The Paranormal is Saturday, October 26th this year. I know, I know, you're <insert bullshit excuse #1 you know he'll make for why he can't race here> and you're <insert bullshit excuse #2 you know he'll make for why he can't race here>, and you've been <insert other bullshit activity he's taken up instead of riding here> and you tend to be <insert seasonal bullshit excuse here> around that time of year.
But here's the thing. All of that <insert bullshit activity #1> and <insert bullshit activity #2 that he's probably not even doing anyway> isn't going to <insert existential notion of life's greater meaning> if you're <insert necessary result of being such a lazy, non-riding-his-bike asshole recently.>
I want to help you. I know your bike has <insert bullshit bike mechanical problem he's been too lazy to fix for the last 18 months here> and your fitness is a little <insert some nice way of pointing out how absolutely gigantic his ass has become>. But I can get you in touch with <insert local bike mechanic's name and contact info here> and I can even <insert a few training bro-dates here.>
But what I can't do is <insert friendly, jovial way of saying you can't ride his fucking bike for him.>
So <insert inspirational, sensory-based instruction #1 here>, <insert inspirational, sensory-based instruction #2 here>, and stop being such a <insert overall summation of how freakishly obese and terrible he's become in the last few months>.
Hugs and Kisses,
<insert your autosignature here>
Here, I'll show you.
Dear Ken Tank,
The Paranormal is Saturday, October 26th this year. I know, I know, you're planning on building a haunted house for the kids and you're thinking about going to beach, and you've been really busy with extreme hottubbing and you tend to be pretty much consumed with eating all the fun size snickers east of Richmond around that time of year.
But here's the thing. All of that lying around on the beach and extreme hottubbing isn't going to help you qualify for the Little Miss Williamsburg Pageant if your hamstrings look like cottage cheese, but paler.
I want to help you. I know your cranks have been creaking a little bit under all that torque, and your fitness is a little inconsistent. But I can get you in touch with the fine folks at BRC and I can even do a big training ride with you tomorrow or Sunday, your choice.
But what I can't do is ride your fucking bike for you.
So buckle up buttercup, burn your bra, and stop being such a bowl of soupy mashed potatoes all the time and come ride.
Hugs and Kisses,
Up, up, up.