NASCAR

In being a true Redneck and loving some Nascar racing, I have taken it upon myself that the smells of the track need to be brought to the house. Dripping 80/90 oil into my Scentsy warmer to get the smell of hot oil just wasn't enough to get me excited, so I decided to jam up the vacuum cleaner to get the aroma of burning rubber from the belt into the air. It worked.
But you know how hard it is to squeal a belt when you want to? I mean every other time I run the damn thing, it does it automatically, just from popcorn. So, this time, after using duct tape, a screwdriver, and my cell phone charger cord. I got it done, ummmm, the aroma of burning rubber from leaving the pits, or when Danica wrecks someone. This is better than being there at the race LIVE.
The main things I'm missing, is the halter top, braless, toothless chicks, cut off jean shorts, and the hairy back dudes that think they are all that and free beer. I mean to tell you, if you ever think you dress wrong, or look silly, go to a race, you will soon find that you are actually normal. Or what we Nascar junkies call normal. But what is the fun in being normal? It's not all it's cracked up to be. But one thing you just can't miss, is the trailer park toothless chick, who's boobs bounce off her knees when she walks, wearing costume jewelry, and face paint like Tammy Faye Baker. The kind you have to use a drywall hopper sprayer deal on to apply that goop.
The ole, materialistic trailer park girl, every ghetto guys dream, the one with the part time job, of hooker. She buys new skinny jeans, but cuts em off so her thighs can get in, you know exactly who I am talking about, nothing like that cheese bait. But, now that I just turned myself on like a heater in the Arctic, don't be silly wrap ole willy.