Third times a charm...

Once again, the eyes of the world, er, south have turned to Daytona for the annual running of the Daytona 500. And, once again despite the fact that I live and grew up a mere hour away, I could not give a flying fuck. Honestly, I've never been able to understand the fascination with any form of car racing, much less NASCAR. Its all so monotonous same and there are absolutely no athletes involved in this "sport". I mean, have you seen Tony Stewart lately? He looks like Carl from ATHF with a rug on his head. I remember flying back from San Diego this time last year and stopping to grab a beer during my layover in Atlanta. As I approached the nearest bar, there were people stacked three rows outside of the bar just standing and watching TV. I thought to myself, did the President get shot or something? (Not true, I thought to myself, "Fuck me, there's no way I'm getting a beer."). Shortly thereafter, I realized that the crowd was gathered to watch the late stages of the 500. That's how blissfully out of touch I am with NASCAR, I had no idea the supposed Super Bowl of Motor Sports was even on until I stumbled across this stunning array of slack jawed observers. Anyway, fuck NASCAR, fuck the Daytona 500 and while I'm at it, fuck Brad Daughtery. Even as a child I knew you were soft.

However, I wouldn't want you to leave these parts thinking I'm completely un-southern. Because, well, some shit did sink in over the years, and my youthful love of professional wrestling was certainly the first and most disturbing alarm bell that rang in my parents' brains. So, because I was told that good things come in threes once by a bum I handed two dollars to, here's some WWF goodness to chase down those shots of the Naitch.

Koko B. Ware was right, you see, love can feel like a piledriver. Hell, just ask those poor saps who had their marriage proposals shot down last night. (Happened to my Dad back in '69...My Mom can be a real bitch sometimes. True story). Preach on, Koko, preach on...