SCIHFIRASDFCHC!
Time once again for the premier winter
bike event Minneapolis has to offer (if you don't count
Stuporbowl which is great, or ski biking which is on the rise, or
getting hit by small white cars which is just plain fun) the Snowball's
Chance in Hell Formula Ice Race and Snowy Dash for Cold Hard Cash.
Get there.
Evil Gear
Hey you stupid fucksticks, 90% of the
uniform items have shipped. Yes, even you fuckbags that ordered back in
May, don't worry, I got yer stuff. It takes us a while to make minimums,
and that's the hold up. I spent it all on dope and beer, then got lucky
in Reno and luckily was able to win enough dough to place an order.
Whew. So, all you nervous nellies just chill. I'm a one man show running
this gig out of my spare bedroom, and I have the organizational skills
of a gnat, so it took a while. I hired someone now, so look for a new,
streamlines Evil operation to hit the ground running for our next order.
I'm talking excel spread sheets and everything. I know, I know, high
tech. Eat me.
Now, those of you that ordered T-Shirts, just relax a minute. I am
getting a buttload of them in soon, and I'll fill each order. I'm slow.
I'm Evil, and I don't care about you whining for your gear. It'll get
there. I'm drunk. Usually all the time. So, you folks in the UK, Sweden,
Wisconsin, Arizona, Los Angeles, all you folks - I got you covered.
Please stop writing, unless including naked pictures of your girlfriend.
Realize that all Evil gear will form a symbiotic relationship with your
very chemical essence, and you will be filled with an urge to kill.
Lots. So, don't come crying to me for bail money when you off that whiny
bitch girlfriend, pesky boss, overbearin in-law, rotten pet, whatever
you kill. - Dave
Fuck you Dodge Neon
If I could find you I would fucking rip
your nads off you fucking cocksucker!
He hit me. He fucking hit me. So, I'm
riding down the street this morning, new dusting of snow last night and
pretty icy this morning and this fuckstick of a motherfucker buzzes me
real close on 42nd street. So, I gave him the mitten finger (not real
pretty, but it gets the point across).
He stops in the middle of the road, rolls
his window down a piece and I roll over to that side. I tell him to go
fuck himself.
As I get past him I hear the engine rev -
this ain't good. I look back just in time to see his bumper comin' in
hot. I'm about to be run down. BLAM! Down I go.
I tear off the safety glasses to try to
get his license. No good. Try to chase him down - rear wheel is fucked.
Big bruise on my ass and a burning hot hatred in my soul.
Dear Guy in the Dodge Neon,
I fucking hate you. I'm a peaceful man, but if you
were here right now I would fuck you up so goddam bad. Who does shit
like that? Who fucking hits the gas a spears a guy on a FUCKING BIKE!
What kind of uncle's ass raping did you endure to make you such a
fucking bottom feeder?
Someday Karma is going to take a big shit in your
Cheerios my friend, and if I can be the one carrying out Karma's wishes,
then all the better.
I will fucking destroy you.
Eric Sovern, Minneapolis, MN Jan 17, 2006
I make this look good
Here's Girl Carl sporting
our hot new duds. And by all means, if you and your team are hurting for
a supplier, then we heartily endorse
www.champ-sys.com
for all your cycling clothing needs. Ol' Charlie over there is the man
to talk to. Of course you cannot look as good as us, but you sure can
try. You won't find better quality at a better price than
www.champ-sys.com
Check 'em out!
The Saul Raisin Interview
We've wrangled a little time
with the A#1 young gun representing the USA in the European peloton,
Saul Raisin. He lost a bet, and agreed to answer, or not answer, some of
my stupid questions. So here goes:
1. You're a young one out
there, ain't cha kid? You get any crap from those older French twits
on your team
Hell No! I am the one who
give the older guys shit... They don't know how to take a young
talented American punk.
2. Come on, for real,
Moreau....he's gotta be a little light in his loafers. Podium girl or
no podium girl.
Moreau married a podium
girl... They are hot.... Tour of Switzerland had the hottest for
sure.
3. You been drnuk yet? If
so, did you streak? Like maybe to the quads?
I always find myself
doing something I should not be...
4. What's your impression
of Evil, and would you like to ride for us?
Evil is the other side of
cycling... its side that most of us try to hide. It is good to expose
the demented side of the sport.. Most people just try to hide it. I
would love to ride for you guys.. I consider myself half Evil so I
will fit right in.
5. Ever take a beer bath?
Never, Spilt some on some
foot ball player once who tried to kick my as
6. Ever want to kick Erik
Saunders ass?
All the time.. He could
take me tho... Set up a match and I'll get in the ring with him..
7. Ever see a needle get
whipped out and used during a race?
8. How about a fruit bar
with eyes?
9. Lance is gone. Doping
is still rampant. What do you think will happen to the sport in 2006?
I don't know, don't care..
I am clean
10. If you were forced for
the rest of your days to watch Midget porn or endless reruns of Love
Boat, which would you choose?
Never seen either one... I
am not sure.. I'll get back to you on that one
Thanks man. Good luck. No
more crashing for you.
Pro Cyclists Suck - Angry December Installment
Goddamnit. God fucking damnit. It's
Christmas. I fucking hate Christmas, as
much as I hate any religious holiday. The birth of Christ. Shit on that,
man, shit on that. Nothing but greedy little bastard children of SUV
driving
materialistic parents, slaves to stupid shit, pining for crap that won't
make anything better for anyone. I was one of those bastards once. You
were
too. This has nothing to do with cycling, it's just a starting rant. It's
been a while since my last PCS, there's much to discuss, so let's get on
with it. I have nothing to live for other than this stupid website now
that
Dotsie Cowden tied the knot. Shit. I didn't even get invited. *sigh*
So, cycling. The Robot is done, doping allegations are everywhere, shit's
hitting the fan left right and center, and the majority of cycling and
it's
governing body still look the other way. It's like the US government: shit
happens, gets two seconds of attention, and then it's shooed off to page
6.
I mean, these UCI fucks seem as completely delusional and out of touch
with
reality as our own president bush. ( I refuse to capitalize his name or
office anymore. Fuck that bag of lying shit) Scooter Libby and Dick (tick
tick) Cheney are to politics what Roberto Heras is to cycling. Poof.
Busted,
pushed to the side so the circus can continue, like "pay no attention to
the
man behind the curtain". I just can't stand it anymore. And to hear this
caterwauling coming out of Armstrong's trap. C'mon Lance, who you crappin'?
Really, who do you think believes you?
Roberto wins 4, gets busted, disappears. He's the Spanish Tyler Hamilton
who, by the way, is still just a delusional as when he spouted off his
"chimera" defense. Ok, his lawyer did, but you know what I mean.
I like to grease up my erection and jerk it to cartoons. So sue me. This
has
nothing to do with cycling. I know this. I like to share with my audience.
Please continue the fight through reading or forums at the following:
www.drunkcyclist.com
, www.ridetrash.com
, www.doperssuck.com
, and
www.stolenunderground.com
Hey! US hardman and FOE (friend off Evil) Erik Saunders has signed for
Steve
Hegg's new team. Maybe we'll get some juicy tidbits on the 80's pro
cycling
scene. Probably not.
Horner is all poised to kick some ass in Europe. Let's hope he doesn't get
caught with that needle. Sucker.
I am going on the record against somewhat better judgment and saying that
Jan Ullrich will win the 2006 tour. I know I have said this before and I
might just say it again, but it's like those Vegas nights when you sit at
the table until you beat that rotten dealer who's been beating you all
night. You get masochistic about it, dedicated to failure, fall in love
with
defeat. So I am going with Jan. The long TT's might give him an edge over
Basso and the mountain goats for a while. Word from Pevenage is that he's
(Jan) is training really hard. This means Beck's light, and only two
doughnuts in the morning instead of 15.
I've always wanted to murder Scooby Doo. Right in front of that bull dyke
they travel with. Fuck you sensitive pussbags. Write your own column.
I hope you crash this Christmas.
Dave
Evil Year-end Wrap-up
By fearless reporter, Mark
Taint
It's hard to belive in this
dark and dingy bar somewhere in Detroit that a cycling journalist would
come across the premiere underground cycling team known only as Evil
but, alas, it's true. Regarded as groundbreaking for their
devil-may-care attitude, diseased livers, explosive (or implosive)
riding, and super sleek, sponsorless black uniforms, Evil has carved a
new niche in the cycling world, which in turn has lead to an increase in
jersey sales and fan curiosity.
"I don't try and figure it
out," says founder and sometimes Captain Dave A., "it's all kinda
surreal to me. And I have a hard enough time tying my shoes and putting
on my pants in the morning to wonder why people want autographs or
merchandise, or even give the smallest flying fuck about us. We haven't
won a race since we started, and sometimes we don't even finish,
opting instead for mass abandons and heading to the nearest bar, no
matter what country we're in, so it's odd to me. Then again, why would
someone want Michael Jackson's autograph? Or President Bush's? Equally
stupid."
Growing by leaps and bounds
in this, their 7th year of existence, Evil looks back on a good year -
at least by their standards. Before me is a haze of empty bottles,
sunken yet smiling faces, cigarette smoke, lounging bodies, tits, empty
beer cans, and the blackest of black death metal spilling through the
bar's jukebox. Outside is a considerable stack of high end racing
machines. Is it night? No, it's 11am on a Sunday. A huge belch behind me
alerts me to the presence of two stalwart Evils; Sov and The Wrexican
just back from a short training ride, where they actually went 4 blocks
down to the grocery store for some Old Crow. "They didn't sell it here,
and we gotta have this shit, thanks to those Portland assholes",
explains Sov. "KA-KAWWWWW!" yells JRo, one of the deadly female members
of the team, before passing out in one of the bar's sofas. Apparently
the Old Crow story is in regards to a Ragbrai tale, most of which the
Evil clan doesn't like to speak about. "It's not for outsiders," says
The Wrexican, "it's a little too deep for some, unless you're on acid."
Fair enough.
Looking back on 2005 and
forward to 2006, the team is sketchy about details, race finishes,
crashes and near misses, but they remember what they were drinking.
While telling a tale of the reclusive Hartmani's domination of the Iowa
cycling scene and one race in particular, Clarky exclaims "yeah, yeah! I
was fucking loaded up on speed and Colt .45! I remember now! Wait... did
I finish?" The scene was spotty with some questionable victories, some
by standards other than "who crossed the line first" and some
carjackings and heists, the team seems happy. Delivering pot during long
road races seems to be a forte within the team, upon which they award
their own points, monies, and jerseys. Bearpi delivered an ounce of
hydroponic to an old farmer in the Wapello Burlington road race, and was
awarded a polyester polka dot shirt, two sizes too small. He's never
worn it. "Fuck that. Fuck you." was all I could get out of the usually
estimable sweaty mammal.
Trips to the Tours of
Georgia, France, and Spain have done little to polish this crew. "We
don't give a shit," explains Sov, "people pay us to go, we go, write
funny things, piss off locals, and get as loaded as possible. The ride
only goes around once, and we could care less what people think of us.
We have a job to do. And by job I mean drinking. Lots. We're not trying
to be anything but what we want to be. No sponsors, we just take money.
Money is good. So is free shit, so if anyone out there is reading this,
send us your junk, we'll wear it. Or use it as a chain rag. It depends.
We've been approached by some pretty big hitters with cash in hand, and
they all get the same response: no thank you. We're not here to be logo
monkeys when on out bikes or at the bar, just Evil. That's it."
So how'd it happen? How and why did this
malfunctioning group of midwesterners get together, and explore world
domination? Again, I am made aware of my outsider status, as the furtive
glances shoot around from member to member, well, the coherent ones
anyway. "Not for public discussion or disclosure," pipes up Dave, busily
working on a 3 foot water bong at the end of the bar, "it doesn't really
matter, does it? We're here, we're queer, get used to it. Now here,
young man, drink this."
Hours go by. Much is said but little is
retained. I am piss drunk by the end of this, the most unorthodox of
interviews, and I am ushered out the door when I am no longer able to
speak. In true Evil fashion, I am made to pay for my own drinks, and I
am told "Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out" by Maia.
Some Random Shit
Becky Broeder.com
Chuck
Norris Facts
Where Sov's 'stache really comes from. (or rather, where
it's gone)
Hate and more hate.
Dave's Chort Ride write up.
Ride
Trash.com
Dave almost got hit by a plane. Sort
of:
Saturday the
wind was so bad, it was crazy. Raining like Hell too.
I'm riding
home from a The Nomad, and the strangest thing happens: the whole block
goes pitch black. Street lights, houses, bars, everything, black. I had
heard a crack beforehand, and I thought it was lightning maybe.
I come up to
some flashing lights, it's the first fire engine and cop on the scene.
And I see this:
5 blocks
from my house. Guy was drunk as a skunk. Cheers!
An open letter from Friend of Evil: Steve
"The Mayor of Drunkingham" Smith:
My friends. Ive been
diagnosed with a rare disorder of the brain and have been given
anywhere to two days to 65 years to live.
Its my final wish that I
get to live the dream and re- realize the infamous 50 yards of
hell at next weekends grand prix cross race in golden gate park.
for those of you who weren't
there to experience the first 50 yards, it was at the napa valley
world cup mountain bike race in 2000, i believe.,( the disorder
doesn't let me remember real good.) there were a few that
followed, including one that the promoter of the race promised
that we were never allowed to attend another one of his events,
ever, complete with a sheriffs escort off of the site.
its my dream to make these
elite bicycle racers realize that the suffering they experience
while racing, only pales in comparison to the world class passive
aggression that's heaped on by the overly exuberant '50 yards'.
where: golden gate park polo
fields
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Archive Feb 2006
