dear peoples attending the stupid truck race

• Dear Lady sitting in front of me,




• I know we were outside. However, there is no smoking at the races. Really. You are rude to light up about a whole pack worth of ciggies during the race. It was bad enough that Younger and I hate the races but then our asthmatic lungs had to suck in your stink all night. Thanks bunches.




• I was also wondering about your blanket. The fuzzy one with the blue-grey pandas on it? I mean, sure, it was precious and all but shouldn't it have been red and black or black and orange--representative of some racing team? But I suppose the fuzzy pandas did go better with the flowery bed pillow you brought to sit on. Those aluminum benches are pretty hard. I can totally understanding hauling your "pretty" bedroom pillow to the race track to sit on.




• One last thing . . . your reading material. I have never had the opportunity to read the Harlequin Romance called "Night of the Condor". I bet that it's REALLY good. Can I borrow it?




• Very truly yours,




• Laggin

• Dear Fat Man Sitting Three Rows Down and Across the Aisle,




• I really, really admire your appreciation and dedication to Dale Earnhardt. I mean he's been dead for what, six or seven years? And that was clearly a NEW black t-shirt. I mean it looked like it had never even been washed. Brand, spankin' new, I bet. You are a truly dedicated fan.




• But here's the thing . . . I understand that when you are in public sometimes you've just got to move the . . . uh, member. I get it. It's just not in a comfortable position. But . . . um, I have a few suggestions. First, I suggest that you consider not doing this out in public. They DO have restrooms at the races! Did you know that? I mean, it is surprising at all. I just can't believe how some people think that the races are a sophisticated sport and that we spectators just pee in our beer cans or something. Anyhow, I know walking to the restroom means you might miss a good wreck. But still, think about it.
• Second, I recommend that you do NOT untuck that beautiful new shirt and physically LIFT up your beer belly. I accidentally got an eyeful of your hairy belly. And . . . well . . . it's not the prettiest thing I've ever seen.
• But from there, it was kinda like one of those car wrecks. I just couldn't help but stare as you jostled your belly out of the way and stuck your arm down your pants (by the way, they are a bit tight around the middle; you might consider moving up a size) and re-arranged your package. It just seemed like a personal moment. You didn't really need to share it with me.


• Really, it made me erp in my mouth just a little bit.
• Very truly yours,
• Laggin

• Dear Mystery Air Bubbler,




• The races are really, really loud aren't they? I swear, you cannot hear yourself scream at the top of your lungs, can you?




• But I'm just wondering a little something. While all that noise means that you certainly can cut the cheese with all the impunity in the world, does that make it a good idea? Because, man, whoever you were, you stank! Again and again and again.
• Very truly yours,
• Laggin

This, blogosphere, is why I hate the races. Today, you get a racing house (yes, the drivers LIVE in these things).