traffic lights would change to green as soon as he approached an intersection.
he would race an Ironman . . .everyday . . .before 8am.
you could waterski behind him during the swim. A few lucky competitors would be caught in his wake, and would be awarded with an extra fast time.
he would ride 40km an hour . . .backwards.
he would perform double handed bottle catches on the bike course.
he could finish an Ironman on only a half bottle of tepid tap water, and a handful of Chex mix.
he’d never get flats. If for some bizarre reason his front tire went flat, he’d just ride a wheelie for the remainder of the ride.
he wouldn’t wear a helmet, just that same old crusty bandana, or a cowboy hat.
he wouldn’t wear a race number, he’d just pin his Texas Ranger badge directly on his bare chest.
he’d run barefoot over a specially designed course of hot coals.
no one would draft him because no one drafts off Chuck Norris.
I promised some wicked masculine posts. Chuck Norris and Desiree Ficker’s muffins – you can’t top this. Don’t even try. I grew 2 beards writing this.