What you don't know about the K-Mart bike dealer

"Hey Frank, hand me that monkey wrench over there on the floor." seventeen year old fair hared Joe Hardy asked his brother Frank, who had brown hair and was a year older. "Sure Joe," Frank replied cracking his rusted knuckles. Frank handed Joe the plastic wrench they had purchased at Thrift City. "Your sure a swell brother Frank," Joe commented. "Tinky Joe," Frank replied. The Hardys were in there crude garage there father, Fenton Hardy, had spent a whole month constructing the year before. They were working on there bicycles, attempting to fine-tune them for a mountain bike race they had signed up for at Goodwill. The Hardys would be representing Magna Bicycles. "Well, this wheel looks as true as an arrow, how you coming along Frank?," Joe asked picking at his spandex racing shorts. "Righty tighty, lefty loosy," Frank was mumbling under his smelly breath. "Oh, sorry Joe, whatcha say?." "How's the wheel coming along?," Joe repeated, attempting to pick out the piece of his suite that had jammed up his hind-end. "Mines true as ever, what say we take'em out for a pleasure ride to test'em?," Frank asked standing up slowly to avoid popping any of the metal pins that were in his spine. "I'll say," Joe cried, already sitting down on his cardboard saddle. Soon the Hardys were zipping along the cracked streets of Bayport. "Wow, what an awe-inspiring day this is!," Frank said trying to sniff back a large piece of buger that was hanging out of his nose. When Joe didn't respond, Frank looked back. "Hey Joe, what say happened?," Frank cried back to his brother, who was far behind, walking his bike back to the Hardy home. Frank turned forward again, and resumed his crooked posture on the cardboard saddle. Suddenly, a large truck pulled out in front of Frank. Frank slammed on his brakes, and a loud scream filled the streets of Bayport as the cheap side-pull brakes tried to slow the Magna bike. They failed. Frank and the bike smacked into the trucks side, and ricocheted off of it with great momentum. Frank slammed into the cement, and the lead frame of his Magna bike crumpled under his weight. "Ohhhhh!," Frank groaned, peeling his rawboned body off of the dirty street. As Frank begin to reach half height, he felt a stab of pain in his back, and something come loose. "Crap, I popped a pin!," he said to himself, slumping back downward in agony. Frank had fell off of the Hardy's roof when handing Fenton a hammer the summer before, and had to have metal pins inserted throughout his spine to hold it together. As Frank crumpled up the second time, he noticed the man who had been in the truck drive by again. "Good, he's coming to help me," Frank thought himself. As the truck putted by, Frank saw a grin on the mans face, and a video camera in the mans hands, it was aimed at Frank's dejected body. Frank watched the truck drive by three more times, then leave. Suddenly a pale, pasty white face appeared in Frank's field of poor vision, Frank soon identified it as Joe's. "Hey little fella', what happened?," Joe asked. "Ohhhhh," Frank responded. Joe helped Frank pick his bony body off of the street. "Joe, I popped a pin in my back, and it hurts really bad," Frank said, his sharp, bad-featured face twisted in pain. "Well, I'll drive you back to the house, and then to the hospital, we'll use my bike, I got a flat tire back there when I ran over a pine-needle, but I fixed it with some super-glue," Joe replied, pointing to a pile of pine-needles that were about two hundred yards away. "Tinky Joe," Frank said. Joe mounted his cheap bike, and lifted Franks scrawny body up over his shoulders. As the odd setup took off, a sickening "crunch" filled the air, Joe's lead bike frame had bent severely. "Oh poop, we'll have to walk now Frank," Joe cursed loudly, his pale face flush with anger. Joe heaved Frank's body up onto his flimsy shoulders, and walked back to the Hardy home. Upon the boys' arrival, there aunt Gertrude answered the door, and when she saw Frank's deathly pale face, she rushed him to the family's small brown hatchback, and took off towered the hospital.

Late the following morning, Joe walked down the crude stairs Fenton had built, and into the Hardys cheap kitchen to eat breakfast. Frank had been rushed to the hospital to get his pin put back in place, Joe remembered. Just then Fenton walked down the stairs. "Hey dad," Joe said greeting his father, who's face was bright red from shaving. "Morning Joe, ready for the race tomorrow?," Fenton asked. "Yeah, me and Frank have to buy new bikes though, they both broke," Joe replied glumly. "No sweat, we'll go over too Larry's Toy Store later today after we pick Frank up from the hospital," Fenton said cheerfully. "Tinky Dad," Joe said. Later that day, after Fenton and Joe had picked up Frank, they drove over to Larry's Toy Store, which was just a small boarded up corner of the local Goodwill store. When they walked across the vast floors of cheap clothing and second-hand trash, Joe said, "Gee, I wonder if Larry well give us as good as deal as he did last time?, I mean, fifty cents for a Magna bike is great!, Magna is the leader in quality." Fenton walked over to the cheap store, and spoke to Larry, who was a fat smelly man in ripped up army fatigues. "Hey Larry, ya got any more of those great Magnas?, my boys' here need'em for that race tomorrow," Fenton said smoothly. "Sure Fenton, I've got at least fifty of'em back here," Larry said disappearing into the back storage room. He soon reappeared carrying two shiny pink Magnas. "I'll sell'em to ya for seventy five cents each," Larry said scratching his arm pit. "Seventy five cents?!," Joe wailed. "What a rip-off." "Now Joe, Larry here is a decent, hard-working man, he isn't out to rip you off," Fenton attempted to soothe his sons anger. "Yeah Joe, keep your cool," Frank stated picking at the stitches in his back. "Oh, okay, seventy five cents it is," Joe said extracting his paper wallet and looking in it. "Um, Larry, do you accept food-stamps?," Joe asked. "Uh, sure Joe, every good man needs a decent meal once in awhile," Larry said patting his bulging belly. Joe handed Larry a food stamp, and picked up his new bicycle. Frank also handed Larry a food stamp, but neglected to pick his bike up for fear of popping a pin. Fenton lifted Franks crude Magna up. "Gee Frank, this bike weighs at least seventy pounds, she sure is a light one," Fenton commented. "Yep, me and that bike well win the race tomorrow," Frank replied happily.

The next morning, Frank and Joe were standing on top of Mt. Crystal, a large mountain located about a mile outside of Bayport. They were talking with Tony Prito, a friend of the Hardys. "Well, it sure looks like a nice day for a race, huh Frank?," Tony asked. "Sure does," Frank replied. Just then Chet Morton appeared riding on his bike. "Hi fellows," Chet said greeting his friends. "Hi Chet, nice bike," Joe commented. Chet was riding a Kona Stinky De-lux, equipped with Marzukki Z-3 front suspension and XTR rear and front V-brakes, he also had clipless pedals. "Thanks Joe, you ain't got such a bad bike yer-," Chet cut off what he was about to say as soon as he looked at Joe's bike, Chet was never known to lie to the Hardys. "What Chet?," Joe asked puzzled. "Oh, nothing," Chet replied. "Hey guys, whatcha talking about?," Someone called, Frank and Joe and the rest soon identified the person as Biff Hooper. "Just talking about bikes, what kind do you have Biff?," Chet asked. "Oh, it's a Mongoose duel-suspension, got'er for my birthday at Costco, any idea where I should put it?," Biff asked. "Oh, I'd put it in the trash," Chet replied. "Wha-," Biff stuttered, a tear dripping down his face. "You heard me Biff, that bikes a piece of junk, just look, cheap brakes that brush, a derailer that don't work, lousy frame design, just plain trash," Chet said smoothly. "You jerks!!!," Biff wailed, and ran off with his bike, leaving the rest of the gang standing, mouths open wide. Frank noticed Chet had a smooth smirk on his puffy lips. "Smooth job Chet," Frank complemented. "Thanks Frank," Chet responded. The gang cheered for Chet's great skill at discouraging Biff. "The race starts in ten minutes, let's head for the starting line," Chet said lifting his 20 pound bike onto his lardy shoulders. The Hardys were forced to ride, for there bikes were to heavy to lift. Soon the gang was at the starting line, waiting for the gun to go off as a signal to begin the race. Veeeewww! the gun buzzed. "Wow!, an M-16" Joe whistled. "Smooth unit," Frank said admiring the guns sleek lines and laser dot sight. The boys were surprised to find the race official was using a M-16 rifle as the starting gun, but there admiration for the weapon almost hid this thought. "Blast you Joe!," Frank cried. "Were in last place now because you made us stop and look at that darn M-16." "Gee, I'm sure sorry Frank," Joe apoligized, thrusting a plump leg into the ground to start off. The Hardys made up for there lame start bye coasting there heavy bikes down the large dirt hill that was at the start off the race. "Man, were criusing now Frank! ," Joe whooped as they screamed down the hill at 50 m.p.h. "Golly-gee-I'll say!," Frank hooted, his bony cheeks flush from exhilaration. Soon the Hardys were flying by there fellow racers, passing them with grace and ease. A few waved there fists as the Hardys screamed, "Ma-ha, ma-ha!," at them. As the boys neared the end of the hill, there speed suddenily decreased rapidly. "Whats happening Frank?," Joe said, a worried expression on his plump pasty face. "I dunno," Frank mumbled. Soon the bikers the boys had passed earlier begin catching up, then passing the Hardys. As they zipped by, they pitched small stones and pinecones at the boys'. "Darn fools, what do you suppose happened to that great speed we had?," Joe asked Frank confused. The Hardys were simple-minded boys', and did not understand that there bikes went faster down the hill because off there heavy lead frames. But going phill and stright would be hell for the Hardys. Soon the Hardys were in last place. After about a mile of carrying there 70 pound bikes uphill in the 102 degree heat, the Hardys were nearing death. "Ohhh, I can't take it anymore," Joe groaned. "Tinky," Frank replied, his face covered in puss and blood from the scorching sun. As Joe trudged on, he heard a thud behind him. "Frunk, dat yu?," Joe puttered. He turned and saw Frank's dead body laying in the dust off the well-worn bike trail. Suddenly Joe felt way to hot, his chest burned, and his raw throat stung. He coudn't breathe. Suddenly he felt the world go black, and he let the arms off death engulf around him.

"Tinky?," Joe heard a raspy voice call. Joe thought he reconized the weazy voice as Fentons. "Dad, that you?," Joe mumbled. Joe forced his raw eyes open, and saw he was in a hospital, and his father was standing over him, his bloodshot eyes twinkling with relief. "Joe, thank god your alive," Fenton said leaning over the bed and wrapping a bony arm around Joe. "Tinky dad," Joe said with a smuthered grin. Joe thought he heard a whirring, grinding coming from his right. He forced himself up in the bed, and looked over to see Frank controling the electric bed, making go up, and down, up, and down. "Darn, daddy, why is Joe alive?," Frank wailed. "Now Frank, be kind, god is watching at all times," Fenton said. "Well, were still alive this time Frank," Joe said smuggly. "Yup, and ready to take on the world of crime!," Frank said, leaping up from the bed and hooting. "Go Hardys, Go Hardys!," Joe cheered. leaping upward himself. "Joe, your slap-stick," Frank said. "I'll say!," Joe replied. Fenton grabbed Joe from around the waist and carried him to Frank's bed. Then the Hardys had a big group hug.

Conclusion:Magna is not worth your money.
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