Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Goddamit.

The Jan is requiring much sympathy.

It is not being the easy to sculpt this flesh-temple of wonder that we are calling "The Jan."  No, it is not being easy at all.  Lo, and gaze upon these twin monsters of dark muscle upon which I will build my unholy church.  How many road-widows have they made?  The Jan can still hear the wails, and he is much comforted.  How many children have been abandoned, how many have gone hungry when their fathers were mashed between my horgantuan thigh-beasts like so much mashed-up stuff?  The Jan is hearing these questions, but he cannot be granting you an answer.

The victims of these monstrous thigh-beasts are being as countless as the grains of sand on a beach, as infinite as the stars in the sky.  To pass between these twin colossi of pain is to pass across the border into a shadow world of death and eternal damnation.

It is not being easy, that is the general point the Jan is trying to make.  Are we being clear?  Yes?  Ok.  Shall I speak more of the doom that springs from my thighs like so many bats on a moonless night?  No?  Ok, the Jan is just wanting to be sure that we are all being straight on my awesomeness.

So therefore it should be no surprise when the Jan's knee is giving out like it did last week.  That is being a lot of damnation and hellfire to support on just a couple of regular knees.  But it still is hurting the Jan like the dickens.

At first, the Jan was taking the pills of anti-pain, but the Jan is a little too fond of the pills, and apparently swallowing 20 at a time with a fifth of Jagrmeister and then gazing upon the face of God is not something the doctors are recommending as part of my recuperation.  So they are taking the Jan's pills from his mighty grasp, and now I am being the bored.

My season is being delayed, it is true.  This has been the cause for much rejoicing in the peloton, I am hearing.  The weak may cling to their miserable lives for a few more weeks, until the Reaper, (that is being me in this analogy,) mows them down like so many dandelions.  And then eats them.

The Jan is seeing that Mr. Furball Basso Hairy Sauce is winning the Criterium.  Oooooooooooo, you're such a big man.  The Jan is pretty sure he saw Basso riding a moped for half of the time trial anyway.

And Vino is winning, yes, the Jan has heard this.  Way to go, two victories in the Tour of West Detroit and the Tour of South Ohio.  Puh-lease.  These victories are made up names.  The Jan has never even heard of these places that Vino is winning.  Oh, look at me, I am the Jan, I am just winning the Tour of the Jan's Bedroom!

The Jan is fearing no man still being sitting on a bicycle.  If my knee is not healing, I am not caring, the Jan will simply gnaw off the bad leg and win the Tour de France with just the good one.  Maybe I will be doing that anyway to make it sporting.

On a personal note, the Jan is being sending out a heart-felt sympathy thing to Lance and Sheryl.  I am thinking the seeds were planted last summer when the Sheryl did gaze upon the twin towers of pleasure and pain that are my thighs.  They have been being the cause of many a breakup, but the Jan can do nothing.  This is being the cross the Jan must bear.

Ugh, the Jan must go and find more sausage.  The Jan's knee is being killing him.

The Jan is not understanding this.  Why every year are we going to the South Africa?  I mean, please for a second be thinking about this.  Africa is being hot.  Are you having any idea how hot it is being in South Africa?  That is like going to the Hell, and then going to be taking an escalator down another flight.  It is being the fucking hot, ok?  That is what the Jan is saying.

Some of the things are going to the better.  There have been no more of the nightmares about the Lance being a giant donut that is chasing me down and then stuffing itself into my mouth and then choking me and then pushing me down on the playground and I am being naked again and my GrandMaMa is there and she is crying.  So that is good.  I am not doing the thinking about him anymore.  He is being the retired now.  He said.  No takebacks.  He is still being the retired, right?  Ok, that is the good.

I am being on the bicycle 5 hours a day down here.  That is being the boring.  Don't get the Jan wrong, I am being loving the bicycle as an implement to inflict suffering on the Jan's foes and make them cry with shame and make their blood to cover the ground in great red rivers, but there are being none of the foes in the training, and after yesterday they are telling me that I cannot even be beating the innocent bystanders with the rusty pipe anymore, the very pipe that the Jan is always carrying explicitly for the beating of innocents.  The Jan is a wolf surrounded by sheep.  Sometimes, I am giving the Klodi a wedgie, because when the Jan rides the bike, someone must suffer.

The Mob is being hearing that little Hairball Primavera himself, (that is the Basso for you people who are having the retardation,) is now going to ride the Giro like the Jan.  We are not caring.  The Mob is only going there to meet Italian chicks.  I am not caring about the winning at the Giro.  I am even thinking that I will be wearing only a cowboy hat for one stage, because that would be being the funny, and I am probably going to be being the drunk anyway.  Sure, the Lance won 7 Tours, but did he ever win a stage naked?  No, the Jan is thinking not.

Eh, the Jan will talk to you soon.

Kisses,

The Kaiser.

The Jan is wanting to be serious for a moment.  Can we turn the techno music down for a bit?  Yes?  That is the good.

Listen to the Jan, oh you dubious masses of the peoples.  The Jan is not going to be losing the Tour in 2006 to some hairy little spaghetti-legged monkey from Italy.  That is not going to be doing the happen.

Everyone thinks that the Basso is going to be winning in the Tour next year.  Admit it.  But the Jan is asking himself, “the why?”  Because the little hairy man is getting the second place in 2005?  Because he is getting the third place in 2004?  You people are being the retarded.  The Jan is going out to buy you the rubber helmets and the bibs for your drooling.

Ivan Basso is getting those finishes not because of the Ivan Basso.  He is getting those finishes not because of his team, the CSC.  He is getting those finishes because of the Great Yellow UniBalled One.  It is being easy for a man like the Basso to sit on the wheel of the mighty Lance, but it is being something else in entirety to crack the peloton yourself.  Take it from me.  I did the doing of it in 1997.

And don’t be telling the Jan about the Giro last year where Ivan looked good when he wasn’t doing the puking and the whining and the crying.  The Giro is being a bunch of hairy short Italians sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes and pulling over to do the making of the love to anything that moves.  If I were to go the Giro and do the riding of the bicycle backwards I would still be getting the podium.

I am being saying to you, how much time do you think I will gain on the Basso in the time trials this year?  2 minutes?  3 minutes?  Oh, it is to say please.  CSC is not the Discovery, and Basso is not the Lance.  I will be time-trialing that little spaghetti-legged hairball  into the dirt.  I will be cleaning marinara sauce out of my spokes for weeks.

Let the Heras have his Veulta, and let the Basso and the Salvodelli have their Giro.  But the Tour?  The Tour is mine.

I have been at the starting of the training now.  At the first, I did the stomach stretches, where I eat the 14 sausages, and I drink the ten beers.  Then I do the endurance training, where I dance with the pretty fraus until the sun is coming up, at which time I am showing my thighs to everyone because I have at some point lost mine pants.  Many people faint with terror.  Or the lust, I am not being sure which.  At this point, I must do the resting, because it is a crucial part of any training.  I do the resting very good this time, and do not take a break from the resting for 15 hours.  Then I wake up, and do the kicking of the kittens, to stay sharp.  It is not being easy, my regimen, but I am not to complain.