GIRVAN, SCOTLAND -- It seemed like yet another glorious day in Scotland. Menfolk were prancing about in plaid skirts playing the pipes and tossing cabers. Bonnie babes were busy dancing jigs and cramming a sheep's lungs heart an liver into its stomach so they could boil up a tasty batch of haggis. Factories were cranking out truckloads of whiskey and clear tape. And two unsuspecting cleaning lassies were tidying the rooms of the Aberly House Hostel. When they happened upon a locked door at the room hired by one Robert Stewart, they knocked. They knocked again. Then they let themselves in with their master key. The shameful spectacle they were about to witness shocked the brogue right oot of them.
Mr. Stewart, it seems, was caught doing unnatural things to a bicycle. Tires akimbo, her handlebars pushed behind her seat, Sally MacFinn the Slutty-Ass Schwinn had awakened unquenchable lust in her owner and was surrendering her inner-tube in a shameful manner. Yet it's the poor man she led astray, the man who climbed astride her and pumped her pedals but good every time she wanted to be rode into town, it is Mr. Stewart who has paid the price. He has been convicted of "sexually aggravated breach of the peace" and has had his name consigned to a three-year stay on the sex offenders list.
Now, forced to alert his neighbors that as a bike-sexual he is not to be trusted in the company of schwinns, raleighs, huffy's and (heaven forbid) big wheels, the empty husk that was once a man rues the day his head was turned by that saucy bitch on wheels with worn treads and a comfy seat. Yet his dreams are often visited by visions of that tenderly squeezable rubber bulb of Sally's honky-honky handlebar horn. As for the man-skirt wearing, bag-piping, caber-tossing Scots, the ugly incident recalled that unfortunate episode in 2002 when Robert Watt of Edinburgh did unnatural things with a seductive traffic cone of loose morals and easy virtue.
Sally MacFinn, now living in seclusion as a pre-op tricycle, couldn't be reached for comment.