New Styles from NASCAR yall

OMG. OMG. O. M. G.

No photoshop was used in the creation of these photos. They are for real yall. (except for the ones that a hereditary republican would have made) They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so in the interest of brevity I need to just post this picture and end this weblog post.

Can we just analyze this picture one time? OMG when I took it I was breathtaken, but it’s like too much to take in at one time. Seriously this guy has shaved Dale Earnhardt Jrbro’s 88 number on to his chest. Besides the obvious numerological significance Im just astounded at his steady, steady hand. Look at his work. I bet he is a brain surgeon in his off time.

And this comment is not made snarkily. Dude look at his eyes, they are not that drunk and communicate a great degree of self-awareness via the angle of mouth openness. Which is zero. If this same dude was a mouth breather we might dismiss him, but the face saves it. I worked at a NASCAR event over the weekend, at the Chippendale’s #69 Car Latent Homosexual Driving Experience, and was truly astounded at what I saw.






Please keep in mind I am not some weak, sniveling New York or Jersey transplant screaming into her cellphone “you won’t believe it here! Everything closes at 9:00!” I’ve lived in the south my whole life. I was born in Tennessee, in the “BBQ Capital of the world,” and then moved to North Carolina, and stayed there. I hang out with people that are southern. I take on a southern accent in order to make them feel comfortable. I drink moonshine. I’ve eaten BBQ raccoon. Twice. I like big butts. I cannot lie.

So for me to be astounded is a big thing. Almost as big as the butts that I like. I’ve been around a lot of rednecks and upper-class southerners my whole life, and in fact I’ve worked for NASCAR before, but I figured out what happened, why I was astounded. Usually I go to a cookout, or to my friend’s house, and there is usually that guy, or maybe two guys. He drinks too much, he plays his music too loud. Or he starts fights. Or he calls everyone a faggot because he secretly dreams about Lance Bass. He is an asshole. But people accept him because he falls asleep after too long and it’s sort of annoying to whup him every night. He probably is overweight.

So it’s an economy of scale: 50,000 NASCAR fans = higher proportion of THAT GUY = WOW.

So what does that mean? It means when I’m not busy “hosting” for the Senators and Congressmen at the Chippendale’s #69 Car Latent Homosexual Driving Experience, I took pictures to try and capture the flavor of everything. This was a little dangerous because when you do that ppl think maybe u support Obama Bin Laden Al Hussein Al Barack.














But don’t think that NASCAR fans are one dimensional. Clearly they accept ppl of all homobrosexual orientations and mentally handicap bros, as we see here. I feel the need to reiterate that no photoshop was used here. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.









A word on “retardz.” Just because we’re at a NASCAR event in the south, does that mean many of the ppl will be retarded? Of course not. Many Damn Yankees will probably say yes and laugh behind their hands, or if you think that u r “cooler” than rednecks then you might say yes.
I never would.

But I was wrong. There were a lot of retarded ppl there. Like more than usual. I’m just calling it like I see it man. The white liberal in me didn’t want to admit it. But it was there! I didn’t take flix of that because that’s wrong. (NOTE: why is it wrong to take a flick of a retarded person but not of someone who shaves an 88 in their chest hair? Is there a difference in their IQ? There is, about a 30 point difference, and this 30 point difference enables us to poke fun at them. Because the +30s should know better.)

Perhaps more astounding was the banality of most of the crowd. Sure I snapped a few flix of some freaks, but the real tragedy was that most of the ppl were poster children for adult onset diabetes and did not take pride in the way they looked when they left the house. Like pulling up the pants REAL far up the waist.

The NASCAR race seemed to hold the extremes of the population: those that tucked in their shirts into their shorts,and those that didn’t even have shirts to tuck in.


A final question to ponder throughout your life:

Since I stood in the sun at a NASCAR event, below the Mason-Dixon line, in North Carolina, and the skin on my neck became sunburned and did actually turn red,

AM I A REDNECK?