The Shredded Schrader

September 23, 2009

Good Ol’ Rusty!

Filed under: Misadventures — Danimal @ 5:38 pm

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Not too long ago I was having a conversation with my father about getting a new bicycle. I was explaining what I was looking for; anything with a coaster break that I didn’t have to empty my hypothetical savings account for. Well, my father (being my father) happened to be snooping around a junk yard a few days later. When he laid eyes on the beauty at the right, he knew full well it was what I was dreaming of (or at least what I would soon claim that I had been dreaming of). He haggled them down to $15 and then called me to report the news. I headed there immediately to take a look for myself.

The bike was mostly in working order. We picked up new tubes and new tires and then scavenged a pair of bearings, and then my bike was on the road! Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.

Bike wheel of Ol' Rusty

Back wheel of Ol' Rusty

Pretty soon I was riding around for the first time in years (pitiful, I know, but Marx was a bourgeoisie, so…!). At first  there were some minor setbacks, but nothing that could not be fixed with wire ties. However, soon to come was a major setback: out of necessity I moved to a bike-unfriendly place in East Cambridge.

So in my partner’s basement it sat, lonely and (I’m sure) depressed that it had been abandoned… and then… it somehow wandered outside. I can only guess it was an ill conceieved attempt at suicide. Either that or negligence on behalf of the keepers, it’s all the same really. In any case, outside once again it began to rust (despite its protective layer of rust, which (I hypothesize) is the source of its sentience). All was not well in Somerville. Especially not for the bike.

I will now fast forward a bit. Some dude gets stabbed in my apartment, I break up with my partner (an event perhaps orchestrated by the bike as an act of revenge), I become homeless, I accidentally OD on a medication I was allergic too (a one-two punch), and I eventually reclaim my (now sentient) bike, get a new apartment, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Well, almost. In the interim my ex partner (who was miraculousness once again my partner), accidentally popped the back tube… and then proceeded to ride on the rims for a couple miles. My bike, using its super powers, broke us up again in protest. And I was stuck cleaning up the mess.

At this point, however, I had begun falling under its control. I could hear its whispers in my sleep, invading my dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night covered in rust and biketoplasm. I knew I had to take immediate action and dispose of this Class 6 Ectohazard, but I didn’t have the will power! I needed help.

His eyes seem to follow you as you walk past...

As you move, his eyes seem to follow.

The next day I received a terrifying call from my father. He had discovered that the aforementioned junk yard was built as a huge super-conductive antenna, designed and built expressly for the purpose of pulling in and concentrating spiritual turbulence. The architect, Ivo Shandor, was the leader of a secret society of Gozer worshipers who had come to the obvious conclusion that society was too sick to survive. Shandor, also a bike mechanic, had performed a lot of unnecessary “repairs” to bikes he had worked on. My new rusty supreme overlord was one of those bikes.

In desperation I turned to my roommate (whose parents, coincidentally, were killed by ectocyclists), knowing that she would be immune to its powers. She quickly devised a plan. She would research alchemy and concoct a magical potion to spread on the bolts, allowing us to dismantle its tires and thus disable its ability to make decisions. We had to act fast. You see, there is a small window of time between 10 and 11pm when evil bikes are at their weakest.

10pm struck and the time had come. My roommate sneaked up behind the bike with a bowl of potion. But suddenly lightning bolts shot out in all directions sending us nearly spiraling into the streets of Boston (which is especially impressive when you take into consideration that we live in Somerville).

This did not phase my roommate. To give some background, she had trained for years in the mountains of Belize under the strict tutelage of Nacon, the Maya God of war. More importantly, she works in a Harvard museum restoring ancient artifacts. That is to say, she deals with this sort of thing on a regular basis.

Without skipping a beat, she grabbed a discarded tooth brush, quickly dipping it into the bowl and then flinging the rust/evil dissolving goo at the bike. Then lunging forward, she recovered the tooth brush, dipped it, and once again threw. The bike wailed in pain and, at last, was silent.

The blurriness is caused by the dissolving evil.

The blurriness is caused by the dissolving evil.

At last the enemy had been vanquished! We quickly dissembled the now subdued bike.

W to the double O T

See? No more blurriness

We had tea and called it a day.

Hail Gozer!

The whole building is a huge super-conductive antenna that was designed and built expressly for the
     purpose of pulling in and concentrating spiritual turbulence

6 responses to “Good Ol’ Rusty!”

  1. danimal says:

    It should be noticed that in the course of these events, enough rust was removed to reveal its true identity; Murray’s Meteor Flite.

  2. Dea-chan says:

    Oh you crazy Danimal! When do I appear in your radical story? 😛

    I like your biketoplasm.

  3. Windspike says:

    “Bowel” eh?

  4. danimal says:

    Of a monkey, actually. However, it turned out to be under a terrible terrible curse!

  5. L-Train says:

    and there it shall sit
    forever and ever
    Amen.

  6. danimal says:

    I will do something with it eventually!

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