preparing to turn right where the road met another at a T-intersection. The dude in the car behind me leaned out the window and yelled, “Get out of the middle of the road, dickhead!” You see, my crime was that I’m apparently supposed to give way to vehicles behind me.

Then I was cruising down a major-ish road in the bike lane when a car turned left into a side street right in front of me without indicating. I was so busy screeching my tires and fighting to keep control of the bike that I didn’t have time to extend a middle finger and yell some combination of swear words at him.

Sometimes I just can’t shake the impression that people in cars hate my guts and want me dead. All I want to do is get to work.

Thousands of people cycle to and from work every day, but few realise just how many scandalous faux pas they make along the way.

Here are some tips to help you avoid potential embarrassment.
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HYGIENE
Some cyclists figure that, since they’re going to sweat like John Farnham on the way to work and take a shower once they arrive, there’s no need to bathe before they get going. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Sweat that runs down the body’s nastier crevices smells infinitely more fetid when said crevices are unwashed.

The result of forgoing the pre-ride wash is that within 10 minutes on the road, you will smell like a mixed grill of armpits and arseholes. And bike paths are crowded places where morning breezes carry the news of your disgrace far and wide.

Some might argue that showering twice a morning is a misuse of water, a precious and increasingly scarce resource; others are just filthy bastards who wouldn’t know cleanliness if it assaulted them with a bar of Solvol.

Whichever category you fall into is irrelevant. If you are unwilling to change your foul ways, follow this golden rule: do not, under any circumstances, overtake another rider. Ever.
o

APPAREL
The law of cycling apparel is best expressed by the following formula:

If T ≥ D then C = W

C — cyclist
T —time it takes to change into your wang pants, click shoes, Thriller gloves and fitted shirt festooned with advertising no one is sponsoring you to wear. Worse still, you probably paid for the privilege of giving [insert brands here] some exposure to which they had no right. Saw you coming, didn’t they?
D — time it takes to get to work.
W — wanker

o

RECUMBENT BIKES

If you own one of these, well, you can just go and take a flying reclining fuck.