I'm QUITE convinced that Lucifer himself rode on a motorcycle recklessly when he was roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it. And my best guess would be a red and black Modenas Jaguh with a Mat Rock sticker on the tailpipe, that apparently was inspired by Milo tins.

The advertisements you hear on the radio don't make it any easier for you to love the people riding on these motorised bicycles. Especially when you know for sure that they hold as much water as Britney Spears' twelve hundredth implant. The community service reminder tells us that more than 70% of accidents involving motorcycles are not caused by the motorcyclists themselves. Don't be stupid. I respectfully disagree.

And neither do the sea of motorcycles roaming around in the opposite direction near uptown every midnight. For Christmas this year, I want a nuclear powered steamroller. I'd even trade my two front teeth.

I would order it with the optional extra large side view mirrors. Nothing brings me greater joy than the crushing sound of a head-enclosed helmet smashing into the side view mirror. As Ming would say "See. Weave in and out of traffic some more lah!"

I have nothing against motorcyclists who ride in a civilised manner. No, this entry is specially dedicated to the many who ride as if their lives cost less than a bumper. Or a new paintjob. Which I think most of the time, is the case anyway. If I had 10 cents for every time a bloody motorcyclist cuts me off and swears at me thereafter, I would be richer than half the countries in the world. George Bush would be leaving a voicemail on my handphone. Probably to request for a loan to fund his war. Or to borrow my steamroller.

What's worse than weaving in and out of traffic is that just because they take up very little space on the road, they take the liberty to ride in the opposite direction. Or jump red lights. Now this wouldn't bother me at all if I had that steamroller. Because I wouldn't know if a helmet-wearing idiot crashes into me. Every motorcycle should come with complimentary "Hit me - I make a *SPLAT* sound when you do!" T-shirts. Or a yellow sign that says "My erupted spleen - 500 meters ahead".

Or a box of lightbulbs. It's already so difficult to notice them since they take up roughly the same space as Jessica Simpson's brain, let alone when they ride around with headlights and/or tail lights that don't work. How hard is it to realise that your lights don't work anymore?! It's not as if you need a map to get from the front of your motorcycle to the back or vice versa.

In view of the ever increasing petrol prices (which by the way, has gone up to 162 cents/litre effective today), we should all place orders for nuclear-powered steamrollers. You don't need to worry about petrol, tyre replacements, paintjobs, airbags, seatbelts, ABS, or central locking. Or the mosquito equivalents - reckless motorcyclists. It even comes with this complimentary roadsign. Oh, plus the ultra-cool farmer's hat.