Wednesday, October 04, 2006

F1 Champions! They're Just Like Us!

TSN, reporting on the news that Jacques Villeneuve is "coming for you Ricky Bobby" laid bare just how far Villeneuve has fallen since the salad days of wiping that fucking smile off Schuey's face:

"Villeneuve and his wife were spotted Tuesday at an Ikea store in Montreal by reporters for La Presse."

Ikea? Ikea.

Was he hoping to save a few sheckels on tea lights? Maybe pick up a few dented Billy bookcases in the as-is?

This is not a fitting end to an F1 career. Nor an auspicious start to one in the land where rubbing is racing. Ikea? It's just so... so... shit. No, it simply won't do. THIS is how Jacques should have decorated this life transition:

1. Get absolutely hammered on Kristal and Natty Light.

2. Go out and kill a large mammal (something endangered, like a whale) with a brutish weapon (a crossbow, or perhaps some dynamite) while screaming drunkenly and at the top of your lungs "soooooooo-WHEEEEEE!"

3. Skin the fucker. Then throw away the entire carcass - save the foreskin and nut sack.

4. Pay poncy, minimalist Euro designer an unconscionable amount of money to craft furniture that looks like it belongs in a prison cell. Make it something obscure - like a vitrine or a pembroke - that NASCAR types wouldn't know whether to put it in the tool shed or the shitter.

5. Upholster said vitrine in said whale foreskin.

5. Hold a press conference announcing the big news whilst lounging - or doing whatever it is that one does on a vitrine - on your vitrine and doing lines of blow off Shania Twain's tits.

It's so SIMPLE - keeping your traditional base happy while appealing to the new audience.

Or, you could just do it from the ball room. Loser.