SHR Team Meeting: Martinsville

(Tony and Danica are sitting at his desk. Kevin Harvick, Kurt Bush, Tony Gibson, and Daniel Knost are seated in front of them)

TS: Okay, before we review the race, I want to address the changes we’re about to make.
DP: HEADS ARE GONNA F*CKING ROLL! LIGHT ‘EM UP, SMOKE!
TS: Actually, what we’re going to do is change the crews and crew chiefs between the 41 and 10.
DP: YOU’RE FIRED, GIBSON! TAKE YOUR WRENCH, AND GET THE F*CK OUT!
TS: No…
DP: LEAVE THE WRENCH!
TS: That’s not what I said.
DP: Wha’d you say?
TS: You’re getting Kurt’s crew chief, Daniel Knost.
DP: Chad Knaus?
TS: Daniel Knost.
DP: Emily Post?
TS: Daniel Knost.
DP: I’m sorry, Ned Yost?
TS: Daniel Knost.
DP: Something ghost?
TS: No. Daniel Knost.
DP: Sounds like Saturday Evening Post?
TS: Daniel. Knost.
DP: Ohhhhh, Daniel Knost. Never heard of him.
DK: You can call me Daniel.
TS: SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE, EMILY! TELL HIM, KURT!
KB: Gotta keep your piehole shut.
DK: *nods*
TS: It’s an experiment. Hopefully, we learn something from it.
DK: Hey, it’s not like we get any slower. Unless Gibson has another trick up his sleeve.
TS: Okay, I’ve asked Tony and Daniel to bring in some notes so I could review them with Danica. You guys can talk amongst yourselves.
TS: Okay, here are some of Tony’s notes.
DP: *looks at a few pages* Look at this one. It’s just a whole page of him playing tic-tac-toe. And this one, he just wrote “2 tires or 4 tires” and then drew a big a question mark.
TS: *sighs*
DP: F*CK!
(Everybody looks up)
DP: Just thinking out loud, guys. (Whispers to Tony) F*ck.
TS: I know.
DP: *picks up a napkin* What’s this?
TS: Daniel’s notes.
DP: HEY, IDIOT, WHAT’S THIS?
KB: A napkin.
DP: Not you, the other idiot.
KH: A napkin.
DP: No, no, no! Emily Post, there! What’s this?
DK: Some notes I made on a napkin. *smiles*
DP: Thanks. (whispers to Tony) F*ck! He’s an idiot! All he did was write “wedge.” And he spelled it wrong!
TS: Listen, don’t worry about it, he’s only the interim crew chief.
DP: What does interim mean? Does it mean stupid?
TS: We’re gonna fire him at the end of the year.
DP: Let’s fire him today. I’ll do it. *to Knost, points at the door* GET OUT!
TS: No, no, no. Just continue to talk amongst yourselves.
DP: God! It’s like getting the Eurys back! *tuns, spits on the floor*
TS: Three weeks. That’s it. I promise.
DP: *spits again* Alright.
TS: Okay, everybody, remember to change uniforms next week, and work on the car that hasn’t had a crew change yet. Okay, we did so bad this weekend, I’m not even sure I want to review it.
DP: F*cking crew chiefs. LOOKING AT YOU, GIBSON!
TS: All in favor of adjourning the meeting?
All: Aye.
TS: Meeting’s adjourned.
DP: GET THE F*CK OUT!

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SHR Team Meeting: Talladega

(Danica is sitting at Tony’s desk, on the phone. Tony comes in behind her, but she does not notice.)

DP: Listen, it happens, don’t worry about it…it happens to everybody, sometimes you just can’t get it up…to speed…alright, meeting’s about to start, take car of our little buddy…yeah, the dog, what did you think I meant?…HAHAHAHA!-
TS: Tell Ricky I said hi.
DP: AIIIIEEEEE! *slams phone down* DON’T YOU EVER KNOCK?!
TS: It’s my office.
DP: Sneaking around like a f*cking cat. *gets up* Warm up your own seat next time.
(Kurt Busch and Kevin Harvick come in.)
DP: Frick and Frack are here.
Kurt: *looks behind him*
DP: *rolls her eyes* The ‘doofus’ is strong with this one.
Tony: Alright, let’s get started.
DP: SIT THE F*CK DOWN-
KH: We are sitting-
DP: AND SHUT THE F*CK UP! (Glares at Harvick) Especially you…Chatty Cathy.
KH: *Shifts uneasily in chair*
DP: Yeah, you thought I’d forget about that? You thought that because I ALMOST F*CKING WON AT TALLADEGA THAT I’D FORGET?! IS THAT WHAT YOU THOUGHT?!
KB: You’re always yelling.
DP: Shut up, shorty!
KH: My words got twisted.
KB: What did you say?
KH: I said she’d never do what Jimmie and I do.
KB: Win championships? I’ve got more championships than you.
KH: I’m having a good year, though.
DP: So your words got twisted. Well, mine did, too? Did you hear about that?
KH: No.
DP: NO?!
KB: He already said no.
DP: Piehole, rookie, shut it! Not gonna tell you again! (To Harvick) Yeah, my words got twisted, too. I think I said something like, GO F-
TS: Okay, come on, that’s enough, let’s just calm down, we’re all on the same team here.
DP: Pffftt.
TS: What?
DP: I said, PFFFTT!
TS: Alright, whatever. Okay, Talladega, how’d we do? Kurt, you finished 7th. That’s a good run.
KB: Thanks.
DP: Ummm, am I the only one who actually looks at the results? He finished behind two scrubs driving for poor people!
TS: Talladega. It doesn’t always make sense. Kevin, you finished 9th. Not bad.
DP: THAT’S EVEN FURTHER BACK!
TS: Danica, you finished 19th.
DP: Drove past Jimmie for the lead though, Smoke. HAULIN’ THE F*CKIN’ MAIL!
TS: But you finished 19th.
DP: Got shuffled back. Nothing I could do about that.
TS: And I blew a tire and finished 34th.
DP: Not your fault. F*ckin’ Goodyear!
TS: Not a bad weekend, all things considered.
DP: Not bad?! NOT BAD?! I didn’t come here to compete with a bunch of start-and-parkers! I came here to win TALLADEGA!
KB: You didn’t win Talladega.
DP: I ALMOST WON! I WAS LEADING WITH 14 TO GO, BUT THE F*CKING YELLOW FL- *she falls over backward on to the floor* OW! MY F*CKING ANEURYSM RUPTURED AGAIN!
(They rush to her side)
TS: Are you okay?!
DP: BLEEDING INTO MY OWN BRAIN, SMOKE.
KB: Yuck.
KH: What can we do?
DP: Nothing. Give me few minutes. Once the hemorrhaging stops I should be fine.
(They wait)
DP: Listen, guys. You may have to drill a hole in my skull to relieve the pressure.
KB: You want me to do it?
DP: No, you’re stupid.
KH: Me?
DP: No, you’re more stupid than he is. I need a crew chief.
TS: I’ll go get Tony.
DP: *grabs him by the arm* Not Tony. I need a good crew chief.
TS: Okay. (Runs out)
DP: NOT KNOST EITHER!

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One Question: An Anonymous WAG

(Chip Andretti and an Anonymous WAG are seated opposite each other in metal folding chairs.)

AW: You’re sure I’m going to remain anonymous?
CA: Amy, please. We’re professionals here. Your name will not be used, you have my word on that. (To intern) Do NOT use Miss Reimann’s in this.
Intern: Is that with a “y”?
AW: It’s “ei”.
Intern: And, Amy, that’s just spelled the normal way?
AW: Yep.
Intern: (To self) Reimann comma Amy.
CA: Then put “do not use” next to it.
Intern: Got it. ‘Do not use Amy Reimann’s with an “ei ” name.’
CA: See? Journalism.
AW: I’m just a little nervous.
CA: You want me to beat the intern? That make you feel better?
AW: No, don’t do that.
CA: How ’bout a lil drinkypoo? That always calms the nervous. (Proffers a half-finished bottle of scotch)
AW: No, no thank you.
CA: Well, just some for the monkey, then. *finishes bottle* Wooo! I should really start mixing that with something. Ice, maybe.
AW: Wow. You can really drink,
CA: First in my class at DU…I! *laughs*
Intern: *laughs* Good one, Chip.
CA: What’s it like living with Junior?
AW: Well, it’s-wait. Won’t people know who I am if you use Junior’s name?
CA: People aren’t that smart, Amy. Besides, there are a lot of Juniors in NASCAR right now. Jimmie Johnson Jr.
Intern: Allen Bestwick Jr.
CA: Andy Petree Jr.
AW: Still makes me nervous, though.
CA: You want me to beat the intern?
AW: No, but could you just mark it out?
CA: Hey, that why they make erasers, right?
AW: You’re using ink.
CA: (To interns) Somebody get me a f*cking eraser in here!
(They wait until an intern returns with an eraser. Chip and the intern work feverishly trying to erase the name from Chip’s notebook) It’s not erasing, it’s just getting all smudgy. (They continue to erase feverishly) Wow, that’s really on there good. Make sure we have plenty of these pens. Alright, stop…I said stop! (Slaps at intern, who had continued erasing) (To AW) It’s not coming off. Tell you what, I’ll just remember to take it out later.
AW: You’ll remember?
CA: Unless I have too much scotch and black out again, yes.
AW: Okay…I guess…
CA: So, what’s it like working on the 88 pit crew?
AW: Well-wait. Won’t people know it’s me if you use the car number?
CA: Maybe if he still drove the 8, but most fans can’t count all the way up to 88.
AW: Still, it makes me nervous.
CA: (To intern) Photoshop a 42 over that 88. (To AW) So, what’s it like working on that pit crew.
AW: I’m not on the pit crew.
CA: Get out!
*Intern starts to leave*
CA: Sit down, you idiot! (To AW) Aren’t you the front tire changer?
AW: No.
CA: Gasman?
AW: No.
CA: What about scraping the tires, taking the temperature, then writing the temperature on the tire. That looks pretty easy. You do that?
AW: Nope.
CA: Do they do that in Fahrenheit or Celsius?
AW: I’m not sure.
CA: I bet it’s Fahrenheit. Metric system never caught on here.
AW: I guess not.
CA: So what do you do? You work in the fab shop?
Intern: ‘Cause she’s faaaaab.
CA: I will beat you with this *swigs last little bit out* empty scotch bottle.
Intern: Sorry, Chip.
AW: I’m really not on the team. I just go the races to support [Dale Earnhardt Jr's name redacted].
CA: How does that make the car go faster?
AW: Well, I guess it doesn’t, really, but it’s nice to sometimes have someone cheering for you.
CA: What does that do when you cheer? Make it turn better in the corners?
AW: It’s just being supportive.
CA: You ever sit on the pit box and figure gas mileage?
AW: No, [Steve Letarte's name redacted] does that.
CA: What about traveling with the crew?
AW: Oh, I don’t travel with the crew.
CA: (Shows her a picture) You ever ride in this?
AW: What is it?
CA: A dirty old pickup truck with a flat tire. That’s how the crew gets to the race. They traded a lawnmower for it.
AW: Oh. Well, I never travel with the crew.
CA: Really? They don’t let you on that gold plated helicopter, or that private jet that’s made out of plutonium and diamonds?
AW: Oh, I fly on those; the crew doesn’t.
CA: Why? ‘Cause they’re dirty?
AW: *giggles* No.
CA: Stinky from working so hard on the racecar?
AW: No.
CA: I bet the motorhome gets crowded with all you guys in there.
AW: Well…they don’t come in the motorhome either.
CA: Where do they sleep, then?
AW: Hotel, I think.
CA: Probably in the hallway. You ever kick one of them when you walk by?
AW: No! I would never do that!
CA: Me either. But I’d have an intern do it.
AW: That’s awful!
CA: I’m just kidding. I’d do it myself.
AW: You’re mean.
CA: Hey, thanks for doing this, you’ve been great. (To Intern) Alright, bring in that anonymous crew guy from the 48 team.

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RFR Team Meeting: Charlotte

(Greg Biffle, wearing his firesuit and a green army helmet is standing behind Jack Roush, who is seated at a desk. Ricky and Danica are seated together, as are Trevor Bayne and Trevor Bayne’s Wife. Carl Edwards sits in the row behind them.)

JR: Okay, I could misuse a lot of big words to explicate this to you, but I recur. Suffice it to say, with Carl leaving-
CE: *gives a tight-lipped nod*
JR: -I’ve put Greg here in charge. So, without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, Greg Biffle.
TB: *smiles, applauds* Alright.
(Trevor Bayne’s Wife also applauds)
DP: *rolls her eyes, puts her feet up on the desk in front of her*
GB: Thanks, everybody. Feet off the desk, Danica.
DP: *smirks* You gonna make me?
GB: If I have to.
DP: You and what army?
(Ricky and Danica start laughing)
GB: Hey, you see this helmet? *taps helmet with his riding crop, helmet falls over his eyes, pushes it back up* This helmet symbolizes something.
DP: That you’re an idiot?
GB: No. Authority. Now, feet off the desk.
DP: *takes feet off desk*
GB: Okay, let’s get down to-oh, Carl, almost forgot, I’m gonna have to ask you to move your desk to the back of the room.
CE: Back of the room?
GB: Yep, back of the room. You’re leaving and all…
CE: *to Jack* Jack…?
JR: He’s wearing the helmet, Carl.
CE: *gathers up his notebook and pens, starts moving his desk to the back of the room*
GB: Thanks, buddy. Okay, now, let’s get started.
*Ricky and Danica are chewing gum loudly with their mouths open*
GB: Who has gum?
TB: *surreptitiously nods toward Ricky and Danica*
GB: *to Ricky and Danica* No chewing gum at the meeting. That’s a rule. *points to a sign above the chalkboard that reads, No Chewing Gum At Team Meetings*
DP: I’m not on this team.
GB: Doesn’t matter, you still can’t chew gum. Gotta get rid of the gum. Also, Carl…?
CE: Yeah?
GB: I’m gonna have to ask you to turn your desk around and face the wall.
CE: Face the wall? Jack…?
JR: You made your choice, traitor!
CE: *turns his desk to the wall, mumbles under his breath*
GB: No mumbling under your breath, Carl. That’s a rule, too. *points to sign that reads, No Mumbling Either* Okay, now, if we can just-
TB: *raises his hand*
GB: Yes, Trevor?
TB: They’re still chewing gum.
CE: *to the wall* I can hear it back here, too, Greg.
GB: You gotta get rid of the gum.
DP: *makes a big show of spitting her gum on the floor*
GB: That’s it! *hits desk with riding crop, helmet falls over eyes, pushes it back up*
CE: *to the wall* Whats going on?
TB: *yelling back to him* She spit her gum on the floor.
GB: Why are you even here? Can we bring our wives to meetings?
TB: *judgmentally* They’re not married.
DP: Give it a rest, reverend!
TB: Jezebel!
DP: WHO YOU CALLING JETHEBEL?!
TB: I don’t lisp!
DP: LISPER! KICK HIS A**, RICKY!
RS: *eyes get big, swallows his gum*
CE: *to the wall* What’s happening?
DP: Oh, the lisper here is calling me names.
GB: *to Ricky* You too. Get rid of the gum!
RS: I swallowed it.
DP: Why do you always swallow your gum when I tell you to fight somebody?
GB: Jack, can you keep an eye on those two?
JR: *points one finger at his eye, then two fingers at Ricky and Danica*
GB: Okay, now, performance. Let’s talk about the race.
DP: Why’s the lisper here then? He didn’t even make the race. Or can you be here if you just saw it on tv?
TB: Have you won the Daytona 500?! *shows her his ring* That’s TWO rings you don’t have!
DP: YOU’RE LIVING IN THE PAST!
TB: YOU’RE LIVING IN SIN!
JR: Meeting’s out of control, Greg.
GB: Meeting adjourned! Carl, put your desk back where it was.
TB: *walking out* Dang it, I stepped in her gum.

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SHR Team Meeting: Atlanta

(Danica, firesuit on, arms crossed, standing in front of Tony’s desk; Kevin and Kurt enter)

Danica: SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!
Kurt: We weren’t saying anything.
Danica: But now you are! Why is it always you, Busch?! *eyeballs him* Yeah, I’m eyeballing you! What are you gonna do about it?! You gonna do something about it?!
Kurt: I’m not gonna fight you.
Danica: Yeah, ’cause I’d f*cking kill you!
Kevin: Can we get on with this?
Danica: Oh, I’m sorry are we…*holding you up?* Hahahahaha!
Kurt: Hahahahaha!
Danica: Do you have somewhere to go?
Kurt: Like…*to the front?*
Danica: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Kurt: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Kevin: You guys are idiots.
Kurt: You mean like…*Paul Menard?* Hahahahaha!
Kevin: Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.
Danica: That makes sense. (to Kurt) Hey, do that thing where noise stops coming out of your pie hole.
Kurt: *shuts up*
Danica: Alright, let’s get this meeting started. Kevin, you won the race-excuse me, *should have* won the race, but you came in 32nd.
Kevin: 19th.
Danica: Yeah, like there’s a f*cking difference. And Busch, you came in 13th. Tell me how that feels.
Kurt: Well-
Danica: Don’t care! ‘Cause I came in 6th! Oh yeah! (turns around, bends over and starts shaking her butt at them) 🎶FUNK SOUL BROTHER, CHECK IT OUT NOW! FUNK SOUL BROTHER, CHECK IT OUT NOW! THAT’S MY BUTT, LOOK AT MY BUTT!🎶
(Rodney Childers comes in)
Danica: 🎶FUNK SOUL BROTHER, CHECK IT OUT NOW!🎶 (sees Childers) Oh, I’m glad you came in.
Childers: Well, I heard the music.
Danica: Here. (Hands him a 3×5 card)
Childers: What’s this?
Danica: It’s a 3×5 card, you idiot.
Childers: Right, but what’s on it?
Danica: Um, words and sh*t.
Childers: Okay, but what does it mean?
Danica: Well, what I did was write down the definition of a pit crew. And I drew a picture so you’d know what one looks like.
Childers: Oh. I get it.
Danica: Goot, then you’re free to get the f*ck out.
(He leaves)
Danica: Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. (Starts shaking her butt again) 🎶FUNK SOUL BROTHER, CHECK IT OUT NOW!🎶
Kurt: (to Kevin) I feel awkward and uncomfortable.
Danica: 🎶…SOUL BROTHER…🎶
Kevin: You mean right now, or all the time?
Danica: 🎶…6TH PLACE, 6TH PLACE…🎶
Kurt: Right now especially.
Danica: (Slaps her butt) 🎶WOO! WOO!🎶
Kevin: This is so stupid.
Kurt: I don’t have a number ready. Do you?
Danica: 🎶WOO! (slap) WOO! (slap)🎶

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Biggest Losers: Atlanta

Lots of losers at Atlanta. Let’s get started.

39. All 37 drivers who finished behind Danica Patrick. HAHAHAHA! F*cking losers.

40. Kevin Harvick. Can’t tell the difference between a cat and a f*cking squirrel.

41. Rodney Childers. Because he lost that tweet. Oh wait, I found it for him.

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42. BK Racing. You know how you do something a lot, you learn and get better at it? Not BK Racing. They’re as lost and clueless as they were at the beginning of the year. What’s the racing equivalent of community college?

43. Kyle Busch. Things are going so bad for him, he’s now feuding with one of the Truexes.

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Bristol Winners

Doesn’t matter what happens, everybody’s a winner at Bristol!
Or top five…

5.

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Jack Roush. All three cars in the top 10. Take that, BK Racing!

4.

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Danica Patrick. Because it’s funny.

3. Brett Moffit. He was actually in the race. I know, I’m as surprised as you are.

(No picture available)

2.

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Kyle Busch. Because when the training wheels come off this guy’s ability to control his emotions like a grown-up, hilarity ensues.

And Bristol’s biggest winner…

1.

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Denny Hamlin hates track workers. So he threw his HANS device at one.

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