An Open Letter to Jimmie Johnson
First of all, congratulations on winning the Nextel Cup. It was a long, hard season, but in the end you defeated your competition, including such stars as Ricky Bobby and Cole Trickle, and won the championship. Good for you; it was an incredible achievement.
Then, of course, you go and do the most retarded thing imaginable. More retarded than anything Tom Green or the Jackass gang have ever done. More retarded than Lovie Smith sticking with Rex Grossman as Chicago's quarterback. More retarded than Corky.
You break your arm while "horsing around" on a golf cart. You race cars at 200 miles an hour, but you can't handle the speed and ground-hugging turns of that legendary street racing machine, the golf cart. I guess those right turns really are a bitch, eh Jimbo?
Now, I can understand if you're out golfing with your buddies, and 18 beers into your morning you decide to go off-roading in a sand trap. I think we've all been there. Unfortunately, you can't blame your wreck on being bombed, Jimmie, since you were at a charity golf scramble, and most charity events don't have an open bar and a keg cooler on the back of the cart. I'd be more charitable if they did, I can tell you that much. Hell, I might even take up golf then.
"Johnson is in a cast and said Sunday that doctors estimate his recovery at four to six weeks, and that the injury will not affect his preparation for the 2007 Nextel Cup season," which means he's busy practicing his left turns with his non-broken arm and switching from Budweiser to Bud Light. Fine athletes like Tony Stewart don't just roll out of bed, belch, scratch themselves, and go drive in circles! That shit takes training, dedication, a bunch of advertisements on your pajamas, and some sort of car.
Now, you'll be back in time for the start of the NASCAR season, and that's all well and good. But there's something you're forgetting, Jimmie. Something more important than NASCAR, your sponsors, and sweet baby Jesus in the manger. You're forgetting America, and your duty to defend us in a battle against Evil Foreigners in the International Race of Champions.
Could you live with yourself knowing that your retardation caused America to lose a meaningless driving competition? Could you live with yourself if, say, France beat us in a car race? The next thing you know, we'll be losing in basketball to a bunch of dirty, swarthy, anal-sex-loving Greeks. If we go down in this thing, it's all your fault.
I'm sure you feel bad right now. Hell, I feel bad myself. While you were goofing around, I was working, going to the dentist to get a filling drilled out and replaced, then dragging my ass to the mall to get my mother a Christmas present. That's like the unholy trifecta of suffering. But you know what? I got out of bed and I did my job, despite feeling under the weather.
I mean, yes, I don't feel like this letter is going anywhere. In fact, it feels like an out-of-control golf cart at this point, but I did my non-paying job because America depends on me to make fun of you for your inability to ride in an electric cart without hurting yourself. If I can write while under the influence of pain killers, sinus medication, and alcohol, you can go left with one broken arm.
Suck it up, you pussy. Your country needs you. Don't let Apollo Creed's death be in vain.
Eye of the Tiger,
Ron
Posted 12/11/06 by Ron | Filed under: An Open Letter To...
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