“FACIAL HAIR IS AN OUTDATED MEASURE OF POWER AND WORTH IN OUR MODERN SOCIETY!” You scream as you launch from your painfully supine position into a full fledged Scandinavian Face Meat Patty Maker. The amount of sheer educated force you put into it matches the gravitational force of your own ego perfectly causing your fist to orbit around your head in a state of magical equilibrium. As you find yourself transfixed by this perfect pathway, a roaming asteroid comes into contact with your flying fist, causing it to spiral inwards towards your precious noggin. The force of impact ricochets through your brain and sends you back into a well placed mud puddle. The vicious bike gang laughs at your inter-planetary fate. There is an air of amazement to what they’ve just seen. Not simply a mocking laugh, no… there is a measure of respect there as well. You feel it! You attempt to sit up, but the surface tension of the puddle creates too powerful a force of suction upon your body for you to over come in your current state. You manage to mumble incoherently, “So… am I in your gang now?”
The looks of respect you believed they held turn out to in fact have been pure pity. One of the smaller ones looks to his comrades. “Guys, I know him. He’s my next dowah Neighbah. He’s pwetty sad guys. He lives with his mom in a basement.” The gang averts their gaze and shuffle back to their bikes. It looks like you won’t be slinging dope with this bunch of bad asses. You are far too much of a pussy.