The outside world is bad.

There happen to millions of reasons of why staying indoors is advantageous to being outdoors, and I use these to justify why I hate going out.

The sun is a gigantic ball of carcinogens.

There could be an airbourne virus going around that eats at your insides and makes you puke out your own blood and guts, rendering you a living vegetable after three days of exposure.

A swarm of mosquitoes could come any moment and suck the blood out of your body and leave you with the West Nile Virus. A two-for-one deal.

Bees are attracted to my hair gel.

I could get raped. What? I have a nice ass.

By not going outside, I'm:

Preserving the environment by not using a car.

Decreasing my risk for cancer.

Not a target for terrorist attacks.

Drea got online last night. She spent a day at so-and-so's house. A day at so-and-so's house. And a day at James' house.

"James? A guy?"

No, Jaime. Typo.

Right. Cue Sandstorm and 5 male strippers.

My mom wants me to do something. Anything. She tries to force me to go back to the veteran's home, but after a bit of consideration ... I think I might be done with that. Yes, the experience was fun and all, but I don't like the place. There's too much death there. Too much loneliness. It's too depressing, and I don't think my fragile little mind can take it very long.

Gus probably knows what to do.

"You're not doing anything at home!" my mom tells me.

Yes I am.

"No you're not."

How am I supposed to tell her I'm working on a novel that can potentially bring a few thousands into our income? How do I say I've tapped into a creative well that I never knew existed inside of me that stands to be a huge benefit to our family? How can I explain that I'm on the verge of literary stardom?

Easy. I don't.

"I'm doing plenty of stuff at home," I say.

"Go to the gym!" she says. "Go biking! Go outside! Leave the house!"

"All right!"

And out the door I go.

Hello carcinogenic sun, how are you today?

What's up, infectuous mosquito bite?

How you doin', killer bees?

Good afternoon, Mr. Allah-reborn Terrorist.

Okay, so the outside world isn't too bad. I mean, the sky is blue and the hole in the ozone layer isn't noticeable. The trees are green and covered with deadly pesticide. Birds are chirping and crapping on your car. It could be worse.

I could be locked in a top secret vault chamber cell deep within the confines of the Rocky Mountains in a governmental institution being questioned about my loyalties and getting electro-tortured.

This is my circuit for bike riding. Start off going up the hill that leads to my house 30 feet. Bear left onto the main road and keep going down. Speed bumps every 500 feet. There are two of them. Make a right onto the next road - going straight lands me right into the locked link gate that leads to a dirt road that leads to the back of some bank. This next road is downhill all the way about 1200 feet. Speed bump here is avoidable if you're good. Make a right at the end of the road. Oncoming traffic is unpredictable and very random. Gate house helps regulate this, but it only gives them a 5 second delay.

Those 5 seconds mean slowing down, speeding up, or a $500,000 cash settlement lawsuit in your favor.

$600,000 if you're good at lying.

Continue down this road 3,500 feet. Count two speed bumps and three stop signs. A car passes you at the first stop sign. Two pass you at the second one. The driver of the second car flips his middle finger at you because your bike can't possibly match the horsepower of his Ford Pinto.

Arrive at the country club. It's more of a gym than it's a country club. And it's more of a pool than it's a gym. There are children in the indoor pool, because their grandparents are afraid the children will develop skin cancer from too much exposure to the sun at the outdoor pool. These are the smart grandparents, the ones that know what they're talking about.

You were thinking they were pretty paranoid, weren't you?

Get a drink of water from the fountain at the country club, which is more of a gym which is more of a pool. Exit and resume course.

T-split at the road, with your usual stop sign. Proceed straight for a full-circle course. Oval, really. Take a right and you cut the course in half.

I always go right.

Drea's back online again. She says she'll move out to Vegas and make a career singing. Bruce Springstein covers, only. Showgirls are the backup vocals.

Cue Sandstorm and 5 male strippers.

"You play the guitar," I tell her. "I'll sing."

Cue 10 female strippers and a beat-boxer.

Follow the road past a car blasting a techno trance. Pass the putting green to your left. Pathway to the golf course holes 4-8 on the right. There's a four-way intersection. I go left, because going any other way would be going right back home again. 15 minutes haven't even passed. My mom would think I only went to the end of the street and back.

Straight and flat road for about 2,500 feet. Try riding without your hands on the handle. Spread your arms like a bird. Commence lift-off.

Put both hands back on the handles and avoid the oncoming SUV.

Follow the road and you'll arrive at the second country club. It's more of a democratic community convention center than it is a country club. It's more of a pool than it is a democratic community convention center.

In here, I get another drink of water from the fountain. This one is placed less advantageously up a flight of stairs. But the air conditioning is stronger. I could hang out inside here for a while and lie to my mom. Tell her that I went around the community three times. I just have to wait long enough.

Unfortunately, I'm such a good little boy.

Back outside I go.

Hey again, cancer-inducing burning star of deadly infrared light from which we are protected by a thin layer of ozone that is constantly being decayed by our use of cars and hair products.

Take a left. This way I go the way I would have passed through had I gone straight at that T-intersection. There happens to be an entirely new section of our community that I never knew existed until today. Yes, I took a little shorcut.

What? Would you like to go up the treacherous hill of death? The shortcut I take bypasses it completely. I congratulate myself for my genius geological intuition.

This path will take me full circle right back to my home, somehow. All in all, I cover about three miles. Yes, the calculations I gave earlier didn't even sum up to one mile. Congratulations to you if you did the math.

The smarter people are the ones that didn't bother.

"You teach me how to sing," Drea says.

This way, she can decide to fire me at any time she wants and I don't have to be on the playbill at all.

Cue lonely nights at home and a porn video.