2005 Daytona 500

What exactly is there that can be said about my recent travels to the Daytona 500? Considering the motto of “what happens at the track, stays at the track”, not much. But of course I do have a few observations.

When driving 87 miles per hour down Interstate 75, it’s best to have a set of hooters in order to get out of a ticket. And hats off to Cowboy Dan for hiding her beer, rolling down the window and popping gum in her mouth in 5 seconds flat.

You want to shock the hell out of some little convenience store clerk in south Georgia? Go in and ask for 9 cases of Bud Light and 4 pack of cigarettes and let the fun begin.

We have a buddy….his name is Chicago….seriously….his name is Chicago. He managed to track down Kitty within 5 minutes of her setting foot in the infield. Leading one to think that Kitty has been implanted by some homing device which draws all fans near and far to her in droves. To me, this is simply further proof that Kitty is the by-product of some alien love experiment.

Cowboy Dan can drink 12 beers on a road trip to Daytona and then still feel like she has to tell people that she is drunk…..like the jackass grin and glazed eyes weren’t clue enough. Impressive by anyone standards.

While I can get out of speeding tickets, my hooters have no sway of force over Officer Buzzkill when he pulls over your golf cart. Also represents the first time I’ve been pulled over by a dork in his own golf cart – one wonders how easy it is for him to be all tough when he’s sitting in a mini-form of transportation with a go-cart engine. Apparently, tough enough.

Kitty will spend oodles of money on a new r.v. but won’t fork up the $20 a month to have satellite in that r.v. (And a hearty shout-out to Endora, our new styling digs)

The truck racing at Daytona is 10 times more exciting than the cup cars – especially if one could withstand that cold temps on top of the r.v. to actually watch said truck race….well, we can go in and catch it on t.v…..oh wait! NO SATELLITE.

The track has added a real nice fan deck where the common folk can stand and watch the goings-on in the garage. This is especially helpful when we are actually in the garage so the common man can watch and envy us…..which is all we ever really live for.

When running into Mathew McConaughey in the garage area, make sure you are not standing next to Kitty as she will simply hand you the camera as she and Cowboy Dan go wrap their greedy little mitts around said stud muffin. (This was clearly Kitty’s way of calling me fat)

Without a doubt, I will always be parked next to the r.v. with the weirdo guy who decided to bring a stripper as his date for the weekend. I have no real issues with that and especially appreciated when she started sucking his nipples in public which was only slightly less offensive then when she picked the lint out of his belly button. No jokes here, people, all true.

Occasionally, I will be parked next to a really nice couple who will feed us and ply us with racing foolishness. Apparently, despite our collective girth, all people at racetracks feel compelled to feed us like we are the starving children of Cambodia that our parents so warned us about.

Nice couple will also allow Cowboy Dan to put on their authentic Dale Jarrett helmet and drive her around the infield to stir up the masses….but apparently the masses weren’t fooled as Cowboy Dan is way taller than Dale Jarrett.

Here again, despite our collective girth, if there is a wagon holding a cooler, Kitty and Cowboy Dan will take that as an opportunity to ride atop said cooler to avoid having to motor under their own speed. So they ride everywhere….doing a parade wave….not embarrassing at all. (Of course, I walked alongside like a fat kid waiting for them to toss some candy from the float)

Well, that’s about all I can share, other than I had a great time and Atlanta infield here we come!

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot