A giant box arrived at the office from Jessup Auto Plaza.
Sketch, for sure.
The name “Jessup” has long been associated with a wide variety of cycling beatdowns and shenanigans in SoCal, mostly as a result of legend Andy Jessup. A few years ago, Andy got shoved into the barricades at Redlands, smashed his hip, tore open an artery, and almost died.
His recovery was long, painful beyond belief, but inevitable. Just to show he could, replete with rebuilt joint and enough PTSD to spook a combat platoon, he suited up and did a couple of races last year.
Still, a box from Jessup Auto Plaza …
I opened it up and found this:
Andy must have taken especial note of my filthy water bottle nozzles and my love of cookies and my chapped lips! But most especially, this:
Mrs. WM was not impressed with the swag. “Where we onna put your more bikin junk?”
“It’s not junk, honey, it’s awesome swag.”
“I got one drawer onna underwear and bra and you got four drawer onna old tire and smelly bikin socks.”
“But look, honey! These bottles are the best. And all clean nozzles! Camelback!”
She scowled. Then she saw the blank check. “Thatsa blank check.”
“Yes, but it’s dedicated to the Wanky Defense Fund.”
“Not no more it isn’t,” she said, snatching it.
“Hey! That’s blog subscription money! At $2.99/month that’s a 16.7-year subscription! Gimme that!”
She turned her back and carefully wrote “Mrs. WM” in the payee line. “Itsa bout time some on your deadbeat reader onna payin. If you was atta McDonald’s like you wastin time onna that blog we’d be onna time and a half last ten years and retirin.”
“Now just a minute,” I said. “My blog provides a very important service.”
“Finally,” she said, as she walked out the door to the bank.
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