Me, Myself, and I

Taylor *Who*?: sure, he may be (along with shock new US Champ Ben King) the future of American cycling, but if his name's not Lance Armstrong, Lance "Why the !@#$ Should I Fake Like I Care if I'm Not Even Riding Anymore?" Armstrong's predictably uninterested: hot in the middle of discussing Taylor's contract situation (and the squad's future, which prospects might be improved with the building of an actual, y'know, team of riders) with Team RadioSkank, Lance gets a call from a future Senator subordinate and hocks Taylor Phinney like a stale day-old tobacco-juice lougie square in the middle of the phone call. Classy! Needless to say, the boy's decided to ride for BMC, which just goes to show that George Hincapie has not only managed to be a genuine star in his own right despite being inhaled by the enormous galaxy-sucking black hole that is Lance's ego, but has still maintained enough of an awareness of and interest in the world outside himself to actually mentor a stellar and deserving young talent. So now that imminent-President Lance is apparently already the point-man on US policy with North Korea, anyone else guessing who's the front-runner for the 2010 Racejunkie Wanker of the Year Awa--um, Nobel Peace Prize?

The Man of Steel is a Wussy: ah, "Jens Voigt." Have any two words ever struck such fear into a helpless breakaway, simpering stage-win wannabe, or simply any cyclist who might have the gross misfortune to get insta-burned-to-a-cinder by the blazing rocket fuel blasting from the legs of a passing Jens? Nope, which is why it's so delightful to report that this frustrating, glorious cesspool of a sporting endeavor is being graced--and destroyed--by Jens' holy presence for one more year. Every stomp on his pedals is a gift to cycling's beautiful history; every "!@#$" from his lips is a revelation. Complete, bad-!@# perfection, thy name is Jens Voigt!

The Best Hallowween Costume Ever!: yep, with any luck, disgraced Italian icon Danilo "Strawberry Shortcake" DiLuca will be showing up at your doorstep with a plastic orange pumpkin dressed up like a clean cyclist--ha! clever boy!--as the narcs get ready to decide the appeal of his latest ban ending in summer 2011. For my money, what Danilo could really use more'n even a half-melted mini-Almond Joy-- besides more half-nekkid photos of him reposing on a leopard-skin throne on Google--is a straight-out miracle. Trick or Treat--can Danilo you trade some Sweet-Tarts for an exoneration from the anti-doping authorities?

Less Than Zero: meantime, rumors continue to link Michael Rasmussen to Bjarne Riis's new whatsisface squad, with the interesting possibility that the Chicken's so desperate to get back in the ProTour that he'd be willing to work for nothing. Damn, Bjarne, if you're makin' Fabian Cancellara give you 3 million euro just to buy out the rest of his contract, you can't even spare a few bucks a day to pay Rasmussen in decent espressos?

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnssss!: finally, let's once more reflect on the master that is Jens: Aw, Jens, just *one* more year?--what the heck is wrong with *ten*?!