This fucking elitist compound is located approx. 12 miles outside of town and I am riding on a shitty rear tire after mine crapped out on me a few weeks back, and on top of that I no longer have a pneumatic tube in my rear tire. NO. I have a solid foam core because the shitty tire I had to replace my good tire with provided only a weeks worth of protection for my tube. I rode 2500 miles on one set of tires and tubes and then one of the tires finally tears out at the rim bead and I have to replace it with this Bontrager crap that has a sidewall that is thinner than some condoms I've worn and the thing only gives me about 6 or 7 days of service before failing on me at 0400 in the morning. At that hour the only thing open in the heartland is the fucking Wal-Mart supercenter, luckily I was nearby, so I walk over and of course they don't have tubes with Presta valves, not that I thought they would. I just wanted to patch the fucker, but OH NO, the fucking valve detaches completely from the tire so I must get a new tube with a Presta or the only other option=a solid foam core insert into my rear tire, yeah, like a little fucking kid uses on his little kid bike. I am a fully grown fatass adult man, so let me tell you how great it is riding on this foam bullshit.
I don't care right? What, you want to hear more complaining, fuck it, I'll just ride it, don't bitch just get on with getting on with whatever the fuck it is you want to do and everything will work out. So I ride 14.5 miles out to this motherfuckin' museum, it's hilly, it's hot, and when I get there the bitch at the fucking gate surprises me with this news, "I don't know if they're gonna let you in on a bike."
Excuse me you tub o' shit, come again. Why is it that when you go anywhere to get a product or a service there is always a fat woman on the phone making a personal phone call? She manages to call for clarification and yep, I don't get to go inside because the buffalo have babies or some shit like that. She even rubs it in my face that motorcycles are okay but bicycles are a no-go because of baby buffaloes. I've been to this fucking place before, it's remote, it doesn't exactly have a fucking line going out the front gate. She didn't make any offer to do shit for me given the fact I rode a fucking bike, in August, in Oklahoma, out to the fucking place she fucking works at so I could give them money. Offer me a fucking ride in one of the many vehicles on site. Offer me some fucking water. OFFER ME A FUCKING APOLOGY FOR RUINING MY FUCKING DAY YOU GODDAMN CUNT! Nothing for you, Keith.
|Not for me.|
Fuck Woolaroc and Fuck Frank Phillips in his dead asshole. Rich, elitist scum can go get fucked.