WE DO NOT NEED TO SEE YOUR ASS!

The apartment mate took today off. Presumably to recover from excess egg consumption yesterday. So at present I am listening to a long witty rant about people wearing spandex.
Spandex, she avers, is a good reason for therapy.
For traumatized viewers.


AT THE POST OFFICE...

Fifty-something year old white lady wearing spandex superman leggings.
One cheek looked like a twenty-five pound sack of rice, the other one looked at least thirty pounds. Totally lopsided, flabbabbabulous.

NOBODY should wear spandex, no matter the excuse.

We do NOT need to see that, ever.


SCHRECKLICHEN WEISSWURSTEN

I find it hard to disagree. I am often treated to the sight of flabby bicycle bottoms got-up for speed. Marin is rather like that. Folks, it does not matter how aerodynamic your plump harbor-seal figure, you ain't gonna break any records. And you're scaring the wildlife, too.
Ugliness at medium speed.
It sweats.

In the three-star restaurant of life, views of blubber are reserved solely for Icelanders. Who enjoy all visible representations of fermenting animal fats, rather like Frenchmen and blue cheese. Visual terrorism.
Spandex and yoga pants are damnation.
Don't torture the rest of us.


BIKE LANE ON POLK STREET

Spandex is suitable ONLY for Halloween. We must kill all bicyclists, and bury them under the floor boards. Their scritching and scrabbling will be audible late at night, when all is still and the damned come alive.
Spandex and motorcars should not co-exist in the city.

Let us remember them with a few kind words.

They were shiny and spongiform.

Moist wiggly larvæ.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================