@Boundgear was pretty close. 
For the extra bit of poetic justice, this is in exactly in the same place some bike thieves simply push moving cyclists to the ground to get their stuff.
There have been some cases recently of people being threatened with guns or, notoriously, stabbed to death by bike robbers in Rio.
So I wouldnât go chasing after those guys, just in case. Even if theyâre just opportunistic assholes who donât know or care that thing has the monetary value of half a coffee cup, who knows if things might get stabby.
I be samthepea here, I be samthepea there. I havenât broadcast yet tho.
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Same, except you tack âhardcoreâ onto the end of my name there. I host but donât broadcast, although a few real people Iâve actually met in person follow me for no reason theyâve been able to articulate.
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I once had my unicycle stolen outside of a supermarket. I wasnât far from home, so I ran back and cycled all around the area until I found a few guys walking down the street with it. Fortunately they had their backs to me and the guy holding the unicycle was wheeling it next to the road, so I just cycled up to them and grabbed it. That wouldnât have worked with a bike, but it felt pretty good at the time.
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The best part is when the rope goes taught and the unsuspecting bike thieves are thrown off!
Then itâs a Scavenger hunt!
Yikes. Iâm glad I keep my u-lock within easy reach.
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Damn you tyger11, I stole that joke fair and square!
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Yep. Iâm usually pretty calm, but bicycle thieves really bring on the warp spasm.
The first warp-spasm seized CĂșchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing,
hideous and shapeless, unheard of.
His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot,
shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream.
His body made a furious twist inside his skin,
so that his feet and shins and knees switched to the rear
and his heels and calves switched to the front.
The balled sinews of his calves switched to the front of his shins,
each big knot the size of a warriorâs bunched fist.
On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck,
each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child.
His face and features became a red bowl;
he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane could not probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull;
the other eye fell out along his cheek.
His mouth weirdly distorted:
his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared;
his lungs and liver flapped in his mouth and throat;
his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow,
and fiery flakes large as a ramâs fleece reached his mouth from his throat.
His heart boomed loud in his breast like the baying of a watch-dog at its feed
or the sound of a lion among bears.
Malignant mists and spurts of fire flickered red in the vaporous clouds
that rose boiling above his head,
so fierce was his fury.
The hero-halo rose out of his brow,
long and broad as a warriorâs whetstone,
long as a snout,
and he went mad rattling his shields, urging on his charioteer
and harassing the hosts.
Then, tall and thick,
steady and strong,
high as the mast of a noble ship,
rose up from the dead center of his skull
a straight spout of black blood,
darkly and magically smoking.
In that style, then,
he drove out to find his enemies
and did his thunder-feat
and killed a hundred,
then two hundred,
then three hundred,
then four hundred,
then five hundredâŠ
From The Tain, translated Thomas Kinsella, from the Irish epic TĂĄin BĂł Cuailnge. c. 1969 Thomas Kinsella
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And referenced in the Pat Mills/Simon Bisley graphic novel âSlaine - the Horned Godâ.
âŠWITH PICTURES!
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Crap, must have missed that part. Do you have the time mark?
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I wonder if anyone came along and tried to until the rope before riding off?
If this was the USA they would sue because they couldnât stand their ground.
Gonads are fair game, though. Also, knees.
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