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We’re Not In Wonderland Anymore


No matter how good or satisfying the results were (to some) at Kansas this past weekend, no matter that Smoke won the Price Chopper 400 and Mark Martin increased his lead a bit….no matter how good that might be…the spectre of Jimmie Johnson and Chad Knaus still looms over all of them. Smoke and Old Man Martin and even freakin’ Juan Pablo Montoya are tiny precious little creatures who will ultimately be swept away. Martin’s tenuous 18 point lead, Smoke’s big win on Sunday….all moments in a sun that is soon to be snuffed out.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”


alice in oz 1

To be honest, I’m getting a bit tired of this. After all, why wait for Thursday night to write some almost half-hearted post about an exciting race at a track that I truly enjoy (Kansas Speedway).  It’s almost as if after 364 un-birthdays, with un-birthday cakes and un-birthday presents, the party is no longer very partyful. That’s what it feels like. Despite anyenjoyment or fun one can momentarily feel, there is also an impending feeling of doom…. The Wicked Witch of The West, and The Queen of Hearts, and the Jabberwocky all rolled into one.

`Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall:
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.

One can only hope…

phone call from oz

But be careful what you wish for. Watch what you eat. Don’t drink everything that says drink me. I really mean that!

Honestly, for awhile during last Sunday’s race I was even thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if Jeff Gordon won the race, or even won it all. Yes…you read that right. I was actually thinking that it would not be so bad if That Homo Jeff Gordon won the race and won it all. Yes, you read that right.

And no, I was not addled by the fact that Matt Kenseth’s engine cacked. Nor was I drubbed that Erik Feaking Darnell (yet THAT Erik Freaking Darnell…the one who usurped Bobby Labonte’s ride) finished higher than Max Papis. And my tenious grasp on sanity didn’t slip a few notches because the aformentioned Erik Freaking Darnell finished higher than Bobby Labonte, who finished dead last because of an accident on lap 6. I’m not wearing a plaid straight-jacket and a pink polka-dot bow-tie because Robbie Gordon had a worse day at the track than John Andretti ((John Andretti…wtf??)).

No. None of that. But until the flying monkeys come and take  Chad Knaus and Jimmie Johnson away, to Oz or Wonderland, or both, I just might have to root, when  the opportunity arises, for That Homo Jeff Gordon. Yes, you read that right. If  and when the opportunity arises, I just might have to root for That Homo Jeff Gordon.

Yes, you read that right.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.


wish upon a lucky star

I’m afraid to wish for anything now, really, even if wished upon a Lucky Star. So we’ll just have to wait for the green flag to drop at California and hope for the best.

I’ve had my fill of mushrooms this week. I’ve had a bit of that cake as well. And drink? What the hell do you think I’ve doing all this while, ne?

And that stuff about Jeff Gordon? Yes, You read that right.

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