Dear Motherfucker Who Stole My Bike,
You know, I really don't appreciate the fact that you took my bike. In fact, I think it's very rude. But congratulations c*ck sucker, you made the right choice in stealing my bike instead of the THREE OTHER BIKES RIGHT NEXT TO IT. ONE OF WHICH WASN'T EVEN LOCKED UP. My bike is freshly tuned up, I added a basket, an under-seat bag, and I made it really safe with a bunch of reflectors and flashy lights. Hell, it is so awesome I would steal it too. If I WAS A MOTHERFUCKING, SPINELESS, UNIMAGINATIVE, CALLOUS THIEF. But I'm not. So I wouldn't.
For your sake I really hope you either look like me or like a bearded hipster wearing clam diggers and slip-on Vans. Otherwise you're going to scream, "Hey, I'm a dick who stole this bike from a basement that was totally around a corner and out of sight from the street. In fact, I may or may not live in that fool's building. You'll never know. But you can probably guess it was an inside job. All you know for sure is that I totally don't belong with this bike. In fact, I look ridiculous. You might as well report me to the police and save them some time."
If I ever find you, dear bike thief, I am going to take a bat to your head. And you know what? I don't even like violence. I was seriously becoming a pacifist Quaker for a little while. You have driven me to the most violent thoughts I have ever dreamed. You have violated me and my fiance. I hope you rot in hell. No. I hope you go to prison for the myriad of other crimes you are surely committing and get shivved with a whittled toothbrush while eating crappy tapioca pudding. Maybe I'm being harsh. I hope it's chocolate pudding.
Get a job.