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Picture the scene: it's your Formula 1 World Championship debut, and, despite your 4 consecutive easy CrapCar titles, not only are you driving for at best a midfield team, but also you're ugly, french and, frankly, a bit of a fils d'une chienne.
So imagine how you'd feel to arrive in Melbourne in your trademark eye-wear, only to find that a gran formaggio at the less-than ethical team that supplies your own engines is wearing pretty much the same naff poncy glasses as you, and yours look like the cheap knock-offs.
For shame - talk about making a spectacle of yourself! No wonder you fail to make it through to Q2. |