I get ugly this time of year.
Ride your Madone like a pussy in the Kettles and I squash you like a bug when we hit the hills. The look of horror on a man's face when he sees 29 X 2.1's ride by him like he is standing still should be a MasterCard commercial. The only reason you caught me on the down slope is because I spun out at 32 X 11. Hell, anyone can descend.
Today was Heaven (or Hell in my case). The music was cranking in the ears, but I do not remember a note. The focus was on the race and it was playing over and over in this simple mind. What does this mean?
It's back for 2010: Unapologetic and Narcissistic Rage.
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