Broken Flowers
 

What are you talking about?

Just call me NFH
 

I called one of his training partners who I used to ride with to let him know. He said to tell you to shutthefuckup and move to the France with the rest of the ignorant haters. Seriously. No offence.

Sorry
 

I just had to break up the quad-fecta (or whatever it's called).

Just call me NFH
 

He irritates the hell out of me. And yes, he just "retired" about a month ago. I guess he now wants to defend his name against the allegations of doping. So lame.

Broken Flowers
 

Poor little lizard. He never knew what hit him. But we do -- and it's a Mack truck with "dtb" on its license plate.

Broken Flowers
 

Poor little lizard?!? Your concern (while appreciated) is misplaced.

Lizards are very resilient.

Broken Flowers
 

It's always the children who suffer the most?

For some reason, I'm craving (CRAVING) that velveeta-melted-with-rotel dip. Mmmmmmmm.

Just call me NFH
 

They had some San Francisco Grand Prix bike race running past our apartment this weekend.

On a sunday. In the fucking morning. And it was noisy.

Bells. Rattles. Whistles. Too much fucking cowbell.

I was tempted to throw scalding water at the riders/fans after the 10th lap.

F Lance.

Just call me NFH
 

Would you rather they ran the race during rush hour on a Friday afternoon?

Oh, wait . . .

Just call me NFH
 

You lasted to the 10th lap before wanting to kill them? Patient!

Is it okay to refer to a Sunday morning as "fucking"? I'm pretty sure that is step one to eternal damnation, but I've gotten fuzzy on the details.

Just call me NFH
 

Get up, go outside, drink bloody marys and mock them. It's what I do if I'm not actually in the race.

Actually, I only mock the slow and fat ones.

Just call me NFH
 

If that's how you spend your Sunday, what else would you call it?

Just call me NFH
 

A day like any other?

Just call me NFH
 

Because those are the ones you've met running near you when you do race?

Just call me NFH
 

For Slave, that sort of thing (saying the phrase "Sunday Fucking Morning") actually reduces his likelihood of eternal damnation.

I hear you saying "whoa!" in a keanu-like way. It's a paradox, I know, but true. Kind of like a pitcher who gets shelled in his first game of the season lowering his earned run average in the next game despite giving up 10 runs.

Or think of it as three seconds he otherwise would have spent engaging in eyeball-licking with an underaged set of twins, prior to snorting a line of blow of their waxed private areas.