At approximately 6:20pm on Wednesday June 24th, I, Mr Fweng Ebola, of a decrepit and overpriced flat, was cycling west along some road.
It was a clear and sunny day. Trees continued to absorb carbon dioxide and the crippling indifference of a cruel world gnawed at my soul like beavers felling a dam as I got fatter and repelled anyone with a womb. The lights were red as I overtook a line of stationary traffic. In front of me, a female cyclist whose route was blocked by a pedestrian island had stopped. As the lights changed to green, I slowed to allow the cyclist into the road, taking up more of the road and holding back as I did so.
On doing this, a car driven by a CUNT overtook us close and at speed, due to the driver being a selfish retarded fuckbollock who would place a stranger's death at his own hand as less important than being a few seconds late for something. I yelled out in shock as I continued pedalling. The driver was now looking at me in his rear-view mirror to gauge if I'd been the yeller.
Regrettably, I made the mistake of jabbing a finger directly at him, invoking a furious red mist that clouded the driver's rat-like and beady little eyes. As he crossed over the junction, he'd slowed down behind traffic as I approached along an empty bus lane, tutting like a pensioner reading the Daily Mail. Before I passed the driver, he accelerated into the bus lane and came to a halt. Now rather worried, I overtook his car, keeping an eye on his door which I wasn't surprised to see being flung open full length so a Caucasian, shaven-headed and lobotomised ape could lunge at me. I weaved out of his way – just – and continued unabated, now rather perturbed that a maniac with a micropenis was trying to kill me.
About 15 seconds later, I became aware of a speeding engine approaching. Determined to make me stop so he could, I have to assume, beat me into a bloody, weeping pulp who wished as he cried red tears from swollen purple eyes that he'd kept up the kickboxing lessons, the driver overtook me a second time, pulled in sharply, and came to a screeching halt. This time, he ensured I had no chance to escape as his car was now only a metre or two ahead. I gripped my brakes but with no room for manoeuvre, I collided into the back of him with such force that my rear fucking wheel bucked and landed on the pavement while a jagged pedal cut my bare leg to ribbons.
I yelled out in shock and, looking up, saw two community officers run across the road to assist an unfortunate woman who had collapsed outside a tube station. I managed to catch the attention of one of them as I was now yelling and waving my hands like Leonardo Di Caprio in Titanic.
As the officer walked towards us, Cro-Magnon man must have realised that I was winning - for the first time in my lousy, motherfucking life, I. Was. Ahead, dammit!
So he drove off.
I gave the officer my details and reattached my chain, cycling home carefully as unidentified bits fell off. On arrival at my flat, I realised my back had twisted up a la John Merrick, the Elephant Man.
I would like to end by stating that the individual responsible has no business driving so much as a mobility scooter, as he clearly has no qualms about using one as a weapon. If it pleases the court, may I suggest he be hanged about the neck until dead, and his bloated cadaver repeatedly pummelled by me doing bunny hops on his twisted spine with a fucked-up bike.