I guess I should start this here writin’ off by explainin’ my month or so absence to my many loyal readers. Evelyn, darlin’, you are just “spot on” as good ol’ BP used to say. I did so need a break what with the beauty salon fiasco, the Bingo bust, jail 2 times, court 2 times and Walter behind the meat counter’s rants and raves so I decided to take one of those senior citizen turn arounds to Vegas. I had never been there before and I figured at my age a trip to Sin City was a fairly safe prospect for a mini vacation. You know what they say about Vegas…what happens there stays there. Well that’s a bunch of hogwash, let me tell you that right now. Our one page, if we’re lucky, newspaper editor..Boris Smith (we all just refer to him as B.S. Editor), got wind of my trip and happenin’s and there I was main page again. I mean, I am gettin’ an undeserved bad rap around here. People are so sure I am a trouble maker and that is just not the case. I do not make trouble, but, I blame well sure do not run from it neither. I do speak my mind, but there is nothin’ wrong with that, unless of course you are rippin’ Judge Dorcus. I mistakenly called him Judge Dork one time and well, it wasn’t pretty. I guess the man has no sense of humor. The whole courtroom was snortin’, hootin’ and hollerin’. but, that is neither here nor there. He has had it out for me ever since, I can tell you that right now.
Anyway, I’ll try to shorten my Vegas run down and give you the REAL story and not that lengthy junk on BS’s main page. The bus trip was nice enough. When we got there, I went straight to this little old, and I mean old, casino there. I was losing, but, I pretty much expected that to happen for awhile until I got my rhythm goin’. All of a sudden some drunken ding dong of a man bumped into my chair and spilled my cup of nickels all over the floor, so, I started yellin’ at him and got down on my hands and knees to pick them up. Out of nowhere came this tubby woman who sat down at my machine and put in some nickels and won $100 on her first spin. That was my machine and my $100, so, I kicked her chair and started beatin’ on the machine and callin’ her less than desirable names! Seems like a fair and normal reaction. Right? Well I was escorted outside where I realized I left my purse on the floor by my machine. Those idiot security ninken poops wouldn’t let me go back in and get it! What was I supposed to do?
There were very friendly women out there on the street corners smilin’ and talkin’ to people in cars passin’ by, so, I went over there by them thinkin’ they might give me some help, bein’ that they were so friendly and all. Then, all of a sudden police cars were everywhere and they loaded the lot of us up and off we went to the hoose gow. They explained we were bein’ arrested for, well, bein’ ladies of the night. Can you believe that? At first I was so mad, then I was a little flattered, then I got REAL mad. I had no money to call anyone and who would I call? I didn’t know anyone. Honestly, I didn’t want to know anyone, but, a real sweet cell mate of mine, by the curious name of Candy Cane, paid my pokey tab and took me home with her. I was so grateful. Bless her heart. She said to make myself at home and that she would be right back, but I fell fast asleep on her bright red divan waitin’ for her to get back. I was so tuckered out I didn’t even wake up til noon when she finally got home. I thought I would make her breakfast, but, she wanted lunch instead, so, I went through her refrigerator and cabinets and found enough stuff to whip up some delicious canned chicken salad that we ate on fried corn cakes. Lordie that was tastie and fillin’. We both felt like we were gonna to pop, but, that’s neither here nor there. She, some of her friends and I became quite close. I had no money to leave, so, the girls took me grocery shoppin’ a lot and I cooked for ’em, and kept a tidy home for Candy. They didn’t ask what the food was after the second day and I didn’t offer it up. They just ate it and liked it, I can tell you that right now. Did my heart a world of good to see those girls put some meat on their bones. I truly was havin’ a good time and they seemed real interested and amused in my stories about me and my late husband Elmer’s many years together. Sweet girls they all were, even the one with the deep voice who was a bit masculine.
Anyway, I stayed with Candy until just a few days ago. I told them all I really needed to get home. They all got together and bought me a bus ticket because I absolutely refused to fly. I told them if the good Lord intended for people to fly they would see feather’s on this rear. They just laughed, talked about some showgirls they know who really did have feathers on their rears and promptly put me on the bus. So, here I am and that is the whole (for the most part) and true story! Don’t believe that junk on BS’s foolish front page, please! He’s what I call a nasty ol’ pig and a grandstander! Candy and the girls said I could come visit ’em anytime and I just might take ’em up on that someday, but, I can’t stay that long next time. No how, no way. I’m much too much of a very busy woman, ya know.
Now for NASCAR. I truly didn’t have time to watch racin’ while I was out west, so, I sure enjoyed watchin’ last weekend, I can tell ya that right now. I got online and read up on some stuff so I wouldn’t feel too far from the fruit. Know what I mean? So here’s my short on what I read and saw.
First off, Kyle Busch, yet again. Now, Kyle, this is gettin’ to be ridiculous, honey. Who in the world do you think you are decidin’ who deserves to win what, when and where? Look darlin’, you are a talented driver, no doubt about it, but if things don’t go your way, you are like petting a bobcat. Cute, unpredictable and as mean as you can be. A good friend of mine, who just happens to know what he’s talkin’ about, said Coach Joe needs to take you out behind the shed. That’s a good one Mark, honey, and right, let me tell you that right now. Listen up, Kyle. You are one driver among quite a few whose on track numbers vary between the different series. It appears you have managed, over your short time racin’, to tick off a good many of ’em in all 3 series. Given a little more time you will have managed to tick off ALL of ’em, their owners and team members, honey. You better get a grip! And you are right. People are callin’ you a cry baby because YOU ARE! Your mama needs to yank you up real quick little boy. After all, son, racin’ made you, you didn’t make racin’. Know what I mean? Racin’ has always been full of bad boys and it always will be. It needs them, but, honey, you aren’t really bad. Thing is you need to be a certain kind of bad for it to really “work”. And Your “bad” ain’t workin’, honey. Listen, those nice big paychecks come and go. There are a lot of “used to be’s” for you to ask, in case you don’t agree with that statement. You better work on growin’ up, silly stump, because there are a lot of talented wanna be’s out there just waitin’ for one of those great team seats, like yours, to become available! Know what I mean? Enough said until next time (again)!
Next up, Brian Vickers. Well, honey you made big news twice this weekend, didn’t ya? You almost whipped the nasty right off that stump on Saturday! Would have done my heart a world of good if you had, I can tell you that much right now. And when you didn’t quite get it done on the track, you almost got a second chance, same day, when he came over there, stuck his whiney face in your car, mouthed off, dented your fender and ran away like a little cry baby sissy. You are so right, dear, it was not the Kyle Busch show Saturday or, for that matter, Sunday. When you won on Sunday that was just what I call “pure fittin'”. I also call it a whole lot of yippie! Well that and money! Bet he is still whinin’. What do you think? I like your quiet determination, Brian, honey. Reminds me of my late husband Elmer. That man was amazin’ too! I have so many stories of his quiet determination ways. Of course some of that got him into some trouble, but, this here writin’ is gettin’ long and none of that is neither here nor there, so, CONGRATS Brian, sweetie. Bet Clyde is one proud papa!
And now for young, sweet, talented and cute Brad Keselowski. Now Brad, honey, that win was just plain fantastic. That looked like somethin’ your owner’s dad used to do again and again. I just can’t think of anyone who would do better in that 88 Nationwide car. You are gonna be big, darlin’. What am I sayin’? You ARE big, sweetness! 3rd in the points in the Nationwide Series behind knuckle head Kyle and cutie Carl . So here’s my wish, honey, I want you and Carl to go after that little booger. Ok? Granny is pullin’ for y’all. You 2 have 12 races left to get him in one way or another. Know what I mean? Hope you are still celebratin’! I would be…cold, hard pomegranate cider and buckets of country crusted chicken! Now that’s a party, but, that’s neither here nor there.
And now for Mr.Hornaday. Well, well, Ronald, you 5 in a row winnin’ rascal, you! You know 50 year old racers, or there abouts, do look good in Victory Lane, honey! You are still one heck of a kick bohunkus driver, aren’t ya? Does my heart so much good, Ron, darlin’! Lord how I do love to watch a good “seasoned” driver race. Reminds me of the time my late husband Elmer, occasional racer, was asked to substitute for local racin’ legend Speedin’ Sam Sherman. Reason is Sam got drunk, so the questionable story goes, and crawled into a dryer at the open all night laundry mat in 1964. Someone put in 3 nickels and that poor man tumbled around all night long. After that they called him Shakin’ Sam Sherman. Amazingly Elmer won that race. He finished it in his bare feet after that horrible wreck, however, it did count, cause no one else thought to do it and he crossed the finish pole first, but, that’s neither here nor there. You know, Ron, sugar pie, you and Mark should give me a call and let’s just sit and talk about this. That would sure fix these nosey old bitties in this town, not that I care about that kind of stuff, you understand. It’s just that somethin’ like that could place me main page, yet again, on this pitiful, but the only one we have, newspaper and paint me in a positive light for a change. I can cook for us, dear. I will prepare a whole new menu for you and Markie. Somethin’ special and different from the other menu certain other drivers have chosen to rudely ignore. I do make a wonderful squirrel stew. Add some watermelon rinds with vinegar and chunked brown onions and some fresh fried parsnip bread (none of that day old stuff for you two) and we can talk for a long time. Of course your wives are invited, but, I doubt seriously if their cookin’ can compare and I do not share recipes, so, maybe you should leave them at home. I am just thinkin’ of their own well bein’, dearies. Know what I mean? Just let me know!
And finally, under the “Possibly Other stuff” category, I was just so excited for JR. That precious young man was just awesome on Sunday, finishin’ an impressive 3rd. Now for all you “nation” haters, y’all calm down right now, I can like who I want if you can hate who you want. Understand? This sport has enough room for all of us! This young man is not only Dale Sr’s son, but, he took on Teresa, the media, his sponsors and every racin’ naysayin’ nitwit to do what he felt he had to do. What’s not to love, anyway? And y’all know perfectly well he is as talented as he can be. That’s just fact! Yes, this is a slow season for him, obviously, but when his “get goin” gets goin’, it’s open the gate honey cause the bulls are comin’ home! And I know y’all know what I mean!
Well, that’s it for now, grannygrumpers. I am still just worn to a frazzle, I can tell you all that much right now. But I’ll perk up soon enough. I am goin’ go have a tall glass of butterflake butter milk with day old yellow corn bread, put my feet up and watch Judge Judy. She sure could teach Judge Dorcus a thing or a hundred. Know what I mean? I am so sorry for not answerin’ any of my many emails while I was gone, but it appears Candy Cane just doesn’t blog, tweet or anything online. I did go through a type of withdrawal, I believe. Reminds me a little of the time ol’ “Pigman Paulsen” got hooked on those wild country mushrooms. A bunch of town folk had to tie that man down to keep him from rootin’ in their yards. Oh course the Vegas girls didn’t have to tie me down any. They just had me cook for ’em. Now that is therapy in it’s tastiest form, no doubt about it! So, go ahead and send your comments or questions. And remember, I give great picklin’ recipes, good love life advice, and now first hand slot machine experience advice. I’ll get to the emails as soon as I can, but, remember now, I am a busy woman.
P.S.
BS, you pathetic ol’ “Daily Editor”, check this out. This here writin’ is longer than your whole newspaper, so, stick that in your pot and cook it!
