Sunday, November 28, 2010

Stockholm Syndrome


It doesn't even hurt anymore. I can see bikes on cars, read Facebook status reports, blogs, crew emails about awesome rides, heck I even drove by Tom Brown and didn't cuss or punch my steering wheel.



I am just like those bad dogs Cesar Millan fixes. He gets em on the leash and they go nuts, for a little while. He stands there like a stone wall, and waits. Eventually they respond to his every "CHISSH!" like good little domesticated bitches (if they are female dogs). All that fire goes away and they break to the leash, and embrace the collar.



Just the other day, I remarked on what a nice bike a guy had. Boy he sure looked fast. I just attained the 170lb mark, the very same weight that caused the massive pre-stroke, diet and exercise frenzy. It's cool, I need the extra insulation for the winter. By the way: I recently found out your house and yard look good if you do stuff to them. Life is just SWELL! The trainer? Rode it twice last week. Walking? I did that too (a couple times). Swimming? Sticking with it, though you'd never know by looking at my waistline, it's expanding like the universe.


Go ahead and ride you BASTARDS! See if I give a levitating, steaming heap!



W.B.Z.N.

8 comments:

WheelDancer said...

Nothing better than finding your own center.

Human Wrecking Ball said...

Thanks Man, I was so stoked after I wrote this blog I had a cup cake!

Ms. Moon said...

We need a 12- step program. I swear.

downtown guy said...

Of course all the boys went to school; and most of them got into Class III, but Slightly was put first into Class IV and then into Class V. Class I is the top class. Before they had attended school a week they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island; but it was too late now, and soon they settled down to being as ordinary as you or me or Jenkins minor [the younger Jenkins]. It is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them. At first Nana tied their feet to the bed-posts so that they should not fly away in the night; and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off buses [the English double-deckers]; but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the bus. In time they could not even fly after their hats. Want of practice, they called it; but what it really meant was that they no longer believed.

Human Wrecking Ball said...

I have been accused of the PP syndrome before. I kinda liked it. I'm not sure it applies here. I am not rebelling my age or domestic duties, I am on the DL due to a ticker/brain issue till March. (I didn't know if you were caught up). All that aside I am forgetting how to fly.

downtown guy said...

Actually, it was strictly the idea of forgetting to fly that made me think of that passage, not any reference to PP syndrome. That sadness that I felt when I first read it as a kid - I think that's one of the most heartbreaking passages of any book of childrens' literature. And the tone of your post just brought it to mind, so I figured I'd post it up.

I'm all caught up for sure - I don't comment much, but I read every post.

Human Wrecking Ball said...

Well I hope you know I had my tongue against my cheek (as most times, unless i'm on the ledge or nostalgic). I loved the excerpt and the comment. Thanks for reading DTG

Kent said...

``It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye are seldom the same.'' Fabienne (Butch's love interest in Pulp Fiction).