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.


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!
TB: I don’t lisp!
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!
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.


SHR Team Meeting: Atlanta

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

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?*
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)🎶


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.


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.


Bristol Winners

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



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



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)



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…



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


Impotency Rankings: Michigan

Somebody cue up the Downward Spiral, these guys suck.

39. Carl Edwards-Finished 23rd. Behind Danica Patrick…and Casey Mears…oh, and David Gililland. I hope he gets fired by tomorrow!

40. My twitter team-I didn’t see any leadership, and we didn’t execute. It’s like some of you don’t even know what a twitter team does!

41. Everybody who got in that wreck that Danica caused. Lol. F*cking losers.

42. Denny Hamlin-Even if he’s not on drugs, he’s still goofy as hell. Let’s kick him out of the sport.

And the worst of the worst…

43. Jimmie Johnson-Drove around like some hillbilly with vise grips for a shifter, then got yelled at by the ogre.


Regular Winners Incredulous At Dinger Win

(In my [garbled] years of covering racing, I’ve never encountered this type of reaction to a win. Not one of these drivers believed AJ Allmendinger had indeed pulled off the victory. -Chip)

Jimmie Johnson: Yeah, I saw him get out of the car and start flailing around and convulsing, just having some sort of fit. I’ll set up a foundation for it when we find out what it is.

Greg Biffle: If I ever win a race, I hope I’m suffering from whatever he’s got.

Jeff Gordon: I don’t know what’s wrong with him.
Chip: He won.
Jeff: I don’t think he did, but-
(Alan Gustafson runs up with a battery)
Alan: (out of breath) I found a third battery.
Alan: Okay, Jeff. (walks away with battery)

Dale Earnhardt Jr: Yeah, man, I saw him jumping around, then he grabbed the checkered flag and started hitting himself. I guess he was being stung by bees.
Chip: Or maybe it was because he won.
Junior: It was the bees.
Chip: (walks away mumbling to himself) Wasn’t any f*cking bees.

Jeremy Mayfield: (outside track fence) Look a that f*ckin’ drug addict. Thinks he won the race.
Shana Mayfield: (screams through fence) METH HEAD! METH HEEEEAAAADDD!