Where I come from, you’re a stinking nobody unless you have super tight ass bike. You’re a stinking fucking nobody. You’re a stupid stinking fucking nobody with a skinny little angel hair pasta dick. With Alfredo sauce all over your soft angel hair dick. With flaky garlic bread for your balls. And Parmesan pubes.
Where I come from, there’s no way you’re ever going eat a single morsel of pussy if your cruising around on a Razor. Cuz scooters are whack and eating pussy is cool. That’s why I need a bike. So I can eat pussy all day everyday. I’d eat pussy all over the place: the bathroom at Quiznos, in line at Subway while I’m waiting on them to toast my $5 roastbeef sammy, under the table at Panera Bread after I finish my Bacon Turkey Bravo. I’d even put some pussy in the front basket of my bike and then I’d eat it just like how Eliot ate E.T.’s pussy. E.T. Phone home? Fuck that noise. E.T. BONE hoes.
If I had a bike, shit would be raw as tits. Raw like WWE Monday Nights. Raw like John Cena’s buttflaps after Stone Cold Steve Austin wraps his own dick in sandpaper and pounds Cena’s keister til he taps out. Raw is War. Shit would be STUUUPID fun. I’d get 5 Cent Frankie behind the 7/11 to show me how to pop a wheelie. See, bitches in my town won’t fuck unless you know how to pop wheelies. I’d roll up to the Drive-In while Becky and her new boyfriend Stash are watching Gone in 60 Seconds 2: Gone in 120 Seconds and be like “Check this shit out, Becky, you bitch” then I’d pop a major wheelhouse and watch her skinny jeans overflow out the top with bubblin’ clam chow-chow all over Stash’s front seat. That’ll teach her. I’d ride over to Mrs. Greenberg’s house and yell from the street, “Give me an F in Geometry? Who wants to F now, you fucking bug-eyed twat?!” and bust a wheelie right in her goddamn face and watch her rip off her turtleneck and press her dumpy Jew-tits against her kitchen window. Fuck yeah.
If I had a bike, I’d have permanent lockjaw from all the teenage box I’d be eating. I’d stay eatin’ more box than a starving homeless man. The thing about ownin’ your own kickass Huffy is: GIRLS WANT TO FUCK YOU RIGHT ON YOUR DICKHOLE. It’s that simple. What’s that Megan? You wanna ride on my handlebars and every so often I can lean my head forward and get a whiff of that buttcrack pokin’ out them Juicy sweatpants? Done. Excuse me, Veronica? You want me to ride no-handsies, so I can use my hands to pinch your left nip while I fingerplow your stickcave? Done. It’s not rocket science, guys. It’s easy. Bike equals Pussy Tsunami.
If I had a bike, I would decorate the spokes with beads, so that when I hopped a curb and got mad air, my wheels would look fucking bonkerzzz. I’d also put one of those floppy flagpoles on the back but instead of a flag it would have a raccoon’s tail. When sluts see that raccoon’s tail flapping in the wind they will know that it symbolizes my love for nature and all things natural.
Cuz like, I want to be a marine biologist or whatever. And I’ve got a serious soft spot for all of God’s creatures great and small. Like especially but not limited to marine creatures because marine creatures are really misunderstood and everything. Plus my bike is going to have pegs on the back so I can grind down super slick rails or so my cousin Denny can ride on the back. He’s special needs and probably won’t have the chance to have a bike of his own. He’ll never know the freedom and/or the sweet taste of pussy that comes with riding a bike. But because like I care so much about my family and people with special needs, I’ll be like “Hey D-Bones, peg it up. You’re riding co-pilot braaaaaash.” And when all the Bettys and Veronicas around town see me riding with beads, a raccoon tail, and a retarded kid on my pegs, they are going to want me to eat their whole entire pussy.