“I fed him the full Spartan Mamba experience – straight up and deep into his backward-facing vagina.”
Dear Gigi,
Did you see how totally magnífico I was yesterday? The chicas in the stands were taking off their underpants!
Did you see how I dominado and conquistada those stinking stupid putas who dared to cross wheels with me?
I think the Dwarf Puta was crying when I let him pass me. His tears were splashing on my visor. I have broken him and the stupid Traitor Puta, whom I let win this one last time.
It is over for him after this. He has too many teeth to ever be great like me.
You know I permitted them both to pass me in the interests of Spanish national harmony, don’t you, Gigi? This is something you do not understand because you are Italian.
You Italians only hate the Romans and those evil bandy-legged pig-farmers in Sicily.
In Spain, everybody hates everybody all the time.
Those filthy Castillian fascistas in Madrid hate the Catalans and want to put them in prison where depraved Andalusian gypsies will lash them with horse-whips for lisping.
I know they hate me too because I am Mallorcan, but I know they hate the Catalans more – which is easy to understand.
Of course, I do not belong to that cabal of Castillian cow-stabbers who wave their shiny towels at cattle, and dress like colourful prostitutes as they are impaled on the horns of bulls they have goaded with their descabellos.
And speaking of goading, did you see how I teased the one-legged Yellow Puta? Did you see how I crushed him with my hammer and greased him with my butter? I fed him the full Spartan Mamba experience – straight up and deep into his backward-facing vagina.
That will teach him to grow legs that are not his. And I think it is important his fake leg is taken to scrutineering and examined for telemetry. I think he had extra. I could see the lumps of it sticking out. And you know how he likes to cheat.
Look, Gigi! Those telemetry lumps in the Yellow Puta’s fake leg must go to scrutineering!
So today I am very happy. I am clearly the Number One Spanish rider of all time. Of course, I am not happy the race was made longer than it should be. It should have stopped at Lap 15. But I understand this was about politics and the smelly Catalans, so it was important to make the race longer so they could catch me and so I could let them past.
If I had not let them past me, Madrid would be in flames right know. My friend the King called me last night and he wants to give me another medal for my performance. And for bringing all of Spain together even for a few short moments.
So Gigi, now we go to Japan, yes? I like Japan. I can dress up like a geisha prince again, and you can buy more used girls’ underpants from those wonderful vending machines. Maybe I will buy you a ninja, Gigi!
I am very pleased to be once again at the very top of MotoGP, which is where I belong, and which is my rightful place as the greatest Spanish riding Spartan of all time.
And tell the Sad-Eyed Puta to stop crying like a woman. He has come seventh before. It is normal for him to come seventh. Wait until I tell him all his points are now mine. He will run out of tears! HAHAHAH!
Love,
George.
