It was a dark and stormy night on the outskirts of boner-land. A moron lurked in the shadows, his neanderthal brow furrowed in concentration. He gazed longingly at the sleek, black headlight perched jauntily on the handlebars of the bike locked to the rack. Dimly, in the recesses of his unwrinkled cortex, he was aware that the device could bring light to his shadowy, filthy cave. The she-thing would be pleased. Looking furtively over his hairy shoulder, he made a sudden move and grabbed the object he coveted so dearly. But it refused to come loose in his hand and he howled in frustration at the heavy clouds that lumbered overhead. Looking more closely, he spied the strap that held the light to the handlebars. A dull red gleam appeared in his greedy eye and he unsheathed the knife he had acquired the night before from the weakling he had left unconscious under the bridge. Slicing through the thin strap he howled again, this time in victory, and held the trophy high in the air, grunting and hooting in triumph and glee.
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