The Circus has arrived in Silverstone. Three members of Marc’s Repsol team have been glassed by some Tottenham Hotspur fans who mistook them for Chelsea supporters. Other fights have broken out as team managers bid on riders from all three classes. The Silly Season has been renamed the Season of Blood and Tears, and members of the defunct Sepang Racing Team have been seen busking for race fuel outside the circuit using an orangutan on a chain and a tambourine.
Uccio! Where is my Abdullah money? Allora, why has that Abdullah not put money into Account Number Seven yet? Why he think this merde races itself? I say already not to trust these camel-people. I do not care how many camels they have painted yellow and chased into the desert. I want my fucking money!
Great. Now everyone has seen the size of my knob – my precious cazzo! It is all that girl’s fault! She make the little dance on the boat and then she want to take the picture with me. My shorts were very tight. Now that stronzo Binder sends me pictures of his cazzo and testicoli with the smiley face and say: “Look, Peco! This is what a man’s cock and balls look like!” Fuck him. He make fuck on the giraffe!
Ok, then. It is very good. I make the race now on Aprilia, yes? No? Not this weekend? Misano? Ah, OK. Does Lin know this? Has he said anything? He send message to Romano? What message? “Does your bucket of shit rev to 78000rpm yet? Wait until Misano!” and then four smiley faces.
These grubby English gravies cannot stay far enough away from me. Why do they take off their pants and show me their dirty la bites? I hate le Silverstone. Everybody here looks like le pudding. I cannot tell who is a woman and who is a man. They are all the same shape and wear the same clothes. Why did we give this stupid island back to them?
First we must tell everyone again that I am stronger and my arm is better and I am ready to fight again for the win. This time make the announcement in capital letters. No, no. I do not want to compare the size of my testiculos with Binder. Why does he send me these pictures? No, I do not want to see Bagnaia’s erection. Why has Alex made a poster of it and hung it in his pit? Dad!
Hang on. Wait a sec. What leathers am I supposed to wear this weekend? Yeah, fucken work it out, aye? The blue ones? Or them shit-puke coloured ones I found in Morbidelli’s van? They had dried piss in them. I put them on anyway because I’m well hard. A little bit of piss doesn’t scare me. Espargaro’s head scares me, but. Cunt’s so fucken munted, aye? Where’s Jack? Gotta get the pints in before Practice.
Why is there a big red monkey in front of the racetrack? What has happened? I come to the track, and I see this monkey and then I see three boys from Petronas clapping and singing. The monkey dances and people put money in Morbidelli’s helmet on the ground. Has Franki retired? Or has he turned into an orange monkey?
Oi! Youse cunts seen that fucken orange gorilla out the front? It was goin’ off and jumpin’ around like a mad cunt. Scared the fuck out of me. I thought Brad Smith had come back for sec. I chucked a fifty into Franki’s lid anyway. Can’t hurt, aye? Where’s Cal? We gettin’ on the cans or what?
FROM THE SIDELINES
Already I have sold three Mclaerns and four Lamborghinis. Is that enough to buy the Yellow Puta’s team next year? The Aramco Muhammeds have disappeared, yes? Ha! They cannot be trusted. They are like rivers of eagles that have stopped flowing. But when I buy the Yellow Puta, then he will understand who is the true boss of him! Poo-eegah! Call Poo-eegah! He will be the negotiator. He is the best. The Yellow Puta trusts him.
OK, I have had all the leathers made that I need now. I have yellow ones and red ones and blue ones and that awful Petronas-coloured ones…what? Throw the Petronas ones out? Why? Oh. They have hired Brad Smith? And he is dancing in front of the Silverstone track? He is a good dancer, that one.
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