Then there was the time I went to Talladega, for the Nascar race. I brought my sling and my popper bandolier even though friends said I shouldn’t. I set up in a bathroom on the furthest part of the track and waited. Lots of rednecks came in and called me a f** (made my d*** hard) and a few said I’m sick then came back in for a throw. They usually called me a sick f** after they came inside my backsnatch. Finally the holiest of the holies walked in, Darryl Waltrip. He said “well lookie here I’ve cornholed enough queers in Kentucky to know what a f** in heat looks like”. He popped a V***** then came up to my sling. I was wearing a construction helmet with two cups with straws going to my mouth, the cups were filled with Mello Yellow margaritas (made from a popular soft drink at the time) and he dropped his pants and gave me one of the best breedings I’ve ever had. Anytime a nascar race comes on I get a full pants busting b****. BMB! NO LOADS REFUSED!
Simply,
Corvallus
