a day in the life of ringworm

To describe my crossey-cross race this afternoon?

what's the phrase?..."it was like watching a retard on speed trying to hump an unwilling doorknob...and liking it."

Liking the watching or the humping? I'll let you decide.

Anyway, saw Reedo as he was leaving from the earlier race. He was grimacing, too. Sweet.

Think I was out of the top-10 something fierce. The runnups killed me. When it's flat and fast, I've got leg-speed like Wile-E. But, today was 20% bastards that took you straight up the chute to crapville. I was wimpering and simpering like a beaten cur. My last lap was pathetic like the ringworm. I dusted and ate myself a little circle of disgust. I was gracious enough to let the guy behind me pass with no trouble at all. This was accomplished by my fatty-stupid crash 400 meters from the gawdamn finish line. Stupid race.

I was falling down the final descent, a bumpy slutty little descent that shoots you over a road transition, kicking you down another quicky descent, tamer but a sneaky little minx, nonetheless. Dumping down the descent as only a bike with brake pads effective as a couple of Jello pudding pops can- I hit the road transition and began my look for the sweet line down the other descent. Just then, when the line was ready to open up like prom night, a sweet little chirp of a voice threw out, "nice job, Safeway."

Well shit, who might have said that? [hernando proceeds to break vision from line and eye-spasm to the right in an attempt to glimpse said chirpie.

"Whaa...stop that," zips across the screen and I force my attention back to the curb-hop and snazzle down the rest of the descent.

Whoooop, over the curb and...hey, that's not right -

[sound of crashing...bit like what an old farmer might blurp-out after punching his thumb with the mini-sledge.

"...well, jesus h mothersucking tongueslapping yougottabekiddinme poop on a stick eating son of a..."

never did see that little chirpie.