Greetings to all you young whipper snappers,
Formula One has been in my blood for many years now, (literally since that accident in 52 but we wont go into that now) and it gives an old man much pleasure to share some little snippets of the lifes an deaths of some of F1's .... lesser known stars.
Des Lennis
To display charisma whilst under the shadow of gloom is a quality found in few people. Whilst this quality can be found in the likes of Terry Wogan and Sandi Toksvig, for a racing driver to possess this is rarer than a dry Belgium grand prix.
In 1978 i was fortunate enough to meet with one man who could claim to have this quality. Des Lennis was the hidden charm in the crazy world of F1. Whilst the champaign boys were out pounding female clunge, Des would be in the garage working on his set up, with nothing but a brief 5 minute break every 3 hours to masturbate.
Des was leading the world drivers championship by a huge 23 points, with just 5 races left. His car was bullet proof – quite literally, the grand prix of Vietnam had proved this – and his team were the most experienced in the pitlane. He had everything in his possession to win his first world drivers championship in only his third season.
His rival was the womanising, racist and circuit terrorist Vockov “The Twat” Fucov. Fucov was from the mean soviet streets of Russia. Driving for The Blood Transfusion Team Russia, Fucov was formidable, but a formidable fool. Team Russia had all the charm of a kick in the crotch. Before each race Fucov and his team mates would spray foul wordage all over the circuit. Most controversially was the graffiti at the Italian Grand Prix where they'd written “ha ha ha your beard is shit” on then Italian Prime Minister, Ieighta Allblacs.
In 1978 the European Grand Prix was at the Rotherham Aerodrome, which is now a morrisons supermarket. Lennis was on poll, Fucov was second. The Saturday evening before the big race, Fucov and his team had gone to enjoy the fleshtubes of Rotherham, as per usual, Lennis was in the garage, preparing for the big race.
I'd spoken to Lennis earlier in the day, he was cautious for the race, he worried about his tyres on the abrasive Rotherham ground. He was also missing his copy of Trackside Bitches, which was a vital component of Lennis's race weekend.
I awoke on the Sunday ready for what i'd sure would be a tense race. As i arrived at the circuit i saw nothing but sad faces and inbred Yorkshire bastards. At which point a friend of mine called me over and told me news that made me feel genuinely sad, and cured my excessive dose of morning glory.
"Lennis is dead" he told me, "he's dead, totally dead". I gasped, i began the cry. The race was meaningless, It was won by Frenchman Ivan Cock. Who went on to win the World Drivers championship by winning all the remaining races. With Fucov in prison for chaining a whippet to a lamp post and throwing rag puddings at it on his night out, the path was left open for the lucky french bastard.
So what happened to Lennis? His missing porn magazine turned up again that evening, and when Lennis went for a scheduled tug, he was walking – or should that be wanking – into great danger. It was later proved that his copy of Trackside Bitches had been laced with a special eastern European chemical, which when it comes into contact with liquid jizz juice, would cause an explosion big enough to rupture a turd from its owners gut.
Normally it wouldn't be a problem, since Lennis has an extremely good reputation for being a clean wanker, but this evening he did one tug to many, lost control of his ejaculation of congratulation and his family planning liquid made contact with the death infected pages of the porn magazine, blowing himself and his entire garage to pieces like the shaving clippings of a flesh tubes bikini line.
In total the deathly wank claimed the lives of Lennis, his entire team and sixty four geese, who were at the circuit as special guests of the organising committee. The investigation that followed found the Russian team guilty of poisoning Lennis' porn magazine, with the intention to kill. The entire team were shot at dawn, and upon his release from prison, Fucov was shot by a crazed fan. A bit like Jill Dando was, but they definitely brought the guilty person to justice on this one.
I miss those days of Lennis, Russian terrorists and open masturbation. When they removed the Swedish Grand Prix from the calender they lost the free love which followed this wonderful sport. When they replaced it with the Hungarian Grand Prix everyone thought they were taking the piss. This sport lost its penis and gained a testicle – and not a nice one either!
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