Cycling in the South Bay

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