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Floyd Landis was out plowing the back 40 acres of his family’s Amish farm in Pennsylvania. His family was too poor to have an ox, so the plow was being pulled by a sheep. Floyd wiped the sweat off his brow and said, “When I get some money, I’m going to buy the biggest ox in the county. Maybe I’ll get an ass too.”
Just then, his mother, Myrtle, came out into the field. She handed Floyd a handful of red beans. “These are magic beans. Take them to Lancaster and give them to Mr. Klingonmeister and he’ll give you a bicycle in exchange. If you take the buckboard and leave now, you can be in Lancaster before dark. Then you can sleep in Mr. Klingonmeister’s barn and return by buckboard tomorrow.”
But young Floyd had his own ideas. He was going to push the outside of the envelope and go where no Amish had gone before – he was going to take THE BUS! “I sure hope those things are safe,” he said.
When the bus came and Floyd boarded, it was scarrrry. All those people were lined up and sitting in rows, and they were all looking at him in his black Amish coat and hat. He went to the back of the bus next to the toilet. “Wow,” he exclaimed, “an outhouse on wheels. And it smells real good, not like our outhouse back of the chicken coop. What will they think up next!”
Because of all the stress of going on the bus, Floyd was tired and he decided to take a nap. The problem is, he had boarded the wrong bus, and instead of going to Lancaster PA, this bus was the Express to Los Angeles!
The bus pulled into the depot in LA just as Floyd awoke from his nap. “Gee, everything looks different,” he said. When he got off the bus, Floyd went up to the first person he saw and asked, “Can you direct me to the Amish meeting house?”
As it happened, this person was Mel Gibson, who was distractedly walking through the bus station fingering a rosary and reading “Mein Kampf.” Gibson looked up from his book, saw Floyd Landis in his Amish hat and coat and said, “Are You A Jew?” Then he went back to reading his book and walked away.
“Wow, what a nut-job!” exclaimed Floyd. He went up to another person and asked, “Can you direct me to the Amish meeting house?”
This person was Barry Bonds, who was waiting for Greg Anderson to arrive on the bus from Vacaville State Penitentiary. Bonds smoothly asked Floyd Landis, “What are you going to do at the Amish meeting house?”
“I’m supposed to give these red beans to Mr. Klingonmeister for a bicycle,” said Floyd. He showed the beans to Barry Bonds.
When Bonds saw the red beans, his eyes bugged out. These were the red beans that made you hit homeruns! He said to Floyd, “Mr. Klingonmeister couldn’t make it so he sent me instead. He told me to give you these.” Bonds produced a handful of syringes. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Floyd.
“Sure, those are needles, like the ones my mother uses to sew my bloomers when she cuts up the old flour sacks.”
“Not exactly, there, son,” said Barry Bonds. “You take this needle and you stick it in your butt, and it makes you big and strong.”
“Oh, you mean like the magic beanstalk?”
“Yeah, like the beanstalk. C’mon, gimme the red beans!”
“Not so fast.” said Floyd, “I’m thinking.”
Seconds ticked by as Floyd thought. A little angel appeared on his shoulder. It was Lance Armstrong. Lance said, “Don’t take that stuff. You don’t need it. Winning isn’t everything!”
A little devil appeared on his other shoulder. It was O.J. O.J. said, “Go ahead, take the juice. They’ll never catch you. Look at me. I got away with it. Shit, if we would have had that stuff when I was your age, I would’ve killed twenty people, not two.”
“What the heck,” said Floyd, “I took the bus and that didn’t kill me. Maybe I’m on a roll.” He gave the red beans to Barry Bonds. “OK, you got a deal.”
Barry Bonds grabbed the beans, shoved the syringes at Floyd Landis and hurried away. “Send me a postcard,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Floyd took one of the needles, pushed it into his butt and pushed the plunger. His head lit up like a light bulb. “Whoop-De-Dooooo!” he exclaimed. “I feel like taking a little BICYCLE RIDE!”
He ran out of the bus station, knocked down a bicycle messenger and stole the bike. The bicycle messenger got up and started chasing Floyd, screaming, “Give me back my bike!”
Floyd reached 120 MPH on the San Bernardino Freeway, but when the cops started to chase him, Floyd Landis Took Up Out Of The Parking Lot And Into The Sky! Now he was really flying. On the way, he caught up with ET, who was riding his bike to the moon.
“Whoa, mama! I’m a peddling fool! Step on my dick! Whoopee!” cried Floyd. When he got to New York, he just kept peddling, right over the Atlantic Ocean to Paris France. As luck would have it, the Tour de France bicycle race happened to be ending there, and Floyd came in as the leader, mainly due to the fact that all the other riders had been arrested for doping.
When Floyd arrived at the finish line on the Champs-Elysses, instead of being awarded a bottle of champagne, he was greeted by Inspector Clouseau, who slapped handcuffs on him. “Monsieur, in the name of the law I arrest you for illegal possession of a controlled substance, illegal steroids, punishable by a prison term of five years.”
“Five years!” exclaimed Floyd.
“It’s up to the discretion of the investigating magistrate,” said Closeau as he led Floyd to the police van.
“Who’s that?” asked Floyd.
“Judge Judy.”
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Posted on 8/5/2006
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