Grudging admiration

July 4, 2012 § 4 Comments

Dear Wankmeister:

You were kind of off again on that Peraud dude. Looks like he just flat out sucks.

But sheesh, you were spot on with Humpty Ugly and your prediction that he’d win the field sprunt. Dog. He just ripped ‘em all a new one.

You are such a stud, WM. What’s your call for tomorrow?

Frenchily,
B. Hinault

Dear Badger Dude:

There’s little question that Jean-Christophe Peraud has had some bad luck these past several stages, not least because of the terrible case of septicemia he had a couple of years ago following a bad crash. Tomorrow, however, is a perfect stage for him. Winner of Stage Five: Peraud by a zip code.

The rest of the results are harder to predict. On a historical note, the race ends in Saint-Quentin, the site of Johnny Cash’s legendary live prison performance in 1969. Expect “Orange Blossom Special” and “Jackson” to be blaring along the route, and June Carter Cash to serve as one of the podium girls.

Best of the rest:

Humpty Ugly: He’ll take it again. All of it. In a thundering, gorilla-like, Aryan blast to the line Greipel will put all challengers to the sword after sucking wheel and filing his nails for the entire 197-km route. His lead-out train will be perfect. All others will scramble for crumbs.

Tyler Farrar: Who?

Horseface: Crash out like he did in Stage 3 of the 2012 Giro, Stage 4 of the 2012 Turdy, Stage 4 of the 2010 Tour de Suisse, etc.

Why are you such a putz?

July 2, 2012 § 8 Comments

Dear Wankmeister:

Why are you such a putz? Late last night, between your fourth bottle of Everclear and your fifth tray of chocolate chip cookies, you railed and ranted about how Horseface was going to get spanked by Greipel. Well, how do you feel now, you pompous douchebag? Cav showed he’s the real deal, don’t need no lead-out train, and can drag Humpty Ugly around by the ballsack at will. Hope you’re reconsidering your decision to be a cycling prognosticator, and will soon return to your day job as gutter scum.

Laughingly,
Merry Tricious

Dear Merry:

Horseface is so lucky it’s not even funny. If you watch the last 200m, you’ll see where he gets a push from Snarky Olvetchkin, just as Humpty mis-shifts. Then, those smokin’ hot babes with the podium tits lean over the barricade, and Humpty, who’s all man, takes his eye off the ball and his mind wanders. Boom. In the twinkling of an eye, Horseface slips by. Wait ’til the next stage. Humpty’s gonna mash on Horseface like a spatula on a strip of fatty bacon.

Also, Gangsta Chick will be there with a fog mist machine and electric light-up hipster wheels for Humpty, so even if he doesn’t pull off the win, he’s gonna be the raddest dude in the wankoton.

Unflinchingly,
Wankmeister

PS: Fuck you and your whole family tree, single trunk with no branches that it is.

Is the Tour over yet?

July 1, 2012 § 9 Comments

Dear Wankmeister:

Is the Tour over yet? They’ve already had one stupid prologue, where all I could see was big asses for three hours, and a bunch of commentary by the “experts” about how I was supposed to look at the “pedaling technique” and shit. After memorizing all that crap I find out that the prologue doesn’t even count. It’s like the first ten minutes of a porn video; totally meaningless and only there so you can FF to the money shot. By the way, when is the money shot in this stupid bike race? Tell me it’s gonna be on Monday.

Anxiously, but not prematurely,
John C. Holmes

Dear Johnny:

The money shot was nine weeks ago, on the island of Mallorca, when Mullet got the final treatment for his final build program from his swim coach. Everything from that point on is meaningless. Unless he crashes out, like a total dork. Which he is.

Rewindingly,
Wankmeister

Dear Wankmeister:

I noticed that without his lead-out train, Cav really sucks. And with a great lead-out train, Greipel has won more races this year than anyone in the pro peloton. Is it true that Cav is just a fat horseface who got towed around by Renshaw, Goss, Rogers, and one or two other of the fastest guys to ever ride a bike, and then he just basically got deposited at 200m from the line, kind of like a turd that’s been fired out of a cannon?

Equestrianically,
Man O’ War

Dear Man:

Yes.

Realistically,
Wankmeister

Dear Wankmeister:

There are too many fucking colors in the Tour. First, every team is wearing something that looks like Mapei on acid. Except for Garmasharp, which is crisp and rad. Next, every team’s got some dude with a national champ jersey or world champ jersey or special little collar or sleeve with the colors from his Cat 4 win at the Muskogee Business Park Crit. Next, there are all these different Tour jerseys, yellow, green, white, polka dot, etc. Finally, there are these stupid yellow helmets that look like cockroaches. Finally, they’re all going 40mph in a big, mixed up puree of bones and brown skin. How in the world is anyone supposed to pick out particular teams or riders? This is harder than birdwatching.

Ornithologically,
Roger T. Peterson

Dear Birdbrain:

In the old days, riders finished each stage covered in filth and mud. No matter what color their kit, everyone was brown at the end. The only way anybody could be identified was by bizarre facial hair, like Eugene Christophe, who had a huge ol’ Gallic porn ‘stache that was visible from the moon. Once he cut that off, he looked like the same shit-covered donkey as everyone else. So madman Desgrange introduced the yellow jersey so people could at least find the leader. Little by little, racers have sought to distinguish themselves not by winning the race, but by wearing clothing that attracts attention. Don’t worry, though, a field guide to the identification of Pro Tour cyclists is in the works.

Flockingly,
Wankmeister

Dear Wankmeister:

Who’s going to win the drag race tomorrow, and how can you be so sure?

Drag racingly,
Bobby Rahal

Dear Bobby:

Greipel. Because Horseface is a fat wanker whose lead-out train has gone off the rails.

Factually,
Wankmeister

Dear Wankmeister:

What makes you think Greipel can beat Sagan?

Skeptically,
Thomas P. Doubting

Dear Thomas:

Greipel is a giant, ugly German with a 4-ton chip on his shoulder and a well-oiled leadout train. Sagan is a wispy dude from a minor former-Soviet state whose main talent is practicing victory line poses. He does that shit with Charon. Greipel will leave him so far behind he’ll need a passport when he finally catches up.

Border crossingly,
Wankmeister

Dear Wankmeister:

How come everyone doesn’t throw tomatoes at Sagan and call him a wheelsuck pussy? He bridged to Fabs, sat on his wheel, and nailed him at the line. What a douche. If he’d a done that on our group ride we’d have dragged him off his bike, fucked the side of his head with a pipe, and left him for dead.

Outragedly,
Avridj Joe Ryder

Dear Avridj Joe:

When ordinary wankers behave like scumsucking cheatfucks, they are despised by all around them. When pros do it, it’s called “racing smart.” It’s just like when you’re a kid and you steal your friends’ money you’re hated and called a fucktard little creep, but when you steal trillions in the Great American Mortgage Scam you’re called a financial genius.

Same deal.

Pedagogically,
Wankmeister

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with greipel at Cycling in the South Bay.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 813 other followers