Rednecks NASCAR 

This fucking sucks a fucking dick. This snow has had me trapped in my apartment for 2 fucking weeks, the NFL season is over, the Knicks suck, and baseball doesn’t start for another 6 weeks. So you know what it’s time for? Some fucking unbridled hate. Today's target? NASCAR, or as it's pronounced in the south "NURSKERR."  NASCAR is the inbred love child of illiterate drunken inbreeders. Oh look at those athletes with their 30% body fat! How impressive! To better streamline my hate, and because my brain is moving at speed of molasses due to the lack of human interaction, here's a list of questions I have for NASCAR, along with my completely made up and hateful hypothesis.

1.How did NASCAR began?

 NASCAR began when Billy Joe Dumbfuck fucked his sister, angering his brother, Jonny Joe Dumbfuck, who had staked claim to her on the basis that Jonny Joe was older. Billy Joe sped away from his angry brother in the family car, which he had done some big swingin dick car shit to as a way of impressing his sister. Jonny Joe, borrowing a friend's car, tried and failed to catch Billy Joe. The tales of this chase spread through the south. Today, descendents of the Dumbfucks make up roughly 66% of NASCARs fanbase.

2.  Why are there so many advertisements on cars?

 The drivers pick out stickers of companies they like. So for instance you may see Danica Patrick driving the Vagisil car. If I was a driver I would drive the Brazzers car.

  3. What is a typical NASCAR fan like?

The typical NASCAR fan is 6 things:

 a)      White

b)     A  High School Graduate, tops.

c)       Married way too young to someone they graduated High School with.

d)      Attends church, but has never read a bible

e)      Has tried Meth.

f)       Is a little… slow

4. Why such the tie-in with the Right Wing and Religious?

 Because those fuckers never ask questions.  Noones going to ask "How are these guys athletes?" or "Why not go right?" If someone questions something, you call them gay, they get beaten and dragged, everyone says git’r done and moves on. It's tradition.