I'll play the race card again with alcohol and foul-co-fuel still racing through me blood after a St. Patrick's Day of kart racing and heavy drinking. See the picture? They chased me like Irish raiders with an ever-widening separation so vast the camera couldn't capture us as a group, but can any camera capture number 9 in action?
The morning of the race, I waketh up in a Phoenix desert zone to throngs of kart drivers gathered, chanting, "we appeal to you, holy serpent boy, to come and race among us!" Me blood bubbling with ancestral energy of Irish, I cast Landsnake McMantis, a speeding carbomb weaving snake-style around them and not among them, but I left some lucky charms for them at the finish line.
I sprayed mist of Miller High Life into the sunset as a drag-racing dragon named Nostrildamus flew me from the land, steering clear of Area 51 and utterly torching any flying creature in sight. I arrived at an opium den in Sarajevo to drink Irish stout, whiskey, and cream with Kourtney Kardashian while robot leprechauns showered us with shamrock confetti in celebration of the victory. The rest of the night was no race, but still a lot of great riding took place.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment