What is wrong with this story?

Hello once again all! I have turned from the duldroms of poetry and punning and now believe that a little brain work wouldn't harm any of you too much. Ergo I have written this little alkaloid to see how smart you are. (Notice the word alkaloid - I seriously thought I just made that up. But it says it's a word. IT doesn't make any sense in that sentence but it sounds cool).

Anywho, I have written the story below and I would like you to read it and tell me what words do not fit. Now, this may seem weird at first, but, if you read you'll soon find out what I mean. Some of them fit, some of them just shouldn't be there. Good luck! (By the way, I think you'll really enjoy the point of my story.) :-)
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Philip walked into his cozy little bedroom on the third floor of his parents’ home. He enjoyed sitting in his chair and watching bikers hit each other in the tiny street below. For some reason he was extremely fascinated by the prospect of two people unawares smashing into each other. His mother simply said that he had a “different” mind than most young boys of 15. Philip on the other hand just thought that physics was his area of specialty.

He sat down in his usual spot superciliously staring out the window. As his eyes glazed over he began timorously think about that question that popped into his head quite frequently, “Why do I stare out this window, waiting for bikers to hit each other, when, I’ve only seen it happen once?” He decided that today was a day of rest rather than tedious peering over the window sill waiting for nothing to happen. So, with this in mind he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Two hours thirteen minutes and forty-eight seconds later he awoke, feeling refreshed and invigorated. Once again he took to the task of waiting for two bikers to collide. A volvo went down the street with a mother and her 6 year old child in it. Then a ford escape drove down with a dog’s little head peering out the back window. The chevy truck of yester-year was next as it bumped along the sublimely lucrative inerrant trail of a side street. He looked to his right and saw three little toddlers waltzing down the sidewalk with parents in train. They puffed their way down the iridescently lucrative walk with a will that surpassed all ambivalence. On the other side of the street was another teen-age boy just like Philip. Only, long-haired, dressed in black and wearing something of a banal-like hoodie. Whereas Philip had cacophony hair dithyramb jeans and nothing but a foppish t-shirt. So, in a way, Philip really looked in no way like the imbroglio teen from across the way.

Finally! It was here! One biker at one end of the loquacious block, and another biker at the opposite side. Here they were coming, as jousting juggernauts hurling themselves into destiny’s obstreperous palm. one hundred daring feet away... ninety... eighty... seventy... sixty... fifty... forty... thirty promulgating feet away... twenty... ten!!! Nine!!! Eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one!!!!!!...... and they pass as two ships in solicitous night...