Gentleman, Stop Your Engines

I won’t lie; I don’t consider NASCAR or any other form of competitive racing to be truly a sport. And I’m bored to tears of watching people endure driving to the left on a loop for hours in over-amped cars. Still, I can’t pretend to act surprised that our Orange Julius Caesar flung himself aboard his Air Farce One all the way from Mar-a-Sluggo to Daytona to blight the big whup-dee-doo Daytona 500 for Presidents’ Day weekend, and natch, at our expense.

He made a nice Nazi entrance onto the track with his limo. He got all fidgety when they had to invoke rain delays (driving big-ass racecars requires safe road traction, duh). And he bugged out early during a rain delay, buzzing the track with his Air Farce One. All because he hoped he’d appeal to the largely potentially pro-Trump mentality that usually goes to something like NASCAR. Because of the way he left early, in a snit, I begin to ‘spect that maybe he really DIDN’T.

I’d say happy Presidents’ Day, anyway, but… We don’t really have one.

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