The Scarlet Neck

My interest in the degradation of American society is extremely vast. I enjoy wondering why our country has turned into a giant bedpan with 300 million little turds floating in it. From cell phones to fat asses, we are a lazy, laxadazical, wastrel of a country. Another perfect example of the patheticness of our society is our second most watched “Sport”. Don’t jump to conclusions; I am not referring to the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest (Which interestingly is always won by a Japanese guy. You would think we would have the market cornered in piehole stuffing.). I am referring to the neck burning “Sport” of NASCAR.

There is nary a sport as strenuous as racing. Anyone who has spent even 20 laps on a road course will agree. So I am not raging against the drivers here but instead the fans. Those lovable, trucker hat wearing, jolly, Santa like rednecks with their oh so stylish rainbow colored t-shirts proclaiming their love for a driver who would rather put a tire mark on their forehead than talk to NASCAR-fan. The fact that close to 100,000 of these sheeple gather at each race amazes me. Can you imagine how many cans of Schlitz must be consumed at these events? I’ll bet the local possum community declares a red alert for the weekend. Nothing beats a good deep fried possum, except maybe a deep fried Schlitz.

Turn Left, turn left, turn left, turn left, repeat 3-400 times and you have a winner. Chiropractors should set up booths at NASCAR races; they could make a killing fixing “Left Neck”. Of course 90% of the spectators don’t have insurance, but they can pay the $100 a pop duckets to get in. And if they are really lucky they can go home with a drivers tire. Yes, that is considered a souveneer. Not a hat or the aforementioned t-shirt but a fucking tire.

Hardcore NASCAR fan complains that people only watch for the crashes and doesn’t appreciate the skill it takes to race. I think those people are hoping that a car ends up in the stands to take out NASCAR fan in a fiery crash. Then there taxes would go down because there would be 20 less welfare cases in the state. At least NASCAR fan saves a little money by actually driving their home to the race and living in the infield for a week. Yee Haw.

Ode to Pops

Everybody loves their dad. He is that guy who will do just about anything for his kids. Anything that is, besides changing his wardrobe.
At what point does dad go from being a hip twenty something guy to a fashion deficient source of jokes.
At what point does wearing a NASCAR shirt, replete with 26 different colors, become the epitomy of fashion?
At what point do you regress from shoes with laces to shoes with Velcro?
At what point does the thought of keeping the leisure suit forever come into his mind? At what point does the leather jacket with patches come back in style?
At what point does he feel that his pants pockets simply are not big enough and he needs to resort to a black leather fanny pack?
At what point do Wrangler jeans, that are two sizes too small, become the hip new accessory to said fanny pack?
At what point does the cell phone become a fashion accessory for your belt?
At what point does the trucker hat go from being a cool head piece for kids to the bat signal for dorky dad?
At what point do you no longer update your eyeglass style from hipster to wire and bottle cap?
At what point do Tevas and socks become cool?
One question I do know the answer to: At what point does wearing tight khaki gym teacher shorts become cool? The day you became a teenager and he was too afraid to get neutered. So instead he decided to slowly strangle his nads.