Johan's a little bored.

[jb44]

My Dearest Sniffers

For the longest time now, I have been trying to figure out what it is about F1 that keeps otherwise rational people, like us, nailed to their TV's. I know it's not the cars; there has only ever been one truly beautiful Grand Prix racer, and that's the Bugatti T59. As a racing car it may well have been, uhmm.., crap, but it's pretty. But the internal combustion engine has to be involved, Lance Armstrong and Muhammad Ali are both great athletes, but I do not need to understand what it is that they do. I yearned to get into Senna's head however, never happened, he died, I grieved.

I never understood Michael Schumacher either, but on that one the fault lies with me. Imagine that; the greatest driver in history wins the crown a record 7 times, and what did I do? I got bored after the first 5. But that's okay, because F1 treats her fans like shite, us fans can pretend to stand indifferent. And perhaps that is the secret, after all, how many emotionally needy F1 fans do you know? Speaking only for myself, F1 stands as beacon for all that is glorious and best about sheer dark, intense, pure racing. F1 is the zenith of man as gladiator. Rally drivers? No. Indy/CART Racing? No. Touring cars? Spare me. NASCAR? Oh puhleaze. Bikers? Sorry no, it is against my morals to use my lower extremities as crumple zones. Although I do rather like leather, especially that glorious sound it makes as it strikes tormented flesh.

Speaking of which, how about that little Kimmi, eh? Didn't see that one coming, never even thought for a minute he could be champion. But he did, and he did it in the most traditional way, he beat Hamilton, he beat Alonso, he drove a Ferrari, I should be happy. What the f... the dickens is wrong with me? Last year everything I thought I knew about racing, just upped and left the building. I spent the entire season mocking Raikkonen, vilifying Alonso, singing the praises of Lewis the Loser, and then, just as I was about to congratulate myself for my insight, my intellect, my glory, Kimmi comes out of nowhere, and wins the f.... and wins. Motherf......the little scamp. Never thought a keyboard could elevate my stress levels so, moving on, who exactly is to blame for last year's clusterf....problems? I want names, I want numbers, I want answers but, mostly, I just want to keep on killing homeless people. So please All Ye Merry Hetero's, explain 2007 to me; in plain queer please.

Moving off topic, I'm still not sure what amazes me the most, that homo-weddings are legal in both Britain and South Africa, or that Elton John found a man willing to marry him. Jesus, talk about being queer above and beyond the call of deviancy. But I digress. Yes, you see it is this feeling of increa......Elton John got herself a husband!? How in homo hell did that happen? That fat f..... chubby, little wig-wearing, tantrum throwing, Bette Midler-with-a-little-dick got married, and the bitch wasn't even pregnant. Elton John gets buggered, and all I get is nostalgic. There is no God. No God, you hear me? Racing? What racing?

Harumph and ahem.... Republicans, Tories, Neo-Nazis, my fellow Africans: I do apologise ever so humbly for the above gayism, it just slipped out. So when is the first race of the season anyway? Where is it? Who is racing? James Allen......................James Allen is without a doubt.............no wait, I've said that last year already. James Allen should go and..............ah and this too. James Allen's mother once...............ditto.

Finally! A purpose to this crap I've been writing - the one who comes up with the cruellest, most merciless insult about The Cocklet, shall have all the glory, all the honour and all the women. I'm lying about the women. I think I'm done, for now.

Kind Regards

Johan Buchner