Open Letter to Tooly McToolbag

First things first: go read one of the best blog posts ever.

Now, back to the subject at hand. An open letter to Tooly McToolbag:

A few weeks ago, my beautiful and kind cousin Sara Trey was walking along the peaceful Schuykill River near her dorm on Penn's campus. She was strolling along a multi-use path, taking in the sights and sounds of Spring in Philadelphia. By all accounts, she is kind, courteous and generally happy-go-lucky. She wasn't walking in the middle of the path, but very courteously to the right side.

At some point in her stroll, some douchebag with an attitude flies past her in full kit (and probably on a full carbon Madone SSSSSSL 6.66 with the Zipp 909 combo) and tears a gash in her arm the size of the Mariana Trench. As an aspiring doctor, she maintained her composure as she gushed blood but did not manage to flag down the offending loser.

So, Mr. McToolbag, what have you to say for yourself? You've given us cyclists, and specifically roadies, a bad name. As if we roadies needed more hate poured upon us. In all of your effort to fit in and be part of the now-hip cycling culture, you've called attention to yourself as an outsider, a pariah, an untouchable, a vagrant. Unfortunately, what you see of the TdF on TV does not actually happen in real life. We don't cruise around in Postal team kit, we don't toss our helmets aside on the final ascent, we don't eject our bottles once they're empty and we sure-as-shit don't hammer on multi-use paths (or roll on Shabbos)!

Get a clue, Tooly, and slow down around the pedestrians.