Today Lisa's Mum brings you the story of Robbie and the Beanstalk. This story is about a young boy (well, he is actually a man but is kind of short) from the land of Katusha. Katusha is a faraway place in Russia where everyone wears their sunglasses on the outside of their helmet straps and young boys like Robbie marry hot podium girls and name their kids after themselves.
Robbie was on his way to Stage 1 one day, wheeling his bicycle beside him, when he came across a gnome who was also wheeling his bike. Robbie knew he was a gnome because he was wearing a rainbow on his front and was also short. "That gnome is short," thought Robbie. "I bet he has a hot wife too, although not as hot as mine and with no kids named after him. I wonder why he is keeping a caterpillar on his brow."
Robbie stopped to say hello. "Where are you going, gnome?" he asked.
"Why, are you from WADA?" the gnome replied.
"No," Robbie answered, feeling a little uncomfortable. "But I am going to Stage 1 and I have lost my way. Please help me or my ruler from Katusha will take away my hot wife who is probably hotter than yours and will make me go back to peeling turnips and being a lead-out man rather than the super-hot sprinting machine that my fans know and love."
The gnome smiled. Robbie flinched. "I can help you," the gnome said (for he was a kind gnome, and largely misunderstood). "I have these magic beans that will help you find your way to Stage 1." The gnome whipped out some brown mouldy beans from the cavernous dimple in his chin. "But in exchange you will have to give me something. Not the Ridley."
Robbie rummaged around in his jersey pockets and pulled out a set of race radios. "Here, gnome. Take these radios that I borrowed from Astana. They assured me that they were valuable but that they would not need them today as all their riders are super-alert and would never leave behind the defending tour champion on a hill 8 minutes down from the leader. They are yours."
Robbie took the beans from the gnome and bade farewell. Once out of sight, he examined them. "Oh crap," he thought. "The gnome has tricked me. These beans aren't even arabica. I may be from Russia but even we Katushans draw the line at robusta. And he could have thrown in a grinder. These beans are worthless."
Robbie threw the beans off a nearby cliff in disgust. Suddenly, there was a mighty roar and the earth shook as the beans came to life, growing into a huge beanstalk leading up into the clouds.
Robbie thought about climbing the beanstalk, but he was a cyclist and cyclists don't climb up stairs, let alone beanstalks. Luckily he spied an elevator built into the beanstalk and jumped into it, pressing the button for the top.
When the elevator had reached the top of the beanstalk and Robbie got out, he heard another almighty roar. Robbie took a few steps forward and saw what it was that had made the roar. A giant dressed in yellow and white sat at a giant table, eating babies and spitting out the bones to his mechanic, who was chiselling them down to use as spokes for his new race wheels.
The giant stopped eating and looked up, for he had heard something (Robbie was still wearing his cleats and his steps were rather noisy).
Fee fi fo fum, bellowed the giant, I smell the blood of a Katushian!
"Hello," said Robbie, "My name is Robbie and I am from the land of Katusha where we wear sunglasses on the outside of our helmet straps and get to marry hot podium chicks and name our kids after ourselves. Do you have a hot wife?"
"My name," bellowed the giant, "Is Andre and I eat babies and win races and when I am in a bunch sprint my calves glisten like the sun and my eyes narrow into little slits of hate. After I win my races I sit in a bath made from the tears of a thousand albino maidens and eat grapes peeled by my mechanic, who is building those new race wheels behind you."
"I have come to beat you," said Robbie. "For I am the thunder from down under and while the crowd may gasp at your strength and marvel at your blonde locks and blue eyes, it is I who have their hearts and all their plastic clappers will be clapping for me (and maybe also for Stuey O'Grady, but mostly for me). And if any clappers clap for you, it will be because people see you in yellow and think that you are Mick Rogers."