“One minute everyone was thinking I was going to become the Petronas and turn my life into a bowl of dog-laksa with that pile of pimples and masturbation called Morbidelli, and instead I am getting married!”
Dear Gigi,
How fancy was my footwork, you tired old bag of eyebrows?
How much pasta can you now pound into your leaking asentaderas?
I make the zig and then I make the zag! Like a mamba hunting fat Italian mice in the butter!
Nobody knows what I am doing from second to second! I am cunning, like a fox with the brain of two foxes.
One minute everyone was thinking I was going to become the Petronas and turn my life into a bowl of dog-laksa with that pile of pimples and masturbation called Morbidelli, and instead I am getting married!
I am going to be a Respol Satu Hati Gati Mati Fati.
Yes, you can congratulate me and buy me a gift for my wedding. The world will say goodbye to the Dwarf Puta with the powdery collarbones, and they will say hello to me – the Hot Orange Mamba of Sparta!
It is the wedding of the century!
I am pleased to be marrying Marc – even though he is a traitor and a cheat, and is aggressive and not safe, and rides too fast and wins too much by being too fast and too aggressive and using far too many of his horse-teeth.
I am concerned a little about his father, too. His father is Julia. So maybe I think his father was once his mother. It is a little frightening, but I am brave. If she does not speak with me, then it will be OK. If she speaks to me, then I will have to call a priest to make the sign of the cross and banish the demon inside her.
I will hold her head under a sea of holy water if I have to.
But first you must understand this marriage with Marc and I is not like the marriage of a man and a woman. It is like the marriage of a nun and Jesus Christ. I am the Jesus and Marc is the nun. He is a virgin, so it is not so hard for him to be the nun I think.
So like the Jesus with the nun, he will obey my law in all things. And this will be good for the sport because he will no longer be allowed to ride like he wants to win. Now he must ride to please his Jesus.
I understand many stupid putas cannot ride the Honda. Which is clearly why Honda has come to beg me to ride it. I can ride everything, as you have seen.
The Honda has turned the bones of the Dwarf Puta into broken sticks of painful jelly. It has caused the Kangaroo Puta to run from Honda in terror and to join with Ducati to complain about my butter.
The Honda has also driven the Mad-Eyed England Puta crazier than a barking rat. It has made him hit his head many times and now he has all the time the headaches. This is why he squints with one eye at the sky and one eye at the ground and talks to himself.
The Yellow Puta will die now that I will be riding the Honda. The fear will grip him and his tiny huevos will shrivel inside his saco di carne, and he will start to walk like a woman who is looking for a man.
I will show him no mercy. I will not show anyone any mercy. Mambas have no mercy. They only have the attack, the cruelty and the SSSSSSS of the hissing.
So now I must wait patiently for the rest of the season with you, Gigi. But that does not mean you can have a holiday. Instead, you must work even harder to make the stupid rubbish Ducati be less stupid rubbish every race. I have not finished rubbing salt into all of your wounds and dancing the flamenco on the faces of putas who doubted my greatness.
I think Marc should wear virgin white to our wedding. The colour will go with his teeth.
Make me happy, Gigi. Or else you will hear the SSSSSSSSSS!
George.
DID YOU MISS THE LAST DEAR GEORGE?
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About the Author
Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.
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