Is All About the Race!

, , Comment closed

0 Flares Twitter 0 Facebook 0 0 Flares ×
Print pagePDF pageEmail page

Is Not About the Yank!

In much the same way that the queen of England thinks that her country is smell of fresh paint, so all professional cycle jockeys are thinking that France is smell of Domesto and ¡Cillit Bof! This is because every year, when the Tour de France is passing through, the towns and villages on the route receive the instructions from the government tourist office that they must clean the place up and make it look and sound spotless for all the foreingers who are watching on TV or who might be smelling it on their way through. The televisioning of the Tour de France is one long advertisement for how beautiful the country is, a brilliant contrick that empty the pockets of millions of gullible Europeans each year who are decepted into visiting it, by which point it is too late. What they are fail to realize is that the route of the Tour is changing every year, and only those towns which are on the route get cleaned, with the result that France as a whole only really gets a clean once every 20 years. Still, that is twice as often as Italy.

Thus, when the stupid tourist is arrive, they discover that the real smell of France is not lavender and bergamot at all, but goat’s cheese and hauteur. Is a disgraceful big shock! And of course, the French people themselves are never noticing the smell, because they are there all the time and their bodies have become immuned, in the same way that fish are not knowing that they are in water. Still, it would only take a little bit of research by the stupid tourist to find out that France is widely famous for its cheese and hauteur parties (which the English turn into the cheese and whine party when they try to replicate their France holiday at home). It is always paying to read up on the country you are going to visit before you get there. French customs, in particular, can come as a bit of shock. For esample, I think it was Bill Bryson, in his hilarious novel Around Ireland in a Fridge, which said, and I quote,

“Your average Frenchie thinks nothing of dropping trou in the town square and defecating in the gutter, all the while munching on his croque monsieur and engaging in animated conversation with his swarthy amigos about the Abyss.”

I am not knowing what is the Abyss-I espect it is a bistro or a strip club in Pigalle-but croque monsieur is melted cheese on top of toasted bread, which, I am sure you will agree, sounds perfectly revolting!

Anyway, as usual, the Tour de France was won this year by a brilliant Spanish jockey, the diminutive and handsome Alberto Contador, who has been win already in 2007. He beat the other jockeys by a country mile, which is five kilometers. To add spice to the event this year, the race also was seeing the return from retirement of the great American jazz jockey Louis Armstrong, who have won this race in the past on no fewer than 30 occasions, but who had to go into retirement when it was discovered that he had catched cancer of the trom bone, which meant that he could not sit down for long periods of time, and especially not on his tool, which is how he call his bike, the tool of his trade. Armstrong’s reappearance at the race was met with some cheers, especially from those peoples who feel that all sports benefit with the great personal rivalries, such as the ones Nadal/Federer, Hamilton/Massa, Schumacher/Levy, Beckham/Fans, and Chambers/UK Athletics, because even though he was on the same team as the brilliant Contador, Armstrong is not having any love lost between him, and he would have like very much to win the race for himself. And also because he is a bit of a cunt. Even so, when Armstrong was clearly and soundly beated by the better human being, he was admitting it openly to the media, which everybody thought was both gracious and sneaky, because it is nothing like him usually, and also because he said it while Contador was miles away.

Is becoming almost embarrassing now for the Spanish that they are winning this race so often without the use of amphetamines or Viagra to keep them going. People are often asking the queston, how come it is the Spanish who are always win? Why is there not no Dutch winners or Chinese winners? After all, the bicycling is their main form of transportation in those countries. You would espect them to be the best by an elongated chalk, would you not? But this is only going to show what an idiot people are. Have another look at those countries and you will realize that there are no great Dutch or Chinese jockeys because the cycling is too EASY in their countries. They are all flat! By contrast, cycling in Spain is made very hard by the hills, mountains, absence of roads, absence of saddles and pedals, and the banning of the wheel by Franco. Is for the same reason that the Africans always make such good runners: No cars!

We tend to forget in the disgusting decadent modern world that physical superiority is acquired only at some cost to comfort. Master races are built out of self-discipline, intense prayer, flogging, tying one’s genitals to the bumper of a bus, or, if not your own genitals, someone else’s, and living on a diet of bread and water for months at a time. In fact, I am writing a book on this subject, Punish Yourself to Success!: The Ten Rules of Self-Denial and Abasement Used by the World’s Leading Ascetics. I am especting a phone call from Rupert Murdoch any day now.

Now you are know all about my favourite race. Tell me, both my reader, which is your favourite race and why?

The following two tabs change content below.

Latest posts by Manuel Estimulo (see all)