Danica Patrick

Even IndyCar Drivers Hate IndyCar

Monday, June 29th, 2009 | Dylan | 1 Comment
Look, she emerged from her cocoon as someone I could give a damn about

Look, she emerged from her cocoon as someone I could give a damn about

Richmond International Raceway’s 2009 IndyCar event is being described as “a procession”, “a disappointment”, “an awful, awful race” and “the first time I’ve seriously considered killing myself out of sheer boredom”.  Guess which one was mine.  The rest, however, are from a rather unlikely source, the drivers

It seems the racing series apologists will have a hard time explaining away the problems with a sport whose competitors can’t even get excited about the proceedings.  This will be even more difficult than the argument over whether or not the drivers qualify as athletes that race fans have been losing for at least the last 15 years.  And what’s the deal with making IndyCar one word?  I’d like to pronounce it (in-DIKE-are) but that makes it sound far too sexy.

As boring as a so-called ‘race’ sounds when the third place finisher said he “only had to pass two cars all night, this even wasn’t without it’s noteworthy performances.  Winner Scott Dixon tied IndyCar’s career victories record with his 19th checkered flag.  You may be thinking that 19 sounds sort of low to be a career wins record in a league that’s been in existence for over 13 years, but there’s an obvious explanation.  The shelf-life of an IndyCar driver isn’t very long.  Eventually, they get so bored that they intentionally wreck on the turn farthest away from the pits, jump the wall and escape to a life of intrigue.  Though no one knows for certain, it’s said that Sam Hornish Jr. has been painting houses for a living to, as he says, “feel alive again.” 

Considering all of the spectators who spent their money on such a non-spectacle, it seems fitting that the racetrack was shaped like a ‘D’.  You know, for douchebaggery, or dicks.  But not for Danica.  Sweet, sweet Danica Patrick finished fifth and I’m sure she looked amazing doing it.  In her case, helmets are ruining the appeal of IndyCar.  Damn safety nerds.  The only thing that helmet is saving is the inseam on my pants… COUNT IT! (looks for high five partner… keeps looking)

Speaking of Danica, Richmond did witness a record-breaking performance.  With the lack of action, most fans failed to notice that the record for continuous driving by a woman without a car-to-car collision was broken with nearly two hours of time behind the wheel.  Get it?  Because women can’t drive.  And don’t even get me started on them going to the mall.  Women be shoppin’, right guys?  (Continues looking for high five… slits wrist)

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Sports Illustrated Is Anti-Skank

Monday, February 16th, 2009 | Dylan | No Comments
High heels, bikini, sports car... a tattoo would make this ridiculous

High heels, bikini, sports car... a tattoo would make this ridiculous

That title may seem odd when you consider that Sports Illustrated gets a huge boost in publicity and ad sales every year by taking pictures of models in bikinis on a beach.  Evidently, those models need to fit into a certain mold, or at the very least be comfortable with someone Photoshopping their unacceptable slutishness (a word for Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary 2012). 

Danica Patrick didn’t fit the high standards of SI so her tramp-stamp got edited out of the magazine’s final edition.  Of course, the execs might have just been confused about the meaning of the ink. 

It’s half of an American flag and half of a checkered flag.  Does that mean she’s finished with the U.S. or America is her finish line?  Maybe finishing is American, but don’t tell your girlfriend. 

Don’t get too upset about the photoshopping though.  Without it, Danica would have been showing off those pythons she had in her Super Bowl ad for GoDaddy.com.  You know, the ones that made Hulk Hogan jealous. 

I’m not saying I would be disgusted by Danica’s non-photoshopped swimsuit pictures, that’s a term I reserve for the fat woman who breast-fed her ugly baby while I ate lunch, I’d just have to go back to fantasizing about Helio Castroneves.

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