June 24, 2012 § 10 Comments
Mrs. Wankmeister and I were coming home along PV Drive North today when we approached a cycling dude from the rear. He had a very fine Cannondale, a very fine electronic transmission, a very fine Specialized helmet, a very fine pair of Sidi shoes, and a very, very, very fine commemorative jersey from the century ride he’d completed with 10,000 of his closest friends. It was purple and green and yellow and brown and white and black and red and green. It was styling.
For a moment.
“What a wanker!” I said.
“Why he’s wanker?”
“Look at those shorts.” Dude was wearing khaki loose riding pants.
“Those are are called dickhiders. Pure wanker.”
“Not hiding. Hider. Dude’s got ten grand in bike and paraphernalia but he’s afraid to wear lycra because he’s embarrassed to show his package.”
“Yep.” Mrs. WM and I often speak Japlish together.
“Why he’s ashamed of tiny chin-chin? Asian girl’s gonna wear little tight thing shows tiny oppai. Why he’s not gonna show tiny chin-chin? Smart shopper wanna see it before she buy it.”
“I dunno. But any time you see some dude wearing floppy shorts on a racing bike, it’s cuz he doesn’t want you postal inspector chicks to examine his package. “
“He don’t oughta be ashamed about no tiny chin-chin. I don’t wanna see no big chin-chin in a bike shorts. Makes me sick, looking nasty all sticking out like bones and bagels.”
“Dudes I ride with, you won’t have to worry about that.”
“Onna bike I don’t wanna see no big nasty chin-chin poking in the lycra shorty pants with a pokey tip. Tiny chin-chin fits in the pants nice and don’t make a bump. Like a girl’s jeans. That’s why a boy’s jeans look nasty and not smooth. Gotta big lumpy donut and pokey in the middle not girl’s smooth line.”
“I’ll try to remember that the next time I go shopping for jeans.”
“But offa bike without no shorts it’s okay if a big chin-chin. But not too big like a German sausage. Kind of middle size is best. Offa bike tiny chin-chin it’s a kind of like a bumblebee who’s not got the stinger. It’s the disappointment.”
We pulled up to the dude at the light. Mrs. Wankmeister rolled down the window. “Don’t you worry about your chin-chin!” she said with a smile.
“Your chin-chin. It’s a okay one nobody looking it just don’t poke out like bones and bagels.”
Dude looked seriously fucking perplexed. Then we drove off.