Living with Lycra
Roadies are disgusting. No, I'm not talking about the too-cool stoner hippies who follow crappy jam-bands around and eat a balanced diet of Hong Kong acid and organic granola. I'm talking about a far more foul, offensive, and degenerative social misfit: Cyclists. It's scientific fact that 99.8% of people should never, ever, under any circumstance wear lycra. Especially attention-grabbing, brightly-colored lycra. So why does nearly 100% of the amateur roadie population insist on donning belly-fat-squeezing, frank-and-bean-enhancing, ass-crack-sweating "cycling apparel"? Seriously. Spandex is gross, and I petition that people wear it only in the privacy of their own homes, or at German raves, where it's appropriate. I once saw a man hunched over on the side of the road, apparently having a heart attack next to his $6,000 carbon road-rocket. Perhaps he'd just gotten the bill, or heard that Lance Armstrong dopes, just like everyone else. Either way, he wore a pink-and-black-striped "cycling jersey" that loudly implied professional sponsorship from an Italian sports car manufacturer. It was at least a size XXL-a spandex clothing size that should be a crime against humanity. When this "cycling enthusiast" finally stopped heaving and stood, his jersey rode up to just under his generous man-teats and revealed an enormous grey belly covered by sweaty tufts of dark hair. He also appeared to be smuggling a small buffet of grapes and sausage in his sagging lycra shorts. But I bet he was hauling ass before his heart seized, on account of his performance-enhancing clothing. I recently watched another group of roadies drinking beer at a bar—an indoor bar—wearing not only their ridiculous lycra body-condoms, but their helmets. Yep, they sat there swilling beer with chin straps buckled for over an hour. It was like Revenge of the Nerds, Spandex Edition. It starts innocently enough, I suppose—splash of neon here, a "performance" tailored pair of shorts there, maybe a carbon-fiber toothbrush just for fun. Until one day, you look in the mirror while you're shaving your forearms and realize you have the hygiene of an OCD sociopath who makes doilies out of human skin. It's not normal; I don't care what your bike club says. My advice? Unless you're fit enough to make spandex look good (you know who you are, you Adonis assholes), just say no. Wear a T-shirt. You can probably even get one from your Italian sports-car sponsor. And when you're done riding, you can go to the bar in it and not get your ass kicked. Be sure not to mention that you shave your legs.