Tripleshot Cycling

It started as antics – some harmless diversions…
A little panache on my biking excursions.
While onlookers, envious, cast some aspersions
I proved quite immune to their rhyming perversions.

For artwork, the city was my jurisdiction:
a canvas for words and a Waldo depiction.
I also slammed Alan – a work of nonfiction.
My hobby had grown to a full-blown addiction!

My kids I neglected; my jobs, I was shirking.
In thoughts unrelenting, my Strava was lurking.
I pedalled my bike when I should have been working.
A crazy compulsion – like Miley with twerking.

It happened so quickly – a grim devolution.
Recovery called for a firm resolution:
"It’s time for a cash-flow inspired solution!"
it has to be this or – alas! – prostitution.

A message to make your dear grandmother smile –
An ad with the power to tempt and beguile –
A picture with lots of Victorian style…
Give Stephen a call – it’s just ten bucks a mile!

Sky-porn Steve? C’mon show us what you’ve got…

An astonishing show of self-deprecating,
Steve and his Strava, now self-flagellating.
No more will he ride from Vic West to Oak Bay,
Spanking his monkey without drawing some pay.

Yet for lame birthday greetings, who’d pay you the bucks?
Who’d lay out the cash to write so-and-so sucks?
C’mon Calgary Steve, you boring old prude,
Try drawing some cleavage, something racy or lewd.

We’d pass round the hat, the lads would chip in,
For a picture with lots of Victorian sin.
It’s great that you now seem keen to be working,
So draw us a Miley, delightfully twerking.