Oh Lance, I just wasted 45 minutes of my life watching you in the Oprah confessional. There are far more important things I could've given my attention this evening (famine in Africa, innocent Pakistani children incinerated by U.S. drone strikes, the U.S. government-enabled criminal banking industry, Syria, my local liquor store raising the price of beer), but no, Lance, I chose to be as shallow and disgusting as you, and watch your sit-down with fellow egomaniac Oprah. I've just lit a foul cigarette that'll surely kill me, and only wish you were here so I could blow a big smelly cloud of poisonous smoke in your smug, HYPOCRITICAL face.
Lordy, Lordy, what an A-#1 A-hole. Lance was juiced for bicylce races (yawn). Lance won seven Tour de France titles (seven HUGE yawns). Lance lied about his doping. So what?! Lance tried to destroy everyone willing to tell the truth (ok, that's a dick move). Lance ditched Sheryl Crow when SHE got cancer. Still, I didn't care.
But then Mr. Yellow Bracelet had to come screw with me, in 2012 co-chairing a campaign to pass California Proposition 29, which would drastically increase taxes on all tobacco products, the funds going to cancer research. He, along with his Fraud Armstrong Foundation and that draconian buffoon Michael Bloomberg, pump a couple million $$ into the campaign. I don't like Prop 29. I have a lung cancer death wish, already pay a ton in California taxes, and the tax revenue directives seem shady, but ok, I get it. I'll just let Lance and Phillip Morris duke it out.
But THEN sanctimonious sociopath Lance starts popping up all over the boob tube, lecturing California voters on the evils of tobacco: It's terrible for your health; This will help people stop using tobacco; and so on. Is that so, Lance? It's bad for my health? Yeah, it is. So is all the performing enhancing sh*t you pumped into your body for years, and let's not forget about your ghoulish blood transfusions. Drop dead, Lance. Drop dead, you lousy, lying creep. HYPOCRITE.

