You're close to everything, even the wannabe gang-banger douchebags that inhabit the lower portion of my neighborhood.
Here's the short play-by-play:
A Rider is heading out for a nice ride on his cross bike.
A low-pants wearing, 17 year old, wannabe Crip of African descent picks up a rock.
A Rider eyeballs the DB as he rolls past.
@ 3 seconds later, the rock goes skipping by The Rider's leg.
The Rider grabs a handful of rear brake, slides around 180 degrees and heads back.
Jackass rock-thrower get immediately apologetic when faced with a 40 year old guy who has him by 6 inches and 50 pounds.
The Rider offers to cave in the rock-thrower's cranium with extreme prejudice.
Rock thrower's buddy chimes in. The same offer is extended to him as well.
The Rider remounts and rides off. Count 1...2...3...4...5...
The two DBs started flapping gums and call The Rider names consistent with their upbringing and educational background.
The Rider swings around again and extends the invitation for the aforementioned DBs to repeat their tribal calls.
Both clam up like the low-pants, wannabe Crips that they are...
The Rider then quotes Jay-Z, further blowing their drug-addled, syphilis affected, walnut-sized brains.
"You know the type, loud as a motorbike, but wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight..."
The pair of now mentally-castrated, future guests of the State, stand with even dumber-than-stock looks on their faces.
The Rider turns again and rolls away, not looking back and not hearing a word from behind.
I guess they didn't want to explain getting their asses kicked by a guy in lycra.
Moral of the Story? Baggy pants hide tiny balls!
As for the medical report, I had an upper GI flouroscopy this morning. The 'air crystals' were bad, and are continuing to cause trouble in my GI tract. The barium itself smelled okay, but tasted like ground up school chalk mixed into latex paint, with mint. Results? TBD.
I can tell you with some degree of certainty that I will NOT be on the bike tonight or tomorrow, simply because I'd rather not have ANY of the shit that I ingested this morning make a return visit. Right now, it feels like I drank a cup of Quikrete and it's just about done hardening in my gullet.
Oh, and a query. Why is that when you are actively looking for something on Ebay, you can't find it, but when you're broke, there are 47 of that particular item?