Kill The Goat

So, I was cycling north on Yonge Street on Friday night, minding my own business, feeling the spring in my flowing mane of hair - I really do need a cut - and getting pissed at the peds who step off the curb because they either assess traffic conditions with their ears or they don't care if they get hit by a bike. It happened once to me: a pedestrian didn't even bother to look and I veered but still hit her.

And then, just as I had passed a guy who thrust himself right in front of me, some dude let go a belch that sounded like it came from the bowels of hell. I could feel it, stopped breathing so that I wouldn't taste it or breathe any of it in. No sooner had I overcome that trauma when I saw and heard another guy make an obnoxious horking noise (I know, hork is not a nice word). It was so loud that I thought he had snorted his nose into his throat. In a panic, I swerved just as his head turned towards the road and a wad of stuff came flying and landed on the road beside me. I had flashbacks to Montgomery Burns spitting out a chunk of the three-eyed fish. It all happened in slow motion.

At that point, I realized that one thing could have been added to this outstanding post (The Difference Between Men and Women) over at Kill The Goat. Women don't usually belch and spit in public, or at least not with the pleasure it seems to give men.

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