My Craigslist Commentary 7

June 18th 2013

Just so you know.

Those weird people?

On the internet?

They’re still fucking here!

(Myself included.)

Wtf do I mean?

Who are these assholes?!

Whoa, calm down.

What I mean is, after scanning the Craigslist archives








I now present you with the latest fleet of their online gems.

And what I have to say to them.

Blue= me. Not blue = Not me


Oh my god. Oh. My. God.(…You good, bro?)

Grab a paper bag, (k) breathe into it (…k) and calm your ass down (Ass = calmed. Also wtf is going on). You’re hyperventilating (Got it.) because you AIN’T NEVA seen a deal like this before. (…Quickie Mart? Is that…you?) Now collect yourself (I’m tired of doing things), then keep reading this incredible description that (Fuck yes I CAN’T WAIT) barely serves to do justice to my (The suspense!!) 2010 Felt Gridlock 3 speed fixed gear bike. (YESSSSSSSSSSSS) Yes I said 3 SPEED FIXED GEAR. (Just kidding I don’t give a fuck)  Also known as the greatest vehicle the city has ever had the privilege of existing around. (Batman’s Segway may stand to disagree)

This apparently exists.

So this exists.


What makes this bike so much better than every other bike that has ever been pedaled? Glad you asked. (I’m not so sure that’s entirely how that went down…)

It starts with the paint scheme. It looks like Iron Man if Iron Man were a bike. (Wonder if Gwenyth Paltrow would also fall in love with an Iron Bike…Maybe she’s got a type) That’s bold, son.  (I know, that’s what I’m sayin.)

Curb appeal. It’s probably also why some piece of trash stole the front tire that originally came with this beauty. Why didn’t he steal the whole bike? Because he knew he wasn’t man enough. (That’s how I feel when I want to buy the whole rack of ruffles from the vending machine.  I like really want to do it but then I just can’t.) That’s ok, (thanks) I replaced it with something that looks even more boss. (Such as?)

The next thing is the genuine leather seat. (So no explanation then…) My taint has had a love/hate relationship with this particular bit of the machine. (Your what?) But it’s got those swanky brass rivets so I can’t stay mad that it smashed my prostate and has likely rendered fatherhood impossible. (Built in birth control? SOLD TO THE WASIAN WITH THE BLOG) But let’s face it, I’d rather have a bike than a kid. (Put that on your online dating profile for sure)

What else? Let’s talk about that three speed in-the-hub, fixed-gear transmission for a second. It’s as gnarly as it is exotic. (I feel the same way about an ice-cold Fanta) Like the tropical, saw-toothed platypus. (LOVE THOSE BITCHES) Which is a species that doesn’t even exist.  (I DID NOT KNOW THAT) Fortunately this crazy ass hub does. It offers 3 speeds, as the name implies. It also offers a terrific chance to introduce that dome of yours to the asphalt if you sleep for one single second on this beotch. (Does it go by the name Chris Brown per chance?)  So don’t trip. Ride safe. What this bike does offer is a one-way ticket to legits-ville. (Free ride home? AWESOME.)

Find a bowling ball. Then find another one. Your nuts must be at least that big to even consider making this whip the dreamiest object to ever take up too much space in your tiny ass apartment. (Amazing) But you’ll be filled with joy once you throw a leg over this flawless piece of American-made* cycling excellence.

What else? Ryan, the paint’s a little dinged up. Yeah, well, that’s called REAL LIFE. It comes at you fast, bro. Besides, you really want this glimmering, shimmering sex machine catching the eye of some small time thief? (Glimmering shimmering sex machine? How did you now my name?)

I already told you what happened to the tire. You really don’t want to be living your own version of PeeWee’s big adventure. (That’ not entirely off the table.)  Consider the lived-in feel a natural crime deterrent. (Ride this shit with my sweatpants and Nickelback blasting out my ear buds and I’ll be an au natural crime deterrent)

But, aren’t you sad about selling the greatest bike on earth, Ryan? No bitch. When you ride this bike once it permanently eliminates your ability to feel sad about anything EVER AGAIN. Even for little puppies who are afraid to walk down the stairs, because the stairs…they’re so big, and they’re so little. Puppies who are young, but have already discovered the world to be a cold, unforgiving place. But you won’t give a shit about it because you’ll be on your AWESOME new bike living the DAMN DREAM (Most definitely saw this segwaying into a heart wrenching tale about a small beagle named Chet braving the 3 foot stair drop from the kitchen to the living room. I suppose I was mistaken…)Here is a picture of this bitch:

craigslist bike
Now if you’re asking yourself “Ryan, is that a toilet in the background?” Yes. Yes it is. Why? Because this bike is the SHIT (well played…I think.) And you’ve just learned something else about me. That’s right, my name is Ryan. And your name is lucky sonofagun if you make the best choice of your life and pay me cold, hard cash for this ridiculous ride. Now buy this BITCHIN ASS bike. (Oh wait I don’t know how to ride a bike.)

Too much to ask?

(This question seems a bit premature…so yeah probably)

Maybe this is asking too much (chances are good), but . . I’m looking for inspiration and was wondering if there are any Seattle women out there who would be willing to share some of their goddess-energy with me, (I’m overflowing with that shit. DONE.) to put some spark in my day: (I could day spark for sure.) I would really like to see your tits. (How does one go about “desparking” a day?) I don’t want to be your boyfriend, significant other, etc. (Bumskies I was about to propose)

We shouldn’t need to meet. Online is preferred, (I share my goddess-energy best via twitter so this works) since I don’t want to compromise you in any way. (A true gentleman, indeed.) I don’t want your number, address (How about some scrubs? TlC? Anyone? Anyone?) . . . nothing. (Alrighttt okay.) I don’t need to see your face, (Probably for the best) just your tits. (Naturally).I promise I won’t contact you or touch myself in any way. (A man of promises, I see.) I’m not a pervert (Well that’s just simply not true.) and I promise that I won’t try to phone you to whisper, “so, uh, what are you wearing right now?”  (Well that makes sense because you didn’t want my phone number anyway. So this would just be confusing for everyone involved.) because actually I’ll be looking at your tits and I’ll know that you’re not wearing anything. (Kudos on the  context clues) .

 I’m really a pretty decent, respectful guy; and I want to see your tits. (You copy and pasted this from your”about me” section on your myspace didn’t you?) I’m not looking for you to “flash” me your tits; this isn’t Friday. (What’s the protocol for a Tuesday? Or like Monday around 2.) I don’t have any gripes with Flash Friday, and applaud any woman who flashes for fun...But this is different. If you’ll excuse the expression, this isn’t about titillation; (lolz) this isn’t about sex: If I wanted to see just any old tits (“any old tits.” what an underused phrase), well, I’ve heard rumors that there might be some secret sites on the Internet where I could maybe find pictures of actual breasts. (Congrats on your abrupt upgrade to the word breasts!) .

But I don’t want that. I want you. I want your attitude. Real woman. Real tits. Real attitude. (…Did you steal this off my business card?) I want to know that somewhere in this city there is a woman who knows about the power of her own tits and isn’t afraid of that power. (I told you I’m chillin over here with a fuck ton of goddess energy. We’ve been over this.)

What your tits look like really doesn’t matter. Big tits, small tits, round tits, sagging tits, pointy, pierced, painted, (<?) pristine (<<??) powdered (<<<???????!!!) , pert, perky or pendulous tits (<<<<<<?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!????????)

Bring ‘em all. (I’m maxxed out at 2. Hope that’s cool) I don’t care about your age (18+) (< Except you do…) or your ethnicity. Bring ‘em. I need your tits. (Define…”need”…) Flat-chested? Great! Bring your tits. (This sounds like  bad lyrics to a song) I need to know that there are women who want to shake their tits at the night sky and howl. (I’ve got a friend named Bonnie who howls from time to time. I’ll call her up. Although, Bonnie isn’t human. So.) Can you feel the energy, just thinking about it?! (I’m kind of hungry. Does that count?) I need some of that serious tit-mojo. (So a great personality then) 

Tits bring people together, in a happy, friendly way. They’re always cuddly and fun. (Also great at telling the temperature. Like built-in weather women.)

I don’t want some porn-industry, air-brushed, media-approved, silicone-infected, professional skin-jockey. I want you, and your real, happy, Seattle-Washington tits. (I’ve got Boise, Idaho tits. We still cool?)

Are you really going to let the failed moral standards of a repressive, patriarchal, Puritanical society stop you from showing me your tits? (Probably yeah) Think of the poor, sad Puritan pilgrim-woman, with her tits all bound up and hidden away. Are you going to let them get away with that?! (Cool by me) No, you’re not! (No dude I probably will.) You’re going to laugh and smile and shake your tits in the face of The Man. (I would happily represent that Man if you had any symbolic civil disobedience planned. Let me know if I can help out.) (Oh I had no idea you’d be interested) You’re going to send me a picture of your happy, bouncy tits. The world needs your tit-energy! (I mean they’re kind of just kind of here to hang by default…Idk.)

So, here’s the deal:

Your happy tits should be unhampered, bra-less, free and easy, unashamed, proud and happy. but, whipped cream would be okay, as would cake frosting, chocolate syrup or most any other happy food. cold oatmeal or hospital food = not happy, not okay. got it? (So stand in front of a computer screen, cutting off my head and putting oatmeal on myself. You got it, captain.)

All kidding aside, (who’s joking?) I truly love and respect women (How could I possibly think any differently) and I love their happy tits. Is that really so wrong? Tits are NOT sex organs, yet our whole society is afraid of them!! (“Mustn’t let children see them!!! Cover their eyes!!!”) What’s up with that! (Little boy penis probably) I mean seriously, WHAT THE FUCK??!!! The strongest metaphor for mother-goddess energy, and they’ve been banned as being indecent!! Huh??!! You think maybe it has something to do with keeping women down? Hmm? Maybe? (I’m gonna bounce….don’t’ get any ideas.)

So, send me a picture of your tits. Thanks in advance. You’re wonderful! Be Proud! (Good god)