So on my last bike ride (and I promise this isn't going to turn into a bike riding blog) I ran across these four people coming out of the Frisbee Golf park.
Three guys, one girl. They all had their hair dyed weird colors. All the guys were wearing nothing but huge pants and chains. And two of the guys had their hair gelled into HUGE spikes. No biggie, really. I don't usually let people's appearances throw me. I know how good it feels to be different sometimes.
As I was riding up to them, I heard two of them use the word "faggot." I hate that word. Then, they started yelling into the park. The one shouted to someone on the course, "Have you ever had your asshole licked by a fat man in an overcoat?" And the guy on the course just yells, "Only on the weekends."
And then I rode by and the girl shouts, "Yeah, you work it, boy." And they all started shouting at me...dirty homosexual things that I couldn't really make out since I was riding away and they were all shouting at once. And I was sad.
I wasn't sad about what they said. I was sad for them. Here they are trying SO HARD to be different with their clothes and hair and piercings and tattoos, and yet...they're acting exactly as I would expect someone who looks like them to act. So really, when you get down to it, they're just as cookie-cutter as everyone else.
I wanted to ride back and tell them. But really, what good would it do? So I just kept riding, depriving them of a response, which I'm sure is what they were after.
Sometimes people are funny...
The first moments of silence.
7 hours ago