April 2004 (v6 i5)
Shirking responsibility since 1997
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Is the Segway only for rich people? It should be
by Clinton McSwindleton, Segway Owner

Yonder peons of the University of Texas at Austin, hear me. A new innovation aptly titled the Segway has been recently circulating amongst the general populace. Many of you marvel at this technological masterpiece with pathetic shrieks of uncultured glee. “Ha,” I say to you, society’s dregs, with your futile hopes and aspirations of owning one of these rapturous playthings. You have failed to realize that the Segway is not simply a transportation device; rather, it is a way of life.

Whilst your job sweeping hair from the floor of Supercuts could never support the princely sum required to purchase a Segway, it is not income alone that denies you the roving ecstasy I enjoy even as I dictate this message to my secretary. Your lack of royal birth, your limited knowledge of European brandy, and your base fashion sense — as indicated by your inability to afford a proper top hat, cane and monocle — are what truly prohibit you from joining the upper echelon of elite Segway riders.

“Do you own a Segway, Clinton?” you ask. First, when approaching royalty such as myself, you will kneel and refer to me as Lord McSwindelton III. And second, surely you jest! I own not one but three so that I may maintain the other two fully charged at all times. In addition, my extended family, clients, croquet buddies, butlers, maids, illegal child laborers and Yorkshire terrier all have Segways.

No task is done unless achieved on a Segway. I dine, partake of fine wines, and slumber on a Segway. My friends and I have even retired our polo horses so that we might engage in the Game of Gentlemen atop our noble electric steeds. I even make love to my mistress on my Segway. “Impossible!” you say, but your insolent eyes have never beheld the steering bar imprint that runs vertically down the center of her back.

Often, as I coast past you small-minded plebeians, I silently laugh to myself, wondering what it feels like to use one’s legs. Since I purchased my Segways several years ago, my lower limbs have been spared the torment inflicted by such trivial activities as walking and running. Although mangled and ravaged by atrophy, my legs are happier than yours will ever be — all thanks to the Segway.

“But money can’t buy love,” you claim, with all the pugnacity of one of my rebellious colonial plantations. Correct you are, my good sir, but money can buy Segways, and Segways can buy happiness.

However, you feeble-minded dolts have nowhere near the monetary or mental capacity to obtain a Segway. Each of you resemble an ape, sans brain. And the fact remains, you are and will always be Segway-less, and I am and will always be better than you. Cheers.
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