This is how my pedal exploded

I will attempt to explain the sheer terror of declining a steep, long hill on a bike with no brakes that you can't stop pedaling, but unless you know what it feels like to ride a track bike, it's hard to convey exactly how it feels.

Just imagine going this fast....

...from the top of this hill....

...and there's almost nothing you can do to stop going that fast. In fact, there's not much you can do to stop at all. You can try to be as non-aerodynamic as possible, sitting upright in your saddle, hoping & praying for wind resistance, but there isn't much you can do to counteract gravity.

more of Johnny Midwest's Photos
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Leftover painkillers

Tell you what, people, if you can get 'em, get 'em, but if you don't need 'em when you can get 'em, save 'em, cuz when you'll need 'em — and if you're like me, and you just do stupid shit all the time, like falling when you're not drunk...or when you are drunk...because you're riding your bike, which is just retarded and you know it, — you'll need 'em and you'll be glad you have 'em. Because Chiropractors are great and all - what with their crunching and popping and jesus what the fuck did you just do to me that fucking hurt but it kinda feels better, and kneeling on you and making things pop & crunch - that's all great, but drugs are better. There's a reason god created things that make us feel less pain, like cocaine, for instance. It's because he knew we were traumatically flawed, and we were going to fall off of our out of things, or just generally hurt ourselves all the time, and he only wanted us to suffer emotionally, not physically. And even then, he let us figure out antidepressants, too! So man, when you get the painkillers, save the rest of them if you're feeling better. They'll come in handy. And not just recreationally. Trust me, you'll hurt yourself. Especially if you hang around me. Punk.

What's up with all these men grappling me?

Pablo, Brad, what the fuck? What makes these guys toss me to the ground and lock their bodies around mine until I'm immobilized? Did I come back from Europe with makeup on or something? I don't get it. Furthermore, I think I have soft ribs or something. At some point in these two short battles in which I was clearly bested, it appears that I have fractured another rib. This time in my back, near the shoulder blade? How do I know this? Because it hurts like fuck and I can barely move. I've got to stop doing these things - they're not the most hetero moments of my life, either.

They Make Kids Fight in the ThunderDome in Edinburgh

I thought that was a little fucked up, but it's true. There's photographic evidence to prove it.


For a city that hosts the worlds largest festival of theater, comedy, film, books, uh...dance, ale, uh...oh, art....anyway, they do a hell of a lot during the festival in Edinburgh. It's like a college town: there's probably NOTHING to do for the rest of the year. Anyway, for a city so culturally elevated, I thought that this kiddie thunderdome was a bit depraved. But it looked fucking awesome. I didn't stick around to see which of the two kids who entered was lucky enough to leave. I had to catch Pappy's Fun Club.

Ooh, maybe I'll write them a review. Maybe they'll link to superimportant. And then superimportant Word can spread further and grander.

Pappy's Fun Club. They made me feel like I was stoned, in a living room, with four hilarious idiots with bad jokes. This is totally a good thing. It sure doesn't sound good though. Hm. Well, Take my word for it. These 4 guys are like your buddies. Those dudes who just screwed around all the time, and put you in stitches, peeing your pants because their jokes were so dumb they were funny. They've got that knack. The knack to tell a terrible, hackneyed joke, acknowledge it, and make the acknowledgement funnier than the joke. They're infectious like that. Yeah, maybe they were in a tent in Edinburgh, so what? You still had to pay to see them. 6 pounds. Hey, does anyone know how to make the British Pound symbol on an american keyboard? Or the Euro? Let me know. It might come in handy.

So yeah. The Thunderdome. Two Kids Enter. One Kid Leaves. If you got bored from watching decent theater like Pappy's Fun Club, you could stroll down to the massive touristy area by the National Gallery, and watch the kids go at it. Absolutely brilliant. I commend the Edinburgh touristy bureau on that one. It was almost more entertaining than the military bagpipe band. In fact, now that I remember, one of their final tunes was "Everything I do, I do it for you" - that regrettable Bryan Adams chart-topper from Robin Hood. "16 weeks at the top of the charts" the announcer said. 16 of the worst weeks of my life, they were. And they played it for tourists in a castle in the capital of Scotland. Fuck that. The thunderdome was much much better.

I haven't scored in three weeks

I knew I was going to leave something behind when I packed for my trip. But I didn't think I'd be so careless as to forget to pack my mojo. Holy crap. Of all things to bring on vacation, mojo should've been the first thing in my bag. I still haven't necessarily found it. I honestly can't remember where the hell I put it, and I'd really like to find it. It's pretty useful, you know? It's gotta be around here somewhere.

The superimportant offices, in their research, find that there is a strong correlation between this and the following post.

I haven't been drunk in three weeks

I haven't been pissed, trolleyed, hammered, or what have you for nearly a month, except for last night on the Lower East Side & Brooklyn, where a married girl gave my mojo back to me. (It's unfortunately not as shocking as it sounds. It's kind of a long story. OK, so basically, when I get drunk, I get louder, and when we rolled up to the bar in Clinton Hill, I was relaying my "I totally forgot to pack my mojo" story for the dozenth time, because self deprecation is like, my thing. Then this girl in front of the bar was like "oh hey, it's right here", and digs into her pocket. I take it back. I'm all "Hey, thank you so much, where did you find this" and being all charming and stuff. She's laughing. I'm reeling. I think it's going great. In a swerving, transparent maneuver, I hesitate to follow my friends in, seeing as I'm trying to pick up a girl. She says "go ahead, go ahead in", and I'm all "duuurrrrrrr...", and she says "no, really...go ahead", and very deliberately shows me her left hand, all but pointing out the ring around her finger. Drat)

The exhange rate these days is terrible. It costs me twice as much dollars as it does pounds - for Scotland & England - and something like 1.43 dollars to each Euro. In London, this wasn't as much of a problem, because adequately priced cheap swill was reasonably available. 2-pound beers? A-OK. I drink Sportsmans at the Levee. My standards are LOW.

Dublin, on the other hand was anachronistically overpriced. Anachronistically is probably the wrong word. But "ironically" is terribly overused. And "anachronistically" is close. What I'm trying to say is that a city in a country that is often visited with the intent purpose OF GETTING DRUNK should not cost me the equivalent of $7 per beer. MY STANDARDS ARE LOW. I'm wearing cutoff shorts. They're the same shorts I wore yesterday. All I need is cheap beer, and I'll recommend your country to friends. But no. My fellow travelers and I were led only to crappy non-high class, overcharging bars, and I never got my drunk on, for the entire three weeks of my vacation. I felt the toxins abandoning my body. It was sad. Those toxins love me, and I love those toxins. And I was starving them. It became hard to live with myself. I have to give acknowledgement to the Hospitality of the Irish though - in the airport, where I arrived 3 hours early for a flight that was delayed another 4 hours, a group of Irish bought me two rounds of beer! That was especially cool, because by the time I got home, I had a negative-two dollar balance in my bank account. Oops! These Irish people were on their way to a wedding in Milan, and I was sitting alone at a table. At first, it was just three of them. Then the other dozen came by. I felt mildly awkward. But that was mostly because that married girl had found my mojo somewhere on the streets of Brooklyn, where I must have dropped it on my way to the airport. In return for their attempts at crowding me out, the wedding-goers roped me into their rounds. Sadly, all the alcohol wore off by the time the flight finally left, and AerLingus CHARGES you for booze on the flight. Screw you, AerLingus. Air India kicked ass. Free booze AND a bollywood flick. Quality.

Somebody's trying to sell me something

But whatever. Spiffy videos featuring bikes always catch my attention. I might even be able to scrape this "DJ saves my life" video off the bottom of the proverbial barrel for September's Bike Shorts, which needs A) submissions and B) a venue, so send me both. If you're lucky, your video will win $100 and possibly end up in the Bicycle Film Festival, garnering you international fame and grandeur. All because of superimportant. Please now buy me a beer next time you see me. It's the least you can do. Seriously. I mean come on, that video features a bike, a breakdancer, and an old lady in a wheelchair getting hit by a car, which is always hilarious! You see what I do for you?

In no particular order

This is the fashion in which the next several posts will be made. Superimportant is devestated that our readers wallowed in a barren sea of meaninglessness for so long while this site was not updated. The entire staff was in The United Kingdom of Britain featuring London, Dublin, and Edinburgh, researching the problematic underage binge drinking debacle for the past three weeks. Rumors that UK hooch is too strong & too cheap went unsubstantiated, especially with the shitty exchange rate the superimportant dollar has today. Wherever these extra-cheap happy hour bars were, we certainly weren't led there on our investigative journey.

For the next few days, Superimportant will report a series of findings from this junket in arbitrary order. These articles may be finished already, or may be finished later. It all depends on how late the staff decides to work for their nickel-an-hour.

Wow, I didn't realize my toenails had grown that long, and other realizations from a three week trip to the United Kingdom

Including "Welsh: 'Y' is the only vowel"; "Small town people are bored, drunk, and their cops don't have jails large enough to house the 40 of us anyway"; "Being more norther is colder, temperature-wise, and the sun sets much later"; "Dublin is a shithole and Edinburgh is gorgeous, but actually might be boring, while Dublin is at least full of fun drunks"; "Speaking of drunks, how about that shitty exchange rate?!?"; "The Euro is an ugly currency"; "Oh my god the bacon..."; "I clearly forgot to pack my mojo"; and "adverse, humiliating, self-deprecating situations are only funny for so long...".

COMING SOON, due to popular demand.