Yeah, I Ride My Bike Through Harvard Yard



The air feels so much more viscous at that velocity, and you bet your ass I don’t wear a helmet.



Yeah, I ride my bike through Harvard Yard. I sit right up on that seat and zoom past the PLEASE WALK YOUR BIKE signs with the sheer animal power of a goddamn cheetah. That’s right, I just did a wheelie down Widener steps during wintery conditions. Catch me if you can, HUPD, because I’m covered head to toe in bike grease and moaning like a demented swamp monster.

Wait, did you feel that breeze through your hair? Oh, that’s right, you don’t know the freedom that comes from travelling between Sever and Boylston at an average speed of 9.6 m.p.h., you pathetic pedestrian shitbag. The air feels so much more viscous at that velocity, and you bet your ass I don’t wear a helmet.

Yeah, I don’t just take forks from the dining hall. I use an intricate arrangement of stolen silverware to wallpaper my dorm room, and let me tell you–the feng shui in here is insane as hell. Room inspectors just walk in and feel so goddamn at peace that they stop paying attention to all 80 of my toasters and other regulated appliances. I may have replaced my bed with a hot tub full of HUDS dishes so I can revel in my wealth like Scrooge McDuck, but believe me: I’m mindful as hell.


The rules just don’t apply to me, an Economics concentrator. Yeah, I’m stealing the Oxford English Dictionary from the library, page-by-page, then stuffing each sheet of paper inside my mechanical pencils like a cigarette or something. Catch that, Lamont bag checkers, because I’m the George Soros of library-based arbitrage. Do you know the resale value of the Oxford English Dictionary? It’s non-trivial!

Canada Goose? More like Canada Moose. That’s right, I replaced my entire wardrobe with raw moose pelts like I’m Bear Grylls. I may have been kicked out of my poetry seminar because I wouldn’t stop howling at the moon while drinking unfiltered animal blood, but I guess that’s what passes for “free speech” these days at Ivy League institutions. Tolerance means tolerating people of different opinions, and Peter Sacks would do well to understand that.

Look, I’m a libertarian. I eat that anarcho-capitalism shit up like a cat coughing up a furball, but in reverse. Sure, there is a cost to liberty. Yesterday I was hit by a bus because I don’t respect your pisskidney liberal bike lanes, Cambridge. Talk about a nanny state! I’m like George Washington because I’m a lover of freedom and a patriot. Also like George, I no longer have teeth.

Do I act out because my parents care more about their hedge fund than they care about me? Maybe, but I can’t hear my own pain over the crunching of my bike tires. I filled those puppies right to the brim with Marshmallow Mateys, because I don’t follow the rules.