Fuck unicycle

Hate to break it to you, not-so-kind sir, but you really cannot take yourself even slightly seriously if you’re riding a fucking unicycle in Central Park. Especially if the unicycle is a tall one that places your perilously perched ass at my eye-level. So don’t go pedaling around, your chunky legs chug-chug-chugging to steady the wobble, with that nonchalant, pursed-lipped expression indicating world-weary ennui if you don’t want me to want to poke big twigs between the spokes of your weenie wheelie woowoo-cycle. Some of us aren’t so lucky, and have to share our Volkswagen Beetles with a dozen clowns.