Brain: hey legs! How’s it going down there? You up for a move or two in this race? Let’s go! I’m going now!
Legs: Man, you gotta be kidding me… you make us do hard slog during the week, shifting weights up and down, pedalling up long hills, pushing big gears for minutes on end, and then you lie in bed reading books at night when we should be asleep, and expect us to work for you now?? Sheesh get real.
Brain: Come on legs, we gotta go! I’ve started this move, now it’s time for you to back me up.
Legs: Bloody hell! What do you think we are? Robot machine legs?? We hurt, we’re tired and we ain’t doing nuthin! (Legs stop working) Cop that beeyitch!!!
Brain: Stupid feckin’ legs. I’ll show you… (Brain overrides legs, instigates neuromuscular meltdown phase 1) Cop that legs!
Legs howl and scream.
Legs stop working altogether, and continue to uphold my teschner's reputation.
Legs: Make us! You don’t appreciate us. We don’t even get a thanks, or a rub down, or nuthin’ afterwards. You think you can do it all, well buddy you better start paying some bills or else you’ll be having to think about how to play bowls.
I’m still racing D grade for another week.