Jerk Crit #5

Greetings, loyal Team Seagal Dust Clouds! Yesterday was the penultimate Jerk Crit, and one which shall go down in infamy. Struckman and The Claw had mercy on all us dirty critters, and saw fit to host final, 6th edition to this glorious series next week, and it will no doubt put the "tits" into "dirt crits." We at TS HQ are as anxious for next thursday as Criss Angel is when he's putting the movie "The Lord of the Flies" into his VCR.

Though I can't speak for everyone on our team, even though I usually do, I'll say that we all were hoping for the forecasted chances for rain to come to fruition. Normally, the rain dance that we do at Team Seagal HQ is a rain-PREVENTING dance, and one that is particularly drenched in yak splooge. However, today was a rarity where we were engaged in a rain-CONJURING dance. This dance, being a perverted version of the normal dance, employs a healthy dose of yak dingleberries. And given how hairy yaks are, dingleberries are plentiful:

The A Race was fast and furious, Tokyo style. And as usual, it was a dust bowl of 1930's proportions, with the racers filing through the final stretch with a fine coating of dirt all over 'em. Unfortunately,  our own Sam started strong and was battling it out in the rank and file of the group, however due to his resistance at committing to a singlespeed, his chain got jam-jobbed up in his single-chainring chain keeper business, requiring him to bust out a fat log and start beating it like a rented mule. A lesser person may have called it quits, however due to his infusion of goji berries and cordyceps, his superior attitude and superior state of mind were in full swing, and he finished the race:

Good thing It's Not Delivery, because if the real pizza delivery guy showed up to my house with a scowl like that, the tip would be less than generous.

My experience in the B's went a lot better. After getting a piss-poor start behind an ocean of Momentum Cycles jerseis, I was jam-jobbed like crazy going through the singletrack, but slowly worked my way through traffic, eventually finding myself behind Emily "Kitten Bottoms" Korsch. Let me tell you, I was witnessing a fury like none other - I wasn't sure I could make a pass stick, so I sat in for about a lap or two. I'm at a pretty high level of intensity (for a bloated carcass of a human that I am) the first time I heard her call out "Faster! Faster!" to the dude on a CX bike two cars up in the man-train, it was like a mosh pit in my head - I let go of my handlebars, threw up the double horns, and started some intense, neck-breaking headbanging. Holy shit.

Lawman, seen here on a mystery bike, had found earlier that day that he broke his CX bike, most likely a result of getting a little too heinous during the Vampire Century:

 

Racing while high on the jenkem is not too different from this photo:

But eventually, I had to do some more passing, so I poured a little saucer of milk for KB to lap up, and finished that race with a near sprint-finish with Jeff Murray (for like 20th or 25th place.) Lawman finished the race by sticking his finger further down his throat than anyone has ever stuck anything before, and threw up his burrito from earlier that day. Rumor has it that that "burrito" was mostly "sour cream."

In reflecting what could have been done differently during this race to bring out the most prestigious B-Race Win, I decided that I might just be able to squeeze a little more road-bike-esque speed out of my mountain bike, if I add these little gems onto it:

I own these.

I won't be able to loose.

Those drop-bar ends, on second glance, seem to be modeled after Sam Axel's special banana case:

In other news, I want to remind you how awesome Vampire Century was. How awesome? It was so awesome that this was happening at approximately 9am on a Sunday morning:

But Croach, that isn't setting a good example for our children! And what about our children's children! Fuck it, it's not like anyone reads this fucking blorg anyway!


Stay awesome, and don't be a dick!
-Casey F. Ryback