Don’t kill me for this, but I have something I’d like to say to you.
Please shut the fuck up.
At least a little bit.
The other night, I was finally getting some rest after a really hard day. I had watched FOUR HOURS of Grey’s Anatomy reruns, so believe me – it was a really frigging hard day. As usual, I shuffled to bed at the ripe hour of 9.30 (Nanna needs her sleep, stop tittering), took my tired feet out of their tartan slippers, kissed my husband Jake Gyllenhaal goodnight (from afar. Separate-countries-and-realities-afar) and tucked myself into my warm bed. And I slept. The deep sleep of a 27-year-old nanna with few concerns in the world.
Until you zoomed past and bloody well woke me up at 2a.m... AGAIN.
|Imagine it's night time, alright?|
Now, I know you’re all fancy kinds of tough with your ankle guns and your do-rags and your skull-and-crossbone tattoos (is that you or Pirates? It’s hard to tell the difference, with all the rum and missing teeth), so I ask that you remember I’m just an innocent woman with grandma-aged habits and child-aged maturity. Don’t come knocking on my door to strangle me with a garden hose or something CSI (oh my Christ, am I giving you ideas?).
I’m just politely requesting that you get some motherloving manners.
Your bikes are really bloody loud. I’m a hardcore deep sleeper, and yet you wake me up several times a week, no matter which suburb I am sleeping in*. It’s usually between one and four a.m, otherwise known as ‘so fucking late, it’s early’. Sometimes there is one of you. Sometimes there is a billion of you. Either way, the epic ‘nnnnnneeeeeeaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggghhhhhhhh’ resonating from your throttle is enough to shake my windows and scare the living bejeezus out of me. And then I’m so annoyed at the break in my zzz’s, I can’t get back to zzz-ing.
So WHY are you riding so late at night? I highly recommend being tucked up in bed. You will be much happier people if you get your eight hours. Is it because you are off looking for other Bikies to discuss your bitches and hoes with? Or are you flying off to bust a cap in someone’s ass? Or are you simply getting home to your sweed’aaart after a late night at the pub (or under the bridge or wherever Bikies meet), and using the most carelessly loud method of travel at that time of night?
I fucking love tap-dancing. Especially when it’s really loud so I can hear every shuffled beat. But I don’t tap dance down your street at 2 a.m because that would be REALLY DAMN INCONSIDERATE. I also like playing the drums and using jackhammers and mowing the lawn and banging pots and pans together really really loud, but again, my gosh-darn manners stop me from expressing these joys when the whole neighbourhood is sleeping (I also like being alive, so please don’t change that...).
So, my dear butch Bikies, either muffle your motor, go home earlier, or buy a nice quiet bicycle. That’s all this little nanna asks. Please don’t hunt me down and threaten me with a chainsaw. I’m sorry for swearing at you and calling you names. I didn’t mean it, I’m just a bit grumpy.
I haven’t been sleeping well lately.
At least if you do kill me**, I’ll be able to actually Rest In Fucking PEACE.
Love and silence,
Lucy G, of no fixed address (good luck finding me, suckers).
*FYI, that sentence that referred to me sleeping in lots of bed has more to do with house-sitting than promiscuity.
**Can everyone please check on me regularly from now on, just in case? Let’s say if I call you and scream the word ‘Uncle!’ and then hang up, that’s a code word for “Help! A bikie is at my house trying to kill me!”. Unless you are actually my Uncle, in which case I’ll use the code word ‘Eggplant’. Got it? Good plan.
By Lucy Gransbury. Follow her on Twitter @LucyGransbury. Or follow her in real life. She's probably trying to catch up on sleep in an unknown suburb with locked doors and an alarm system.
The funniest video you will see about Bikies, by my favourite funny friends 'Aunty Donna':