Monday, November 16, 2015

A letter to John from his Ex-Fork

Look, it was either contemplate the meaning of a world that might allow the existence of a caliphate state on a closed-borders-only basis because religious freedom isn't really religious freedom if we only allow the religions we like to be free, or write an imaginary letter to John from his old fork that he gave me because he didn't want it anymore.

Neither would have been safe for work, but I chose the latter.
You are most welcome.
Up, up, up.

Dear John,
At first I was afraid; I was petrified.  

I'm a rigid fork, after all.  So movement isn't something I do very well, and I think that comes with a fear of change.  Travel is not what I do.  I've never left anyone before.  But you and I both know how bad things had gotten between us, and the end was the end.  And that's fine.  I mean, I was furious at first.  How could YOU leave ME?  You with your floppy little handlebars and your wanky saddle.   I hate you.  You want to know what I really think?  Of course you don't because you're a mean-hearted soul sucking buzz kill.  So let me tell you what I think about you. Kiss my dropouts.  Again, I'm a rigid fork, so I'm basically genderless, but if I had a genitals I would definitely not let you touch them anymore.  You with your hate.  Always with your disdain for my body.  Like I wasn't good enough for YOU?  Ha!  That seems so silly now.  But I couldn't see it at the time, because when you told me I wasn't good enough to flow down North Bank trail, I believed you.  And so you would run off and ride that other fork you have, with her implanted travel adjustment and her perky air valves and bullshit - let me tell you something - that shit ain't real.  And I'd sit at home all alone and think I wasn't pretty enough, and then you'd come home and we'd go get groceries or walk the dog or some garbage, and I was just that - a utility.  

Let me tell you something you don't know about you, John, you can't handle me!  You and your wanky little short stem.  For so long I believed the story you told me that I wasn't good enough.  But you know what I did last night?  Of course you don't, because you LEFT ME, so let me tell you what I did: I JUMPED DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS.  You would have never let me do that.  You thought I wasn't good enough for it.  But now I see the truth, the awful truth, that it was YOU who couldn't jump those stairs, not me.  And sure, I broke a spoke or two on this wanky little no-balls wheel, but screw him, I'm a grown-ass fork now!  I will huck all the stairs I want now, and bitches and spokes better bend a little.  This grown ass fork is a whole lot of fork, and I'm going to paint this town with my ass on backwards if you know what I mean.  Of course you don't know what I mean, because you wouldn't ever let me do that.  And you kept me locked up, and I almost believed you and I could have thrown my whole life away, but finally I have escaped, and I will SURVIVE.  

Again, and in summary, screw you and your wanky saddle and your carbon bikes and whatever.  I hope your other fork blows oil in your stupid eyes.  

-Karate Monkey Fork

PS - Here's a picture of me.  It's amazing what a little fresh paint can do for a girl's confidence.  Eat your heart out.  

No comments:

Post a Comment