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Friday, 14 October 2011

image for Local Man Caught Up In Bicycle Without A Saddle Fiasco
The Story Of Sad Loser Martin Shuttlecock's Pitiful Life - Where's Me Bleedin' Bike Gone!

Local man, Martin Shuttlecock, today became involved in a bizarre series of verbal exchanges after parking and locking up his bicycle in the local Co-Op car park. It seems that as Shuttlecock was in store, stocking up on Stella Artois in order to fuel his out of control drinking addiction, that his bicycle was vandalised.

Emerging from the store, shaking like a shitting dog straining its neck, because he hadn't had a drink for at least twenty minutes, a pie eyed Shuttlecock, toting an enormous kit bag stuffed with chilled lager was stopped dead in his weaving tracks by the vandalisation of his bicycle.

A horrified Shuttlecock noticed that some rotter had stolen the saddle from his mountain bike, and that where there was once a reasonably comfortable saddle, there was now an uncompromising tubular steel shaft.

Which would have left little margin for error had Shuttlecock attempted to ride it home.

"I know it's got quick release nuts and all that," Shuttlecock grumbled. "But this is ridiculous..."

A clearly irate Shuttlecock then went back into the store and demanded to see the manager. Immediately. At which point, Shuttlecock poured out his story of woe, complete with a complimentary display of Italianate hand gesturing.

"You'll have to slow down a bit," the manager informed him. "You're slurring your words. I can't tell what you're saying. Have you been drinking Sir? I only ask because you stink like the tap room of the Red Lion on a Saturday night..."

Following a heated and somewhat incoherent - at least from one of the parties - exchange the store manager pointed to a sign which said:

'Customers Using This Car Parking Facility Do So At Their Own Risk.'

Shuttlecock, with eyes bulging, pointed out that he hadn't parked a car, but chained up a bicycle. The store manager appeared unimpressed, shrugged, and retreated to the back office.

In desperation, Shuttlecock then recruited a passer by to call the police on his mobile. The man frowned, but agreed to make the call, which he then did.

Six minutes later, a police Armed Response Unit vehicle disgorged four rifle bearing bobbies at the scene, as a van pulled up containing eight officers in full riot gear, swiftly followed by a police dog handler, and a Royal Navy bomb disposal unit.

Few of those present up the shops could recall seeing anything quite like it.

Even Shuttlecock was dumbstruck, and could only point at the de-saddled bicycle, as the armed officers ran around the car park, dropping into random squats and pointing their weapons at imaginary assailants over the bonnets of parked cars, and shouting a great deal.

As the riot squad formed a protective cordon around an old lady sitting on a mobility scooter, who had only popped out to buy a tin of cat food.

Whilst all this was going on, Shuttlecock opened a dialogue with the police officer in charge, and revealed that his bicycle had been vandalised, by having the saddle removed.

"You can't ride it like that," Chief Superintendent Bogface Shitehole told him. "You could do yourself a nasty injury trying that. Ooh! I shudder to think...I say I shudder to think..." (In a bit of a gay way.)

"Exactly!" Shuttlecock shouted. "I'll have you know, occifer, that I'm a pretty famous piss head around these here parts, and there are those who would put this saddle theft...thing...down to something distasteful. Like saying I like riding a bike wiv no saddle, because I'm a bit gay and I like having things stuck up me bum!"

Eventually, the officer agreed to file a crime report, and bring in a sniffer dog to assist in the investigation, but not before instructing Shuttlecock to wheel the bicycle home, as he was as sozzled as a Scunthorpe strippagram, and would be instantly arrested should he attempt to ride the bicycle on the Queen's highway.

"I'd no intention of riding it!" Shuttlecock slurred as he wobbled inelegantly homeward, pushing the bike, with the kit bag stuffed with cans of chilled lager safely strapped to the handlebars. "There's people out there who'd pick up on something like this, put two and two together and make seventy fucking six, then splash it all over the place. My arse! Bastards!"

More as we get it.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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