Apocalypse Contador Redux

“But, your Honor, I thought the white powder on that doughnut was powdered sugar not coke.”

Yeah, you or I would be at the least doing community service for months picking up shit on the side of the highway, or on the flip side, strengthening our buttholes and practicing soap holding for time spent at big boy prison because its gonna hurt (dot com).

Yes, I know there’s a big difference between coke and clenbuterol, but the idea is the same. Coke doughnut or doped steak, ignorance of the law does not excuse you from the law.

So what’s next? Whoops I thought that was insulin, not HGH. Sorry. I cut myself shaving last night, that’s why I needed a blood transfusion. My bad.

That’s probably where it really came from, a blood transfusion. Mother fucker smiles when everyone else is grinding their teeth up these hills. He was keeping pace with Rasmussen and that pale skinny fuck was practically sweating a pharmacy.

Athletes are held to a higher standard, as they should be. We all know that cycling has some of the toughest testing around and a guilty until proven innocent mentality, but if that’s what you sign on for that’s what you need to live up to crybabies.

My job fucking sucks, but they regularly drug test. I can’t say, “damn, I thought that was the new USPS postage stamps and not blotter acid.” Boom, fired.

And what about his teammates he shared the steak with? They should be ripshit pissed. He could of cost them their jobs too. If that was me, I’d walk my ass down to Le Whole Foods or whatever the fuck its called in France and save every fucking receipt for the organic, peace loving, hippie, save-a-tree bullshit I bought. Fucking paper trail people.

Take pictures of me buying it, eating it, shiting it. Fuck, for all they know, they were eating a goddamned race horse that couldn’t win a race. They pump them full of that shit.
You know what though, I’ve been feeling a little slow in the hills lately. Let me take a beat down to the Kentucky Derby or the fucking glue factory and pick up a nice fucking t-bone. Hey, if it good enough for AC, then its good enough for me.

Shit, a wink and a thumbs-up would make that last one in to a pretty nice “Horse, its what’s for dinner” ad.


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