Conversation I just had with a neighbor I ran into at the bike shop:
Me: Hey, J, how you doing?
J: Not too bad. What about you?
Me: Can’t complain. Working my ass off, but that’s about it.
J: Same here. Did you see me wave this morning?
Me: Yeah, I saw you standing in the driveway next to your daughter.
J: Actually, that was my son.
Listen…just because you have a NASCAR tag* (that’s license plate for those above the Mason Dixon line) doesn’t mean you’re a NASCAR driver. Nor does it mean that your minivan. truck, Volkswagen Beetle, or piece-of-crap 1976 Caprice Classic is an actual NASCAR race car. Therefore, quit trying to draft me, push me, cut me off, or pretend that you’re Dale Freakin’ Jr. This is just going to cause me to slow down and piss you off, which gives me great pleasure.
* – In Mississippi, you can buy a NASCAR-themed license plate. No…I’m not kidding.