NASCAR at Homestead
Had the chance to check out a NASCAR race this past weekend in Homestead.
Pretty freaking cool and as stupid as this sounds. Those cars go pretty fast and are REALLY loud.
I’ve been 5 feet away from 3,000 horsepower dragsters during a burnout and these things are almost as loud from a few hundred feet away.
Granted there are a lot more of them, 42 more to be exact, but still suprising.
November 27th, 2008 at 10:51 am
Last summer, my lazy sloth of a brother, Brian, invaded my home. Mullanes are obligated to provide lodging for family members, so long as they’re willing to hunt, slaughter, and/or cure meat in exchange for their room and board. Brian refuses to do any work of any kind. He just sits around on our wolverine-skinned couch, drinking tea, reading books, and shivering. The man is truly a 49 year-old menace to society.
Brian’s continued hedonistic lifestyle is a symptom of a pandemic sweeping the globe: with the spread of modern medicine, the elderly continue to live longer and longer, surviving despite their deteriorating bodies and minds, and burdening society with their “needs” (Note: insulin is a privilege not a right). A person should only exist as long as he proves beneficial to his community. Mullane children adhere to this rule by the age of 6 or else they’re permanently reassigned to a weaker, more tolerant family. So why can’t old people abide?
Unfortunately, humanity seems to lack the backbone to demand that the elderly continue to contribute until they terminate. Instead we both indulge their laziness and demean them, locking them away in retirement homes while they slowly rot in a medicated stupor. The thought seems to be, the elderly, like most minority groups, enjoy being grouped together in a designated living area. But what if we stripped them of their pills and deprived them of their Rascal scooters, perhaps the elderly would stand up and face death like a man: head on, in a battle royal. Win or lose, they’d be more alive than they are now, even if the exertion caused them to cease living.
I’m proposing we take all the seemingly washed-up old geezers sucking at society’s teat like wrinkled old leaches and put them on some remote island. There, they would compete for survival in a format not un-like the popular television program Survivor, only there would be no challenge rewards, medical assistance, or immunity. Just old men and women working together to battle time and Mother Nature, reliving their glory days in some treacherous tropical paradise.
Some would surely die, many immediately, but at least they would die with dignity. Plus there would be those that rise to the occasion—that fight and triumph against the odds. They would of course be welcomed back to our youthful society as conquering heroes, free to live out their days however they see fit. I only pray that if my body ever shows any signs of corrosion, that I’m given such an opportunity. There’s no way I’m going out like old Brian, annoying my relatives as I slowly expire. Better to die living my life with honor: sabotaging my opponents, crushing my competition, and surviving no matter what the costs.
November 30th, 2008 at 6:05 am
It’s because it’s what you love, Corey. It is who you were born to be. And here you sit, thinking. Well, Corey Willie is not a thinker. Corey Willie is a driver. He is a doer. And that’s what you need to do. You don’t need to think. You need to drive. You need speed. You need to go out there, and you need to rev your engine. You need to fire it up. You need to grab a hold of that line between speed and chaos, and you need to wrestle it to the ground like a demon cobra! And then, when the fear rises up in your belly, you use it. And you know that fear is powerful, because it has been there for billions of years. And it is good. And you use it. And you ride it; you ride it like a skeleton horse through the gates of hell, and then you win, Corey. You WIN! And you don’t win for anybody else. You win for you, you know why? Because a man takes what he wants. He takes it all. And you’re a man, aren’t you? Aren’t you?
November 30th, 2008 at 6:06 am
I like to picture Jesus as a figure skater. He wears like a white outfit, and He does interpretive ice dances of Corey’s life’s journey.
November 30th, 2008 at 6:07 am
I had a dream where Jesus was a dirty old bum, and I was about to sock him in the face because, well he’s a dirty old bum, but then I thought, there’s something special about him
November 30th, 2008 at 6:08 am
Remember that time in tenth grade when we got kicked out of class for playing with Matchbox cars? Who’s the retard now?
November 30th, 2008 at 8:49 am
“Real simple, son! Cops are coming! There’s a kilo of Colombian bam-bam under the car. Time to be a man. You got hair on your peaches or what
November 30th, 2008 at 9:25 am
I saw this in a movie about a bus that had to speed around a city, keeping its speed over fifty and if its speed dropped, it would explode! I think it was called … “The Bus That Couldnt Slow Down.”