You are the best motorcycle rider in Montreal, but that’s not saying much since French-speaking people have a sucky center of gravity.
“I need to compete where people don’t speak French,” you tell your wife.
“Toronto? You’ll die!” she says.
You throw your chair in a drunken rage (you’re always drunk) and it hits your dog in the head. He dies.
"Mon Dieu!” your wife shouts, cradling the retriever’s head.
“If I don’t compete in Toronto his death will have been for nothing,” you say.
Your wife looks up at you from the floor. “Kick their butts,” she says.
Tomorrow you’ll compete in the Toronto motorcycle competition, where you’ll finish seventeenth.
Happy The Best Motorcycle Rider In Montreal Day!