Lasagna.

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I’m not usually a Monday-basher, but I was up too late last night and the week seems hella long already. It’s pretty pathetic and stereotypical. I often like my job, so I need to just suck it up and get on my bike and be happy I’ll be in air-conditioned comfort on the hottest day of the spring so far.

I was up late because it was Euchre night. I was up extra late because at the end of the evening, we discovered Paul’s bike had been stolen some time between 1 and 2am outside of Chez Lucien on Murray Street. It didn’t have a seat on it, because he had brought that inside.

As the biking maven Maggi said this morning on Twitter, ‘They will spend eternity in purgatory, riding hills on bikes with broken, rusty seatposts.’ I fucking hope so. Bike thieves are just so bloody low as to be unbelievable. I drove Paul home and en route he saw some guy on an overlarge bike and a really low seat – so low he thought there wasn’t one, so we stopped to investigate. I was a bit concerned about an altercation since Paul was a getting a bit Hulk-ragey, but, at the same time, POTENTIAL BIKE THIEF. It wasn’t Paul’s bike, though. Just a fool who doesn’t know how to adjust seat height.

Earlier in the evening, during a smoke break, Kirk saw some guys inspecting his bike and then walking away. Kirk went to make sure nothing was awry and saw that his front light was missing, so he unlocked his bike and followed the guys and asked them, politely, if he could have his light back. ‘Uh, sure’, one replied, and handed it over.

So, not only are thieves assholes, but morons as well. And I suspect that those guys were probably involved in the disappearance of Paul’s wheels.

Anyway, the point of this ramble is that if you’re a cyclist and you take your bike places, invest in something more hardcore than a cable lock, register your bike, and make sure to put sriracha in the ears and nose of any bike thieves you encounter, because they are bastards.

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