Since we’re into winter now, I usually bike home after the sun has set. I use lights and I follow the rules of the road because I am a Safe Biker. But sometimes people can’t see me anyway.
The other night I was gunning it in the bike lane toward an intersection with a notoriously quick-changing stoplight. After a few weeks/months/years, you begin to learn the light patterns and whether or not you have enough time to make it, so I slowed down a bit. The light was green on my side, and for the oncoming traffic, it had just turned to green.
As I entered the intersection, an oncoming van carrying two dudes swerved into the left turn lane, and then cut across me.
“THANKS A BUNK, DOUCHE BAG!” I shouted. (Because I am very brave at night, on my squeaky little bike, in my helmet.)
Wait, you say. Didn’t you mean to type THANKS A BUNCH, DOUCHE BAG? Alas, no. Apparently when I am hopped up on Bike Helmet Bravery and Rules-of-the-Road Righteousness, I also forget how to pronounce certain words. Those guys knew I was thanking them, so I guess that’s the important part of the story.
Still more important was the natural thought progression:
And not just ANY Bunk. THE Bunk. Douche bags.