Dear Lance Armstrong

Dear Lance Armstrong,

Most people are of two minds about you. But I think the majority of people who don't know too much about you come down on the favorable side.

Everyone knows you were probably doping your whole career, but so did everybody else you raced against, so it's almost a wash. And besides, even if someone's a stickler when it comes to drugs, they can always stick their head in the sand and believe all that shit you spew about being the most tested athlete in the world and never getting caught. I'm personally pretty ambivalent about the drugs. And if that's the only stain on your record that the average person considers, they'll usually still come away with a positive impression. After all you did beat cancer and go on to win the Tour de France seven times in a row, start a huge cancer charity, make road biking popular in the U.S., and manage to piss off a lot of French people- an achievement which most of us on this side of the Atlantic can really appreciate.

Like I said, it's not the drugs that bother me. It's the fact that you're a huge dick. I had the good fortune to live in Austin a couple years back, where your fame is slowly metamorphosing into infamy. Like a recently retired spouse, everyone in Austin quickly realized that they actually liked it better when you spent the majority of your time at work. It's not just the other people living in your neighborhood who wish you were spending six months a year training in Spain. You pretty much menace everyone, everywhere you go, all the time. I've heard more than one tale about you cruising into a restaurant, bitching about your food, refusing to pay for it, berating the manager, and then stiffing the service. You spew your rancid dick juice and unload pompous temper-tantrums at anyone in your vicinity, leaving a slime trail of oozing inferiority complex in your wake.

Here's a picture of Lance Armstrong taking a tinkle in his neighbor's pool.

One of my Austin friends worked security at Austin City Limits, and his boss told everyone at training the day before the festival to watch out for Armstrong. My friend was instructed that if Lance Armstrong tries to cut the line and then demands to be let in without a ticket, go get a manager. Do not try to argue with him yourself. Apparently Lance tries to crash ACL every year, and then goes on a tear if he doesn't get the VIP treatment. Somehow seven Tour de France titles, sponsorships, millions of dollars, and getting to bang an Olsen twin aren't enough; now you demand the right to cut in front of everyone and get free tickets to musical festivals. You're the epitome of a small man; a petty tyrant. Watching a sore loser is always cringe-worthy, but at least it's empathizable. An asshole winner is far worse.

Here's a picture of Lance Armstrong trying to get to the ACL fairgrounds in time to catch the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He's making pretty good time, yet sadly the show is already sold out. But wait! Lance doesn't care. He plans on clubbing the proles down with that big dumb hat of his until he's at the front of the line, then screaming at a ticket taker who's making $8/hr until she has an emotional breakdown and lets him in for free. Now I'm no CSI forensics expert, but judging by the scratches on the helmet, I'd say this isn't the first time Lance has unleashed his rage on the "little people." Strong living indeed. At least he still has the fire, I guess.

I want to have your back on this current USADA suit. I don't want to see you lose your seven titles only to have them go to the second place doper who wasn't caught. I want to draw inspiration from your personal struggle with cancer. I want to appreciate the work you've done with the Livestrong foundation. But that's all really hard to do while knowing that you are a giant cock.

I don't know if it's the 'roid rage that's to blame or what. But Jesus, Lance. Take it down a notch. Forget getting banned from cycling. At the rate you're going, you're going to get banned from Austin.

Sebastian Braff

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