OK, I've got to face the facts. I'm just never going to be able to beat Dave T. in the paydirt series this year. He's like a machine. No, dare I say, he's like a wild trailwork stallion. No, he's like a cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine, and watching him is poetry in motion. I know I took him last year. But he's on another level, and he wasn't really trying last year anyway, and I just don't have what it takes.
For example, look at the scoreboard already. He's up a full hour on me already, a virtually insurmountable lead. And he's not even trying. I heard he did that 16.5 hours in one day, with one hand, while he fought off an army of trolls with the other hand. Seriously, it's like he's not even working when he's working. It's like he just does it automatically. I have no answer for that. I feel shame. I'm using short sentences here for emphasis. Emphasizing what, I don't know.
It is, thusly, that I pen this manifesto and acknowledge defeat in the paydirt series this year, 2011. There's always next year. Probably not, though, especially when a cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine is involved. The shame I feel is like a vast ocean, washing over me in freshly crafted singletrack goodness. I have hit rock bottom. Nowhere else to go but up. Except in this case I'll probably stay right here given the cyborg stallion trailwork robot machine that has crushed me, taken my trailwork manliness, and force-fed it to me with a side of my own ass. I hate myself and I wish I had never touched a rogue hoe.
Signed,
Jason D. Hiser, Esq.
