Mopeds! Mirrors! Hypnotism! Cyclists!
Last night, I was driving through the city centre on my way to the gym. On my way down the hill, I went past a nice looking mod-style moped. It was mint green, mint condition, and a really nice looking piece of kit.

I thought no more of it, and pulled up to the t-junction at the bottom of the hill. As is customary, I checked my rear view mirror and saw the moped trundling gently down the hill towards me. I watched, transfixed by the hypnotic flickering of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the raindrops present on the multitudinous mirrors.

The flickering made me feel almost as though my vision was shifting, a feeling compounded as I saw the rider begin to lean left and right increasingly rapidly. His pendulum-like behaviour continued for a few seconds, then the bike swivelled round and he toppled; there was the sound of The Who weeping as mirrors crunched and shattered, there was a terrible scraping sound, like Paul Weller struggling to contain grief as the immaculate paintwork and panelling dragged along the asphalt, and it was topped by a scream of pain as the bike landed on the riders leg.

My reverie abruptly ended, and I reflected on what had happened. I began to laugh pretty much uncontrollably. I pulled over to the left, put on my hazards, and took a moment to compose myself before getting out of the car, running to the guy and seeing that his leg was fucked. I called the paramedics and offered my assistance.

Manhandling mashed-up mod-mobiles is harder than it looks -they're very heavy. As I moved it, to protect it from further damage, I slipped and dropped it. It made a hideous crunching sound and further mirrors dropped off. Stifling a laugh by sticking my hand in my mouth, I began to emit a sound similar to that of a choking hyena.

The poor guy on the floor, already in pain, winced further, and I began to try cheering him up by talking about the time I came off my bike and shattered both my wrists. I even showed him scars. Then I talked about how quickly my broken leg healed. He blanched and I began to chuckle.

Eventually the paramedic arrived, on his pushbike. I'd never seen this before, and laughed again. He was very efficient and began to cut off the guy's trousers. At this point the guy said they were brand new jeans. He looked further distressed. I corpsed, again.

At this point, gratitude for my help seemed to be turning into irritation at my finding everything hilarious and I decided to leave. As I pulled off, laughing, I didn't notice the cyclist coming past me, I pulled out, and he went straight over my bonnet.

I pissed myself laughing. He didn't.

I checked he was ok. He was. No damage to his bike, however I found a dent in my front wing. I was irritated. The cyclist thought it hilarious.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 28 Jul 2010, 8:09, Reply)