It was not so lang ago when I was trying for some winter training with Jame. James Degault III, he say, "Call me Jimmy," and I am so tired of that baseball-type name, so I say Jame. He say "Call me JD3" and what is this a robot sidekick now? JD3? No. I get so tired of Americanishe petting names so I say Jame. It is Jame. We set for riding on a 74.4K loupe with some flat for a motorpace. Jame, he was a dick. He have the big arm, like "ooh, i … [Read more...]
Lance Armstrong’s Live Juiced Legacy
Often as I roll through my training blocks here, I sense the contraband flows through the Southwest like Benny in a four wheeled drift through Daytona. I am not sure if this a correlation regarding proximity to the Border, or the result of public policy or what. No matter what, since Superissimo has posted me here - so far away from Superissimo HQ - as a cyclist I almost can't help this sense of feeling on the Lamb. I mean, the border (ie; … [Read more...]
Pre-Paid, Loser
Everything was worke so well. Chemie? Oui. Creme Chamois? Mmm-hmm. Nice. Saddle? Ooh, waxy! Even le chaussette hauteur was perfect this time. Parrrrrrrr-fait. Oh, and the sun. I don't forget that, too. So nice. Laps ticked by like a Xanax plane ride. OOH! Another prime? Pour Moi? Why, okay! It was time now to take the race, so as I see the finish, and pedale to win, why does this happen? I push the … [Read more...]