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Led astray by clowns like this, I actually pulled Scott, a teammate from the 2004 race, into the surreal nightmare. Poor dude has no idea what he's in for. The sick thing is, he'll probably like it.
Elmo boy, a.k.a. Snoop Robby Rob, has designed our team mascot (which, lucky reader, you see here) and has publicly confessed to researching sheep anatomy for race-related purposes I'm afraid to contemplate. He's a Palmeranian, which means he lives in the Mad-Zoo Valley, home of Matanuska Thunderfuck and World Capital of the
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And to top it all off, Dave has some Air Force job that involves AWACS jets and secret codes. So now every time I'm riding with him when he's on call and his cell phone rings, I get scared and stare at the sky until I realize he's only talking to his wife.
There's a distinct possibility that I'm gettin' too old for this shit.
I'm not gonna tell Scott until after he pays his race fee, but this thing's gettin' weird and we haven't even started yet. If it's this bad now, what will it be like in the woods at 3 a.m. with a pissed-off moose staring me down while I'm runnin' on three packets of Gu and fistful of caffeine tablets?
3 comments:
Muwhahahahaha
" ...what will it be like in the woods at 3 a.m. with a pissed-off moose staring me down while I'm runnin' on three packets of Gu and fistful of caffeine tablets?"
Like a little slice of heaven.
betta than sex
(with a sheep)
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