Stop. Thief!! An MMR Production

This seemed tailor made for a Matt's Monday Rant. When I went to let the dog out this morning, I noticed that our back gate, garage access and garage door were all open. My bike was gone and a different, crappy bike was leaning against our garage in the alley. I was in a primer/paint chemical-induced haze all weekend (I've moved on from painting the garage to painting the upstairs bathroom), so this furthered my hangover. Man alive, I was so pissed off. Of course when my blood starts boiling ... My Irish was up. My primitive Rockford desires surfaced- maim, destroy, kill, retaliate, destroy some more, listen to Cheap Trick, smash, overkill… Matt angry!!! Matt smash. But, there was no perpetrator in sight and I was without my staple gun and ball peen hammer. OK, what to do. Matt call cops. Matt calm down. So, I call the Minneapolis police - the operator was professional and I could tell that she didn't want to talk about the White Sox sweeping the BoSox. So, I said that I had a non-emergency call and explained what had happened. About 20 minutes later Officer K (not his/her real name) showed up. The interaction with Officer K could be seen as neg-entropy for this rant. Officer K was kind, professional and efficient. A throw back to the police officers that used to coach my little league baseball team or the ones that told us to not talk to strangers or lick the Mr. Bill stamps.

So the rant is for the bike thief. While I have had retarded, crack smoking hookers living on my block*, the image of the thief seems to be Tom DeLay with a Dubbya snicker - fuck all! WTF? Argh!!! I'm sure you're upset now with that image. Why the hell would you, Dubbya Delay, trespass and steal my bike? On top of it you leave a crappy Murray mountain bike next to our garage. Insult to insult. You worthless piece of shit!! I don't know if your mommy didn't love you or your daddy loved you too much - and frankly, I don't care. You have inconvenienced me, on a Monday, before work. Insult to mental injury. I'm already bracing for the depressing day as a cubicle jockey. You have taken something that doesn't belong to you and you've made me late for work. I hope that loose neck on the bike came undone as you rode off into the night, gleefully celebrating what ever common thieves and shitheads celebrate. I hope to see your twitching body laying next my bike as come home from work today. Oh, joy - you've broken your neck doing something you shouldn't do. Almost as funny as people hurting themselves as they try to get someone's attention. As you lie there, with the cuter pitter-patter of involuntary muscle spasms, I might say, "hey Twitchy, what's up?" Now, Twitchy, what to do with you? Do I go Silence of the Lambs on you (it puts the bike in the garage or gets the hose again)? Or perhaps Un Chien Andalou (with a nod to Frank Black, slicing up eyeballs oh, ho, ho, ho!!). Whether a street level, under-educated, piece of foul filth, or a white collared privileged government SOB, you're ruining this country. Your personal gain, however small and titillating makes America a worse place to live. You and John Grisham and Danny Bonaduce!!! Jesus Christ, who gave the green light to Breaking Bonaduce? Anyways, you're evil. I've had nearly five years of a job and a president I didn't want. For the love of all that is holy, please do not upset me.

Any advice on the best time to buy a bike - fall closeout or spring sales?


*Two years ago there was a woman who appeared to be mentally challenged and lived in an apartment building on our block. If you slowed your car down while she was outside, she would stumble towards you. Pam and I slowed down one day (because there's a stop sign and we live on very narrow street), the woman starts to stumble towards us. I mentioned that it seemed like she may be retarded, high, or a hooker. That didn't go over well. However, after talking to our local SAFE officer, it turned out that she was "d - all of the above." Ah, urban living.