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Wednesday, May 17, 2006

NASCAR: "Drunk Slobs" Spelled Backwards

A recent Wall Street Journal article reported on the drunken rowdiness at Nascar events. "You get that many people together and naturally you're going to have some who get over-beveraged and get into trouble," said the chief deputy at a sheriff's office near a racing facility. I love that one; "over-beveraged" used as a euphemism for a shit-faced slob who has pounded about two cases of Pabst in the past ten hours, puked his guts out all over an infield port-a-potty, rallied by drinking another case of shitty beer, and then challenged an entire section of the grandstand to a fight because someone stole his half-bag of cheese doodles.

I may not be the smartest guy in the room, I may not have won any Nobel prizes in literature, I may have failed the written part of the Washington state driving exam and had to cheat off the 15 year old kid next to me when I took the retest, I may not be able to read without moving my lip...OK, you get the point. However, I am smart enough to know that when you mix hicks and liquor someone is going to get a few teeth knocked out--usually an innocent bystander. 
Even smart people do stupid things under the influence of alcohol, but when a hick gets liquored up you can expect acts of unbridled stupidity. The problem is so out of control that Nascar officials have begun constructing their own jails at racetracks. The Nascar holding pens have a concrete floor enclosed with a chain-link fence. There is also a beer concession inside the jails, but you can't buy beer one hour before your arraignment. I'm just kidding about that last part but I really want it to be true.

I have been asking Seattle guys what the acronym Nascar stands for, exactly. Every guy I asked started off confidently: "North Americ...," or, "North American Stock C...," and "North American Stock...American." As their voices trailed off, they usually try to change the subject. Yeah, guys, I already know that you think Bush is a lousy president, but I want to know what Nascar means. I seriously doubt that there is a male over the age of seven in North Carolina--who isn't a choreographer--who doesn't know what Nascar means. Of course, there probably isn't a male over the age of seven in that state who doesn't have a ring imprinted on his back pocket from his chew can. Whether or not North Carolina choreographers chew tobacco is the subject for another essay.

Everyone knows what Nascar represents: gas-guzzling cars driving way too fast (even for hicks) around a big oval lined with hicks. I began this survey after reading about the possible construction of a Nascar track in the Seattle area. Maybe race officials should reconsider the demographic they are working with here in America's hippie, upper left-hand corner.

After interviewing about 30-40 pansies, my friend, Curtis, finally came up with the answer, but he doesn't count because he's just a geek who could probably name the Deputy Secretary of Agriculture or the exact latitude and longitude of the Solomon Islands. Just like we would all get beat up in a bar in North Carolina for not knowing what Nascar means, Curtis would get beat up for naming all of the vice presidents without being asked.

I'm now seven paragraphs into this essay and I finally know what it is about: We are all a bunch of effete liberals. Sure, we probably could all change our own oil, but then we'd agonize for hours over how to get rid of it. We'd argue over whether or not synthetic oil is ultimately better for the environment. I guess that I'm just a big, fat, effete, sack of liberal manure. It makes me want to drink a beer, watch a car race, and take a swing at someone.

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