Dear George

Published on May 31st, 2019 | by Boris

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“Put the bowing pads on the floor so the Respol Bushidos do not bruise their delicate faces making the kow-tow to me when I return in glorious victory glory.”

Dear Poo-eegah,

 

I have returned to Yellow Putaland. And my headache has returned to my face. What is wrong with these chimpanzees? The last racer he beat was Agostinelli in 1925. Yet they still burn things in his name and throw vegetables at me.

 

The terrible filth of the Yellow pollutes my Mamba. I can taste it in my butter. But because I am a champion, because I am the Repsolo Suprema, I will conquer here.

 

This is the beginning of the start of my new beginning. Here in stupid Mugello, where the air is Yellow, is where it all begins. It is the Grand Breakthrough, Poo-eegah!

 

The comfort of the telemetries is very close to good. There are things that stick out from other things, and the rubberization of the handholds looks very correct. The engine makes a loud noise almost all the time and no smoke comes from the gas-spreaders behind me.

 

So you will see from the very first lap what I will do. Even Marty will not be able to understand. Since he discovered girls, all he does is carry their underpants around with him and makes the Instagram of his teeth. His mind is not on the game.

 

The Yellow Puta only comes to this race so he can sell his cartoon helmet to idiots who cannot speak Spanish. He paints his helmet like a pizza. I have horns on my helmet, Poo-eegah! They are like the horns on your polar bear, but more pointy.

 

The young Fabulous Putararororo has also taken the horns and the name El Dildo, but his horns are not as horny as mine. They do not glisten with the war-butter of the hammer.

 

Once again, he will bring shame on our country. Not as much shame as the stupid-eyed Crutchlow brings to his smelly people – but then the thick curry-gravy which flowed from the breasts that fed him does not help him race. He can only fight farm animals and pick the gravel from his anus.

 

So prepare, Poo-eegah! Make everything ready! Do not just sit their and scratch the places where the seal made frozen love to you.

 

Put the bowing pads on the floor so the Respol Bushidos do not bruise their delicate faces making the kow-tow to me when I return in glorious victory glory.

 

This is my race!

You remain my obedient servant in all the proper places.

George.

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About the Author

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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