I'm a fugitive from the law.
I'm a criminal.
Watch out ladies, I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a pimp, I'm a brother, I'm, uh, a PIMP.
I'm a hardass motherfucker.
I'm a gangster. I'm a modern day Harry Hill.
Fuck it, I'm a modern day ATTILA THE HUN.
So basically I was cruising down the street on my bike, looking 100% like the pimp I am. Bring bring went the bell, and people dodged out the way. Well, not dodged, as I was carefully weaving through the traffic like the consummate bicycle cycling pro I am. Seriously, I am such a bicycle steering pimp, yo.
So I was zooming through the human traffic, tippin' my pimp hat to the ladies and ignoring the men (who are so far less manly than me, they basically don't appear on my pimpdar) when BAM. I saw The Man. I could tell that he was The Man because he had a badge that said HI! I AM THE MAN. I'M HERE TO OPPRESS YOU SQUALID YOUTHS! QUIET DOWN THERE. He may have looked a little like this:
... but probably didn't. The Man raised one hand and motioned for me to stop, to get off the pavement. Apparently he was unaware of my pimping bicycle steering skillz. Perhaps he thought that I was in some danger from a random passing lunatic. But I think the REAL REASON is far more sinister: he's part of The Machine (of which I have been raging against so violently and revolutionarily, with my listening of Linkin Park and my wearing of a black tshirt with a skull on it), intent on "killing my buzz" with his chains of oppression.
"Run, freedom-loving buddies, run, before you too are oppressed!" I cried, to my posse of hardcore anti-authoritarian rebel boyz, who split off and fled, listening to the ultra-hardcore jams of One Step Closer and beat-boxing. But it was too late for me. I was to be oppressed. The Man motioned to me. There was no escape. I slowed to a stop and pulled my earphones from my ears.
THE MAN: Mate, this is a public path, you just can't just be cycling along here.
MY BRAIN: Stop oppressing me, oh you vile dog of the capitalist regime! Why do you fat-cats have to jazz up our studious buzz?"
ME: *nod*
THE MAN: Now I won't book you now, but next time it's a £60 on the spot next time.
MY BRAIN: PAH! YOU THINK I FEAR YOU? As ultra-hardcore metal band LINKIN PARK say: If I'm killed by the questions like a cancer then I'll be buried in the silence of the answer. YOU JUST THINK ABOUT THAT!
ME: *Nod*
THE MAN: Next time, ok?
MY BRAIN: I JUST CAN'T SEEM TO CONVINCE MYSELF WHY I'M STUCK ON THE OUTSIDE! HOW DO THOSE REBEL STYLEZ CUT YOU DOWN, COPPA?
ME: Yeah, sorry.
THE MAN: Ok.
MY BRAIN: THIS IS MY DECEMBER.
ME:*cycling off* Shut up, brain. Linkin Park sucks.
MY BRAIN: THAT'S IT, YOU'RE WETTING YOURSELF TONIGHT, MATE.
So, as you can see, some serious pimping rebellion stylez there. I mean, sheesh, I was THIS FAR AWAY from getting booked for cycling on a pavement. Nice, Mr Policeman. While you're at it, why don't you arrest me for not doing up my shoelaces? Or you could, you know, do your job and stop people blowing up Kingston.
Or, you could fail, and thus provide me with entertaining tea-time news.
I am SO oppressed. Just look at me. I'm so BOUND by the confines of this society. Sometimes a guy just feels the need to cycle through a heavily crowded bus depo, eh? But no. I have to be continually predjudiced against by THE MAN. It has to be my general shifty aura that does it. I am a shifty looking guy. Well, I WON'T STAND FOR IT ANY MORE. I'm gonna really take down the foundations of society this time.
I AM GOING TO CONTINUE TO CYCLE ON THE PAVEMENT. But not in that particular bus depot. No point in being a damned fool about it.
OOH MY ANTI-AUTHORITARIAN SCHTICK IS JUST SO OUTRRRRRRAGEOUS! I should be crowned king.
Oh yeah, and resolution number 3 achieved. I am a pimp.
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