“Boring, tedious Putas! The lot of you. Nothing but a herd of quick-shitting she-donkeys too scared to make the passing and the accelerations.”
Dear worthless putas,
What was that rubbish? I fell asleep twice. Carlito had to whisper to me to wake me.
The most exciting thing of the Bern race was watching stupid Uncini trying not crash the white Volkswagen. He drives how he used to race motorcycles, with terror in his fat belly.
Boring, tedious Putas! The lot of you. Nothing but a herd of quick-shitting she-donkeys too scared to make the passing and the accelerations.
You are all lucky the Swiss watch the race with their beady eyes closed tightly. If that race happened in Spain, you would all be feeding the big Catholic vultures south of Madrid.
Where was the magnificencia? Where was the valor? Where was the gloria? Where was the heroismo? Where was the atrevido?
I will tell you where it was! Sitting here in my loungeroom next to Carlito watching you all fail on my new 3000cm 12HD Terapixel televisión next to the car I am building, that is where it all was!
Your terrible performance has slowed the re-growth of my spine, putas!
I called Poo-eegah shortly after the cowardly French Air-Spinning Puta who was riding backwards, made the woman Joan and that African Zulu, Morbidelelelleli crash.
“Are you watching this, Poo-eegah? Are you seeing this catástrofe? All the Swiss farmers will go home to their cheese-caves now.
Tell Uncini to chase the frightened putas in his Volkswagen! Maybe then they will ride like men instead of dancing priests!”
And then I said to him: “Poo-eegah! Take the broom and scare the Yellow Puta away from Carmelo. He is waving his hands at Carmelo and doesn’t want to race in the wet because he is now married to Uccio. And who will cook for the fat one if the Yellow Puta must go to Clinica Mobile for a week? I see everything, Poo-eegah! Everything!”
Poo-eegah was very happy. He made the sound his people make which sounds like seals eating fish. He then said he had made all the changes I told him to make to Marty’s Lesser Repsola Number Two Bike, and Marty had to ride only in third gear for the whole race. He still won, as I permitted him to do in my absence.
See how I still care about all the Satu Hatu Mati Fatis? I win for the Repsola Team even when I am not there to win personally. No other champion can do this!
All the Japanese Bushidos made their little fan-dance afterwards in the pits. It is how they salute my contribution to the next championship, which I am winning for Marty.
OK, so now all you slow-riding putas will go to race the Red Cow Ring in Australia. This is a fast place where I have won several times on that rubbish Ducati.
Do not shame my sport again and ride like children on a merry-go-round.
Always watching.
George.
About the Author
Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.
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