Persons suffering from phaltweariness tend to make calls,
whoops, war-whoops, cat-calls, hoots, whistles, hollers, brays, and shouts
loudly and often. Making loud noises with the speaking organ saves lives –
absent a car's horn, uttering a piercing blast of blood-curdling gibberish is a
proper way for a cyclist to signal to a nearby motor-vehicle operator that he
is about to be cut off mercilessly. As to the general appearance of a peedubser
(phaltweariness sufferer):
His sun-dazzled eyes will dance with a light of their own,
especially at night; his phaltburnt lips will be cracked and fissured; his dry
tongue will grate across the roof of his mouth; and from his throat will issue forth
a cry so foul, so loathsome, as to make the even the most wicked human among us
tremble with abject loathing.
The peedubzer will sound a signature call regardless of
audience, circumstance, or location – although she war-whoops to signal lane
changes and close calls alike, by yelling she loosens briefly the fetters upon
her soul, her vitality radiant and pure, with every joyous breath celebrating
life's fleeting tumble.
Spes Mea In Ratio Est – 場黑麥 John Paul Roggenkamp
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