Wednesday, July 25, 2007

fried chicken and toasted rotten...

I don't want to be a Tour commentator but this is too funny: Rasmussen yanked from the tour. I think the poor bastard was just afraid of crashing during Saturday's time trial.

If I had to pick one for my team, I'd still take Vino over the Chicken. I hated that fucker from the start, never showing any emotion after a stage win this year... you could tell he was a frigging robot. Plus he never gave the podium girls enough lovin'.

Hills from Whore Island tonight. That ride is like a turd sandwich entree after the pain appetizer of Tuesday Night Titans. I was off the back on EVERY climb. My legs hurt a lot.

An open letter to the Landenberg wall:
I hate you. Fuck off.

Love, Robert
Hauling my fat ass over steep hills is obviously not going to feel good. Sometimes I wonder why I intentionally sign up to hurt so much. I know it's not that hard for everyone, and I know I'm a sissy for complaining about 1.5 hours of hills... But sometimes I'm on the Neighborhood Climb and I'm asking myself: "Why not just skip this and have a cold beer instead?"

Then I remember that the cold beer will still be waiting for me when I finish. Plus I ate three cookies at that work meeting today. Gotta love fat guilt.

1 comment:

Suki said...

I wrote a similar love letter this week.

Dear Rope Burn,

You suck twat.

Love always,
Teh Evil Suki

kindreds, I tell ya.

kindreds.