108 The one note scum of the earth

Reluctant Dissenter #2 dropped a few tears as he tiptoed behind baby Drew’s back. He thought of the the glory, la gloire, shokuh, un’ondata di gloria, and so forth. He’d whack the little kid, and spend the rest of his life shoulder to shoulder with Lance, delivering eulogies at fifty mile memorial rides. Lights! Camera! Speak into the microphone!
All he had to do was kill baby Drew.
More tears, when he thought how that could be turned into a personal theme song.
. . . All I really had to dooooooooooo . . .
He was the Reluctant Dissenter, so called, because he knew, deep down, that all bicyclists over age eleven were obnoxious a______s. But that was the whole point! Who would want to be around toxic scum like adult bicycle riders except kindred scum? He admitted it, but the need for inclusion was greater. Kill an innocent child, and the world to the extent of its dregs was his. Take it! he advised himself. It was all the world would ever offer. And that was why he was a Reluctant Dissenter, differing with his own. Most bicyclists thought they were wonderful, healthy, decent. They were laughable. If the nuisance factor needn’t dealing with, they would be beneath contempt.
But they had numbers, which was what Reluctant Dissenter #2 wanted. To be part of the pack, the head participant; only deferring, slightly, to great Lance.
Lance! More tears of joy. Glorious yellow wristband!
The possible fly in the ointment was the toddler had killed twenty-nine of RD#2’s peers, and crushing his little skull or garroting his little neck might not be the slam dunk it would seem syllogistically.
Great big bicycle man is behind little tiny baby’s back.
Great big man has great big weapons, wood chairs and hard crash helmets and nylon sports belts, at hand.
Little tiny baby has little baby feet and hands, and one Yardbirds flyswatter.
Oogie, great big bicycle rider easily murders child.
More shining tears. It promised to be so easy.
But the tears were otherly; standard bicyclist cowardice undercut reason.  Reluctant Dissenter’s bathetic need for inclusion kept him on his toes behind baby Drew’s back, as much as he desired to hop on his ten speed and bolt.
Mikkim Ttommott was able to capture the desperation raging in RD#2’s immature aging countenance.
She felt, though, it could have done with her eyes closed, because all bicyclists looked the same.


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