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i killed a hipster by knocking him off his overpriced japanese clown bike because he was going so fucking slow on his twiddly brakeless gear.
i tore him a new arsehole with my lockring tool and shoved his pristine risers up there until the white oury grip popped out of his mouth like one of those milk ice lollies i used to eat as a kid.
he didn't stop twitching for ages though, making his asymmetric fringe flap for a good 5 minutes.
i then shat on his bike and went home to knock one out while watching re-runs of cipo win a stage of the tour.
i went to bed and got up the next day and won the tour de france by 2.36seconds.
the end.now give me the chaintug you cunt.
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OK, second go, but with more in jokes.
With 1km to go, team Londonfgss are towards the back of the peloton and aren't looking good. GA2G is flagging because he can't spin, while Lebowski is still some where around La Rochelle. The only people left are tom., Hillbilly, Object, Hippy and Slaytanic.
A last attempt to regain some ground is made, with Hippy's amble frame provide a slipstream for the others to throw themselves out of. They go, but 500m from the line Kanye West leaps out of the crowd, trying to mug Slaytanic for his HHSB - Slaytanic keeps him at bay with his blackmetal hand, but is quickly left behind.
Tom., Object and Hillbilly start pulling forward as Chris Crash, Smallbrown Bike et al sit eating vegan food and shouting "pull a skid". Suddenly, Hillbilly swerves violently and tries to cut a support car in half using only his bike.
Object and Tom. pull away from the other teams, and it's one last sprint to the line to see who gets the yellow jersey. Object crashes into one of the posts supporting the finish line though, snapping his body. Again.
Tom. wins! Cue time travelling Bridget Bardot, etc. Tom. also punches a mime and teaches the country personal hygiene.
Brilliant. -
Oh well, my winning the popular vote seems to have counted for nothing. How typical of a Grauniad journo!
Cheer up Tom, this is like Crackerjack, or Bullseye (Bull Crack, Jack's eye?), no one leaves empty handed, I'll buy you a pint of crap lager on Wednesday out East to make up for it...whadadyasay?
and yes, What do Guardian reporters know, crawling up Farringdon Road in all their Pashley pomp?
pajamas
dogsballs
Object
tom.-
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About
Njs Chain Tug To Giveaway Free!
Posted by
Salutations, homme du velo!!
First off, apologies for my tardiness in announcing the victor of this, the inaugural chain tug competition. I'm fresh off the air plane after a truly first-rate weekender – vintage tandeming up Napoléonsgaard in western Luxembourg, where it saddens me to report that fixed gear has failed to rouse much interest among the locals. I fear this has as much to do with the unforgiving topography as to the tongue-twistingly un-hip translation of our cherished pastime... 'örtlich festgelegtes Zahnradthe' anyone? I digress. May I begin by commending all of you 'Capital' fellows who entered my concours frivole! Thoroughly entertaining to a man! Rusty's 'immense torque' impressed hugely, as did the copious drug references... keep it real, I say. I was touched by Pistanator's tender enquiries about my sexuality and availability to partake in telephonic lewdness with him. Sadly, my man, I do not possess such a device. Later on, we had badtmy's ejaculation of killer verbs, Scots vernacular and bawdy gutter talk. It was envigorating but, alack, like a potty-mouthed candle in the wind, you burned out long before your legend ever did. And so, finally to the two main contenders: a pair of big pumping thighs among scrawny calves.
Tom captured my attention not only with his eagerness to learn and determination (two entries) but with his splendidly apt xenophobic rant: "Cue time travelling Bridget Bardot, etc. Tom. also punches a mime and teaches the country personal hygiene' which brought his offering to a shudderingly vulgar climax. However, my fellow judge (I was assisted in my adjudication by a Guardian journalist who, for his own personal safety, wishes to remain anonymous owing to the torrid time a member of his profession suffered recently at the hands of y'all Hip Hop Slaves!) felt that the references in his second submissin to fellow forum members leant his account a 'parochial, introspective quality that may restrict its appeal to a wider audience'.
The haiku-esque poem by dogsballs was a triumph of tense, emotionally regulated drama... a veritable poésie comprimée!!
Which brings me, huffing and puffing to the finishing line, where we have Pajamas' "flexings of its geometery seem to speak to me in soothing, urging tones" and "Yes, San, Yes", which, for me, encapsulated everything i was looking for in this 'race within a race': bigging up wicked NJS shit and some poncy poetry. Your reward is not just the chain tugs, but my admiration and respect, my friendship and a pint of piss-weak lager. I'll forward you my contact details post haste.