If you read about a young man on his bike being rammed into a ditch by a crazed girl in her car, this will be the reason.

So I’m just minding my own business here, grilling my brother about driver’s training (I ask “You hit anybody today?” to which he invariably replies in a bored voice, “Nope”) when I hear THE NOISE. The noise. The noise that means I’m about to burst a blood vessel from sheer irritation. It is the sound of a motorcycle, but it’s not actually a motorcycle. Oh, no. No, it is some kind of contraption attached to the handlebars of a regular bike. My 19-year-old neighbor somehow built it and somehow felt that everybody in the neighborhood would appreciate the sultry tones of a motorcycle several times throughout the day. So, no, he’s not actually riding a motorcycle up and down the street forty times in a single hour, but it sure as shit sounds like it. The fact that this obnoxious sound is not actually a motorcycle, but is a bike pretending to be a motorcycle, somehow makes the whole thing even more unforgivable in my twisted mind.

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