My Sprint is legend

So, the other day I'm about half-way through a 120 mile training ride (right, what were you doing at 5:15 am) and am about to go over a bridge that passes over I5 by Fort Lewis. Here's a picture if for some reason you have never left ventured beyond the Burke Gilman trail on your bike since the training wheels might fall off:
picture here
and at the end of the bridge are around 6 people dressed in baggy, soft, dirty clothes (aka Hippies) chanting and holding some poorly constructed signs. I can't even read what their witch-like hands have scrawled on there (in blood?). They're getting nasty looks from some Ft Lewis supporters, as well they should. No far be it for me to get on my political high horse, RC says live and let live. This is loosely what The Rastafari Religion preaches and you all know my learned history with the Reggae culture. But the poorly defined calves (unshaven of course) on the women and the one pasty, TB ridden 'guy' with the scraggly Dungeons&Dragon beard just about make me want to kill someone (them). FUCK. So, what does the RC do? I casually ride by, wave to them and give the women (and I use the term women loosely) a smile. I get exactly 200m from where they are and start to wind-up my sprint. I am probably doing in excess of 54mph (my power-meter can't register the watts I am doing), and as I pass them by, old RC sticks his elbows out like a big jet-plane bombing the control tower. Yeah, did you ever Tom Cruise in Top Gun fucktard? It was like that. Anyhoo, I knocked most of them over, someone may have fallen off the bridge. Whatev.

Pads

So, not too long ago I caught some flack from my bobs-barn.com teammates after a race as we were all post-race smack down talking and I removed my helmet. Some background: when you're mixing it up at 50+ mph over chip-seal with some nasty MF'ers, any edge you can get is well worth it when podium time rolls around. Bitches. As an unnaturally small, dwarf-like person, I have to use my head in sprint situations to muscle my way to the golden position. If you saw my result from Mason Lake #2, you'll know I'm not to be f'd with in bunch sprints. I recently have been using sanitary napkins in my helmet to add an extra layer of cushoning. That's right, Maxi.
Whatever, right now I know some of you shittards are ROTFLMAO.
Next time you do:
Weights on Monday (24 45's on there this time + whatever the platform weighs = 1080+ on the leg press), 20" sprints w/ 1' rest on the rollers x 40 on Tuesday (72 mph max.), 6 x 30' @ 45 mph (roller speed) Wed. and a nice 32 mph avs roller ride on Thurs.
Let me know whose wearing the pads. Bitches.

Fuck! "The Classics" begin

FUCK! did you see that shit ".0135 seconds". To me that's an eternity, to you just another wasted milestone in your useless non-trained lives. Fuck! Allright, so the new best of Tosh album mellowed me out a little after BB but I still was a little pissed so I stopped at an AM/PM in fucking hippie Oregon to vent and get some viddles. Some fucking totally out of shape hippie loser came up to me as I was exiting my tricked out HONDA ELEMENT and asked if I needed to 'Fill 'er up'. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the fucktard until he went over to some fag Prius, probably to give a handjob. FUCK! I got some Slim Jims (Nacho) and a 'Dew 16 oz. Apparently Oregon hasn't heard of Self Service and needs to continue encouraging stoned out shop-class losers who don't know what an 70 ml/kg/min VO2Max can do for them. Shitards.