Confessions of a bike whore...

Another long drawn out meeting with the designers today. Fuck me, these meetings seem to be full of fat lumpy fucktards who talk about 'riding' but look more like they prefer riding to the nearest Pizza Hut and sitting their lycra clad asses on the sofa watching 'Seasons.'

Anyway it was decided today that our new 'Do it all' 29er would have 125mm of rear wheel travel. Jonesy (product manager) start belting out the marketing spiel by saying that by settling on 125mm we were producing a superior product to Niner, Santa Cruz, Pivot, etc

Oh yes, we were entering the all mountain 125mm 29er that does everything and wait for it ... rides like a fucking wet dream mothefucker. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that we were moving to an all new tapered fuck tube, to increase stiffness. Of course this now meant that a standard 1'1/8 steel cock was now totally fucking impotent, and no amount of bike viagra was going to fix this shit.

So there we have it, the stiffer the better. I just loved the bit where Jonesey said that we'd probably go to a 1.5 headtube in 2 years time as All Mountain 29ers will probably be screaming out for a stiffer front end.

Clive then came in and told me 'to get da ball rolling' this basically meant going on SuckmyMtbr.com and starting debates about how much I dig my new 'Godzilla 29er' and how Godzilla is overtaking Santa Cruz as the next sweet boutique brand in the business.

Did the standard 'Rides like a dream' post with a big smile and created the visual aesthetic that my bike now transformed me into a everyday Samuel Hill without having to drink copious amounts of Monster.

The fuckwits on Suckmymtbr.com really do ammuse me man. These guys are all dicks glued to the dollar, computer programmers and accountants who have decided that mountain biking is the rich man's game that is more satisfying than teeing off at the 15th asshole. Motherfuckers.

There's always some dick who's short of a crankarm and posts a topic about how his rear triangle is slightly out of alignment after a ride, this motherfucker usually posts pics (before and after) like some fat lardass who just lost 90lbs.


Well looks like I got to get ready for the next trade fair and explain the vastly improved stiffness of the 2011 Godzilla 29er and how bike technology is moving so fast that I'm seriously considering having neural hub implants to make sense of it all. Okay, okay, bullshit aside, the bit I hate the most is when I meet a straight up dude, you know the kind; works hard, has an honest job and ain't no weekend warrior fuckwit, this is the guy who understands why we ride. Well I got news for this guy, his 100mm Godzilla 26'' small dick is now well and truly fucked. 'Dude you got to try this new product, 'cos it's the fucking bomb'.

I hate the way these dead fish get all aroused when finding out about the latest Godzilla version of their steed. These motherfuckers seriously think that they will clear that steep technical section that they can't nail on their 100mm shopping trolley. These assholes are doomed man. They're clueless wayward yes men. Men who demand one thing: Entertainment.

Just saw the latest Specialized commercial with Ned Overend. God this man rawks. He's a true legend and a great rolemodel. He respresents something far more significant than the latest Brain damping remote tuner. He represents mountain biking in its purest form; the outdoorsman who connects with nature and leaves all in his wake to hammer the trail.

God bless Ned. He's got a great follower in Derren Berrecloth, another bona fide outdoorsman who no doubt never leaves the house without his chainsaw and lumberjack shirt on.

Gods man, fucking A.
Later.

Social interaction v random acts of masturbation in a studio flat?

Housing crisis...what housing fucking crisis.

The scare stories of a disintegrating housing market are something of an amusement to me; the idea of being part of a generation that does not have to be in huge mortgage debt is something to embrace is it not?

Oh yes, I hear the sighs of disbelief, as you ask yourself what on earth is so appealing about having to live under the thumb of a money grabbing cunt a.k.a landlord, as well as having to share  a property with a Recruitment Cunt-sultant named Paul who is masks his O.T.E. failure by drinking copious amounts of cheap lager, while perfecting a husky laugh to impress fat lumpy whores who file their nails and answer calls for a living.

Perhaps the greatest joy of not owning my own property, is that it forces us all to brush up on on pointless tasks like 'small-talk', so we create the social lubrication that is so necessary to maintain the unintelligent life that personifies your average flatmate.

Having to live through the ignominy of stealing someone's milk and the quiet satisfaction of spitting, or in some cases shitting on a flatmate's food makes it all worthwhile.