Zezaurian snot rocketeer hunting season now open

Today was the official launch of the 2009 snot rocketeer hunting season. I chose today because today was the day my patience finally collapsed after what must have been the sixth time in the past three months that another cyclist has either flobbed a big yellowy-brown phlegm-ball at me or has actually fired a proper snot rocket - where they hold one nostril and blow quick and hard, sending a mucus missile into my flight path as I overtake. I can't take it any longer.

The first time this happened I was overtaking (I cycle at like, a zillion miles an hour) and this chubby poltroon (he looked like a banker) was dawdling along on his crappy mountain bike with his legs spread out wide like he was giving birth to the saddle, and just before I passed him he hawked, turned his head to his right and launched this huge jelly bullet into my crotch. I skidded to a stop and just stared at this thing. It looked like a yellow-brown jellyfish washed-up on the beach. I was consumed by complete disbelief as it wobbled about only millimetres from my genitals. I had to scrape the thing off with a twig.

The second time I was riding behind another mountain biker (you're all disgusting and I hate you) and he did a double snot rocket, firing out the warm gooey contents of his sinuses first from his left nostril and then the right, like a whale blowing air from that weird hole they have in their heads. We were going up a hill at the time and a misty cloud of snot enveloped me. I had to throw my new cycling jersey in the bin and wash my skin with fire when I got home.

Then it happened again, and again and again (all mountain bikers riding in the city, incidentally) and then it happened this morning. Oh. My. God. I was actually stationary at the time, waiting with about a dozen other cyclists and the (mountain) biker to my left just held one nostril (I was almost falling off my bike looking for cover), inflated his lungs (launch sequence almost complete) and fired this green bazooka down into my legs. I almost fell off my bike, but managed to dodge the missile which had splattered into the tarmac.

I don't know if any children read this website, but if you're a wee nipper, best to cover your eyes right about now (you too, Mr Morose).

I've killed a man. I took the pump from his bicycle and I rammed it up his bum without even a hint of homoerotic desire. His eyes squawked out his head as he let out a yelp, and there, right there in the road near the Houses of Parliament I began pumping air into his asshole with such violence I almost dislocated my arm. He was screaming that he had children and a loving wife, and that just made me pump even more furiously. Then...pop. His head exploded all over the road with blood and brain and skull and snot dripping from car doors and lying in puddles of thick gloop on the ground.

I calmly picked up my bike and road on to work, which is where I am now. Obviously not doing any work because I'm typing this out and oh, what's that? Crap. I think the police are here.

Must dash - but Zezaurians! Hear this: snot rocketeer hunting season has begun and I want to see plenty of heads above my fireplace when I get out of prison.