They were the bane of every mechanic with whom i wrenched, these corn bespeckled wads of Christmas cheer. The product of bullshit efforts that rode tandem with the sweatpants boner explosion of corporate BMX, the Everyman’s Dually instantly reeked of rotting integrity. As wrenches from coast to coast began having to massage these turd lumps between their palms in the name of 2nd fiscal quarter success, the smell of balls grew stronger on every chin. We’d slurp it up, assembling Gary Fisher TunaBoats, Trek Why bikes, and Mosh BMXes ill-suited to carry even the most sedentary of lard bag drool farmers taking a break from the Mortal Kombat.
And then there was the Giant Warp.
I’d have forked over $20 in a second to dump one of these bound-for-the-big-box boat anchors in exactly the predicament you see below. Alas, almost 15 years later, on my way out the door after a glorious day of magical bike tinkery, I spied one lying just where i’ve always wished to. I cried a tear of joy much akin to the one a homely band fag once shed upon sighting an upside-down jock in the cafeteria trash can. I do not wish this fate upon many bikes, but these can now and forever fade into the desert sunset along with the embarrassing balls smell from my chin. Soap? Anyone?by