Volume IX, Issue 9, Page 7

Darr Hawthorne photo

Where am I? Where’s my car? What happened to the 43 grand?


What does an etherized car and driver have to do with…? And Bakersfield, as in the Smokers Meet or the more Republican-sounding U.S. Fuel and Gas Championships?  What’s it all about Alfie? Dimethyltriptane instead of aspirin in the Burk medicine chest?

Worst suspicions confirmed.  Yep, the Bitch is back. The Autistic formerly known as C. Bley Motorsports Au Go Go has decided, despite the thousands of request to the contrary, to saddle up ole Snuffy and ride roughshod over the sensibilities of the 30 million readers of Drag Racing Online once again. Sad but true, I gotta … I’m doing it for my health.  Cosmic words for mental therapy. Words from the Mfer … straight out of Valley Village.

There won’t be too much drag racing in this installment, so if America’s Got Talent or some other pressing engagement has stepped to the fore … go.

But don’t feel rained on, I’ll go through the journalistic plate glass window and into the laps of Bakersfield fansters and fannettes next time, but some personal accounting-for is in order. I mean, its not like I don’t know some of you. Go ahead, you answer it. How come DRO has looked so clean the last coupla years? What accounts for the incredible rise of this O’Fallon, Missouri, media monster in the last two years?

Here’s a stab at why. I’ve been real busy the last two years and had to withdraw my weary frame from the bench at the Phlegm Building on Elm Street.  My future raised a stiff middle finger and beckoned.

Sometime in the fall of 2005, the now National Hartenstein Racing Association wrote me and told me there was going to be a change in the company pension policy. They were selling the old NHRA set up to the Choi Seung Hui Insurance Company in Huatabampo, North Korea, and that they would be the people I’d be dancing with. The NHRA was getting out of the pension business, at least as far as I was concerned.

They further explained that there were no guarantees with this crew. I’d continue to get my monthly retirement check; I was on the blotter. However, if the company was swallowed up by up some speculating mega-buck capitalists and the money was invested in cocaine futures or with pedophilic dog-fighting promoters it could mean homelessness, elephant tranquilizer-inspired nudity and worse-than-normal degeneracy if things fell apart.

However, the way I had it figured if there’s gonna be anybody who’s hooked up with that kind of action, it’ll be me … not some tap water drinking Wall Streeter who gets a four-hour erection when he stands next to his new Mercedes. (ASIDE: What’s with those Cialis commercials … if a woody lasts four hours, call your doctor. To hell with the doctor, call Jumbo’s Clown Room and tell Tony to line ‘em up … and I don’t mean Four Roses and water either.)

Anyway, to make a long story even more obnoxious, my financial advisor, Juan Carlos Hulyn Burk, looked over the offer and proffered, “Hey, you can go with the Asians and wind up making missile guidance systems aimed the Great Satan or you can take the lump slum, a for you whopping $43,000, and that’ll clear them of you. My advice? Take the loot and scoot, compadre.”

And I mentally stepped back and thought about it for 5 seconds...

FORTY THREE THOUAND DOLLARS … ALL FOR ME … IN A COUPLE OF DAYS … TO DO WITH AS I WISH!!???  Should the Bush Administration be impeached, prosecuted and executed? Is the bear catholic? Hell, yes, I’ll take a check. Lucifer baby, it’s you and me and all the amenities of sub-standard living.

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