Lost in the shock and excitement over Lance Armstrong's recent comeback announcement was news of another triumphant return: mine.
Yes, after years -- OK, decades -- of anonymity, I've decided to reach for the highest levels of the sport.
My goal: Raise worldwide awareness for my charity, People United against Saddlesores (PUS).
Be sure to pick up an angry-red SitStrong wristband wherever chamois cream is sold.
"Comeback? Don't you have to go away to come back? Whatever. So, does this mean you're actually going to take a pull on the lunch ride? Seriously, dude, just one pull. And when were you planning to replace that tube you bummed off me last month?"
My glamorous girlfriend,
"Hello? Who's calling? You! Look, buster, the judge said you can't contact me no more. What part of 'restraining order' don't you understand? Comeback? Darlin', if I didn't come back after I went to the store for cigarettes three months ago, I sure ain't coming back now. And speaking of coming, you couldn't . . . Hello? Don't you dare hang up on . . ."
My closest confidant, Spot
What's that, boy? You think returning from a long layoff to beat the odds and tweak Father Time will be "ruff"? But you believe in me and feel that my inspirational story will be "grrrrreat"? I knew I could count on you. Alright already, here's your stupid biscuit.