New Features for NASCAR Cars

Last time I told you about new rule changes in NASCAR. This time we've got an update on new features in the cars themselves.

(Courtesy of Onion Sports)

Nascar RUles

We've been on a bit of a Car racing theme lately, so I thought I'd post this interesting information on new Rules in NASCAR.
(Courtesy of Onion Sports)

Jobs we've had

Another screen still from our brief acting careers. One of the rare occasions that Vance and I played opposite each other in the movie "Mr. Muffin goes Downshore." Vance played the part of L. Theodore Muffin, a Maryland widower with 27 children who takes the kids crabbing so he can feed them. Rick played "Smelly Bill" Putridity, a crotchety but stinky, truant officer/moonshiner who tries to get Mr. Muffin and the 27 little Muffins (Martin, Stud, Blueberry, Puddin', Pissant, Geoffrey, Abercrombie, Fitch, Ollie, Ozzie, Winifred, Alyouisious, Cosby, Kareem, Obama, Millicent, Foureyes, Jodphur, Pinkeye, Timmy I and Timmy II, Lemonjello, Oranjello, Kissemee, Bytemee, Junior, and Spegmo) thrown into the debtor's prison. In the end the kids go out in a blaze of glory in a whacky but whacked out gun battle with martians. It's a heartwarming story that makes absolutely no sense.

Vance tended to get the Jimmy Stewart or Gregory Peck sorts of roles, where I was more in line for the parts turned down by Walter Brennan. All those crotchety old coot sort of things -- despite the fact that I was in my 20's. In every movie I did I had a scene where I "Talked tot he man upstairs" and said something along the lines of "Lord. You know I ain't know prayin' man. But if you could see fit to cure little Agnes of the D.T.s why, heck, I'd sure appreciate it." After little agnes was cured, I'd dance on the porch, one boot on and one off, jumping from foot to foot, drinking from a jug of moonshine and shooting a shotgun off in the air. Vance always got the girl.

Rick with a gun

Here I am with a gun. We were hunting Wild Turkey 101 up near Red River and I... I'm sorry What? It's not a gun? It's a large stick? Oh... well... never mind then.

Carry on.

Mi Carruchas: Numero Dos

After I sold the Impala, I didn’t drive again for three years. In the interim, I’d gone to Germany and back, hitchhiked from Albuquerque to Midland, Ontario. From there went to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan and re-enlisted and wound up back at Ft. Lewis, Washington.

Labor Day weekend of 1980, my buddy, John M. went AWOL. His girlfriend, Gayle, came by the barracks looking for him. I told her the news and she said, “Oh. Know where I can get some acid?” She had a car, a 1972 Dodge Charger, that had belonged to an old lady. It actually had seatcovers made of that vinyl shit people used to put on their sofas. The car was in mint condition (of course it was only eight years old. She drove us to a party were she thought we might be able to score.

The search was a bust and we wound up at a little bar across the highway from the base gate. We drank there until a little after midnight and then left. I didn’t really feel like going back so I asked if she wanted to drive around. She said she needed gas, so I filled her tank.

“Jesus,” she said when she saw how much I’d put in, “Where to you want to go?”

I thought for half a drunken second and replied, “California?”

My next memory was my pants around my ankles in a truck stop in Oregon, followed by breakfast. Later, in southern Oregon, she said she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and that I should drive. What could I say? I’d just scored with this chick. I wasn’t about to screw it up by saying, “Yeah, I’m 22 but I don’t drive.” So I drove. 4:00 a.m., still half-drunk, tired, and not really knowing what I was doing.

But, drive I did. Gayle asleep on my lap. I drove until my eyes were crossing and I almost got us hit. When we woke up, we traded off, though when we got to the SF Bay Bridge, I was back behind the wheel. I don’t know if you’ve ever driven in San Francisco, (or Portland, Tacoma, Seattle, Vancouver) but it’s pretty damn hilly. What saved me was the fact the car was an automatic, so it didn’t roll back on the hills.

Gayle was sick while we were there, and I wound up doing the rest of the driving on the trip. My point is that this was how I really learned to drive. Trial by fire and all that, eh whot. I drove through Oakland at night, got lost in the country. Drove up the 101, the Pacific Coast Highway, all the way to Oregon, and then up to Tacoma.

Gayle and I got married less than three months later, and the car sort of became mine.

It had some issues. The first was that the driver’s side door didn’t always stay shut. Second was that, one night when I was driving, I was playing around and slipped the car into reverse at about 30mph—effectively eliminating that no-backwards-rolling-when-in-gear safety mechanism. And finally, it had a tendency for the electrical system to totally drain and the car to die, for no reason—generally when it was raining.

I got a call at work one day. Gayle had been driving the car down a winding road. The engine died, the car slid side-ways, the driver’s side door flew open, Gayle fell out, the car launched over an embankment and rolled a hundred yards down. The tow truck driver said it was about the only spot on that entire forested hill where the car could go down without hitting anything.

It was a cool car before I got my mitts on it. I don’t remember what happened to it. I think I sold it to a guy in my unit who fixed it up for a few hundred bucks and it ran like a champ.

Next up on Cars We’ve Owned: The 1970 Chevy S-15 Panel Truck.

Turkey from 'Burque..

This is me and
Billy at the Turkey shoot
in Maryland several
years ago. I just wanted
at least one post were
I'm holding a shotgun. Click on photo for better view.

Smokem' if ya got 'em...

I took this picture several years ago at Maryland International Raceway. This is Doug Vancel from Albuquerque on his Vance & Hines, Drag Specilties Nitro Harley. I was working at the track that year and went by to say hi to another New Mexican. Doug did good that year and was points champion the year before.

Seekers.....

"What happened to Mrs. Hogwaller?"
"She r-u-n-d o-f-t."
"She must have been seeking answers." - "O brother were art thou"

In life, when you find that you are seeking answers, be careful, you may find them. Rick and I have always been 'seeking' something and I'm not sure what that was. Rick went his way and I went mine for years apart to seek these things we call answers. Rick put one line in a blog that he was working with my name in it. I somehow found that and all of a sudden, we re-unite after all these years. The same has happened with old girlfriends....humm, what to do now. You see, years ago everyone had a life going on that is pretty much very differant than whats happening today. But what happened years ago "is" part of your life and nothing can change that, even today. History is history and it will not change, there is no 'time-machine' to make your lifes past 'not' happen. And what, if anything, do you tell your spouse today about re-uniting with your past? I chose to tell the wife everything up front to avoid the possible problems down the road. Janet has seen and read "Moonpie" from front to back and has even commented on the site. But, a little harder is the fact that an old girlfriend has found me as a result of "Moonpie". Me, I take it in stride and chug ahead with little problem. What does the wife think of 'Arizona' finding me and e-mailing photos and asking questions about my life today? Humm..I think all is cool. I wear my heart on my sleeve and always have. To me, my life is a open book for all the world to see and I think thats how it will stay. I sought answers about my real father only to find out last week that he's been dead for years....kind of a drag, even though he was a total dick, he was my father. Do I wish that I didn't seek the answers? No, not really. Do I wish Rick and I had not reunited? Never. Was I suprised to hear from Bridget in Arizona? Yes, but pleasantly suprised and happy to hear that she is doing well. See, we had a short time together that was complicated at best. Do I shut the door on all past relationships and act as if they never happened? No. What does all this have to do with "Moonpie" or two old friends reuniting, everything. Friend, embrace your past and don't be affraid of the life you have lived. You are today the sum of your entire past, good and bad. Press on, move forward and do not fear what you seek. If you are bold enough to seek answers, be bold enough to accept them, good or bad. I'm glad for everyday that I have experianced and would change very little in my past. Go and seek the answers to your life, just be ready for anything.

How to Eat a Moonpie

I have no idea who this guy is, but he's got moxie. moxie I tell ya!

More Failed Moonpie Advertising slogans

1. Moonpie. It’s what’s for dinner.
2. Got Moonpie?
3. Moonpie. The other chocolate and marshmallow snack food.
4. Moonpie. The fabric of your life.
5. What would you do for a Moonpie?
6. Moonpie. A better idea.
7. Moonpie. Ram tough.
8. On the road of life there are Moonpies and Drivers. Moonpies wanted.
9. Moonpie. Bet you can’t eat just one. OK. Wow. How about 17? Bet you can't just eat 17.
10. Moonpie. For a great night’s rest.
11. A Moonpie is Forever.
12. Does She or Doesn't She? Only her Moonpie knows for sure.
13. Moonpie tastes good like a cigarette should. That is to say a cigarette should taste as good as a Moonpie, but it doesn't. It tastes pretty nasty actually.
14. This pie's for you
15. Moonpie: It melts in your mouth, not in... Awww, who the hell are we kidding? It'll melt all over the goddamn place.
16. (NO SLOGAN. JUST AN IMAGE OF A MOONPIE LAYING BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. AN OLD INDIAN LOOKS DOWN AT IT. WE CUT TO A CLOSE-UP OF HIS FACE, AND ONE SOLITARY TEAR RUNNING DOWN HIS CHEEK.)
17. Moonpie: A little dab'll do ya.
18. Moonpie: I want my Maypo!
19: Please don't squeeze the Moonp-- Jesus. You squeezed it, didn't you, ya little shit? Get the hell out of my store!
20. Know what comes between me and my Calvins? A Moonpie. That's what!

Honorable Mention
They laughed when I sat down at the Moonpie, but when I started to play they all freaked out, because it's really a snack-food and not a musical instrument!

Moonpie Advertising Campaigns That Failed

Hard to believe, but there were times when the venerable Moonpie Corporation* broke away from the tried and true Moonpie and an RC formula of promotion and tried something different. Here was one that failed.

"Neighbor. How long has it been since you had a big steaming bowl of Moonpie? Well,that's just too long"

*Moonpie Chronicles Online is not affiliated in any way, shape, or form with Chattanooga Bakeries, Inc, makers of the Original Moonpie

First car

1969 Buick station wagon was the first car Blane and I had. It was mom’s hand-me-down after she bought a VW Rabbit. This thing was a total 70's Show cruiser, only this wasn't television, this was the real deal. 6 kids and the radio blaring as we cruised around. We did our paper route in this thing throwing some 200 odd papers every afternoon. We would meet our route manager to pick-up the bundles of papers and then start 'banding' our days work. We would switch off driving and throwing. The driver would band the papers and then throw them to the back of the wagon. The thrower would sit on the tailgate in the closed position with the rear window down. The thrower would place about a dozen papers on the roof between the rack rails and sling left and right to the driveways. You would have to pull the banded papers to you with your feet and 'reload' the roof rack. We had a blast.

Learning to Drive: Rick's First Car -- UPDATED

When I was in high school, my dad decided that I would not be allowed to get my driver's license until I got straight A's. This was brilliant thinking on his part. I'm not sure if he thought I would get straight A's, or if he thought it would be cheap because I'd never get the straight A's. What this meant was that I did not drive in high school.

I take that back. I drove twice.

In 10th grade, I drove Mike Clark's 1963 International Scout straight into one of those cement filled poles and put the engine through the radiator. I also "drove" my dad's dune buggy down a hill about a half a mile. I steered it, I did not actually engage the drive train in any way.

When I was stationed in Washington in 1976/77, I bought my first car (No, I had not yet learned to drive.) It was a 1962 Chevy Impala with a three-on-the-tree -- the classic beater car.) It was missing the air cleaner, so it often required someone to hold their hand over the top of the carburetor when starting it. It was a "six-banger" but it was only banging on four. Add to that that it had an engine block rolling around in the trunk, and it made for one slow ride.

I "taught" myself to "drive" in this car. Mainly what this meant was learning to start out without killing the engine, and how to make a right turn without running into the opposite lane. I used to take it out on the tank trails at Ft. Lewis, back in the old-growth timber. From time to time, I'd take out tree-stump when the right turn practice didn't go all that well.

I got several tickets in that car. Speeding. Running a light. Driving without a license. Only the last one's stuck.

I eventually sold/traded the car for a ten-speed bike and about $50 in weed. It never ran again.

UPDATE:I forgot to mention one other feature of this car, that being the "ventilated gas tank." Along with the engine block, there were a couple of old batteries in the trunk which had spilled over. The acid ate a hole in the floor of the trunk and, not content to stop there, kept on going and ate a hole through both the top and bottom of the gas tank. What this meant was that the car would not hold more than 3/4s of a tank of gas.

This car went zero to 50 (top speed) in about 5 minutes.

Word of the Day

Sometimes, if I'm on a different network,when I try to comment, I have to type in a word that appears written in crooked type as an authentication.

Today's word was "Spegmo."

What a great word! I'm going to start calling everyone that.

What a SPEGMO!

Their next job...

After water sports, Rick and Vance made a cult movie under the names of Mikey Rourke and Don Johnson. Ricks character roamed the country on a Harley and Vance was a down and out rodeo rider pissed at life. All of this is a big lie but I just liked the movie and the poster.

"Like my daddy said before he left this shitty world, the truth don't mean shit."

-Marlboro Man

Spring, it's around the corner...

Spring is just around the corner and my mind drifts to warmer clim's. Ah, the spray of the Chesapeake water in my face, the sound of a pop-top and those great new swimming suits that I love so much. After leaving the bat mines of New Mexico, Rick and I had to go undercover as water sports entertainers for a summer. I was sooo jealous that Rick got to wear the red suit and I only got the red bandana. But hey, thats were I met Janet (thats her on the bottom right).

Celebrity Girlfriends

OK, Lynda Carter wasn't exactly one of my celebrity girlfriends, but she bears mentioning here. Note the baggy drawers she's wearing, no doubt to distract the censors from the gold embroidery accentuating her breastal region. With the lens of years here, she should be looking mighty young to me, but even now, she's a little MILFish.

I include here because this was from 1976. This is what America was like then.

This is how things work

(l to r)Assistant (to the) Regional Manager, RChard Rafaberr; Moonpie Coffee Cup; (not pictured: Lynda Carter, Vladmir Putin)

Here are the chronological events that led up to this photo (excluding years prior to 2001.)

1.) August 31, 2001: Furr's Supermarkets, Rick's employer, goes tits up. Rick is out of a job.
2.) Sept 11, 2001: Terrorists attack the United States. Rick is still out of work and lacking the distraction of a job to work through the shock.
3.) Sept 17th, 2001: Rick's then girlfriend, Debbie, is taking classes at TVI. She invites him to take an HTML class with her. Rick decides to audit it.
4.) Sept 26th 2001: Rick's friend Tom gives Rick his old Mac laptop, which Rick loads with copies of Photoshop and Illustrator that he retrieved from Furr's before the doors were shut (Not bootlegged -- reappropriated).
5.)Oct 12th, 2001: After learning basic HTML coding, Rick begins to build a Moonpie website. Using Photoshop and Illustrator, he creates a logo.
6.) November 3rd 2001: Still out of work, Rick realizes his labors are in vain -- He has no funding to pay web-hosting fees. There are clunky versions of free websites (i.e. geocities) but Rick doesn't have those mad coding skill necessary.
7.) November ? 2001: Last time Rick speaks to Vance for nearly 7 years.
8.) Rick uses Cafe Press to create T-shirts and mugs bearing the logo.
9.) Rick forgets the password, and really doesn't care anymore.
10.)Date unknown: Someone (possibly Google) creates Blogger (FREE way to host a website.)
11.) Rick creates several blogs using Blogger. One of the mentions Vance by name.
12.) December 2008: Vance, goofing off at work, Googles his name. Finds it on Rick's blog. They reconnect.
13.) Rick throws together the Moonpie Online blog using the logo he designed years earlier. At the same time, he creates a new Cafe Press store.
14.) Vance orders coffee mugs and beer steins from store.
15.) He sends a set to Rick. He posts a photo of himself outside the post office with the package.
16.) Rick gets them in the mail. Posts photo of himself drinking the inaugural cup of coffee.

Test Subjects

Mi Esposa, Allison, works in the Rio Rancho Public Schools. I got her to let me use some of the kids there to test their response to The Moonpie Chronicles Online -- thinking there might be a great opportunity for a spin-off children's show.

Enh. Not so much.

Jonesy Miranda

She had a big hat, my it was high
Had bananas and mangos all piled to the sky
And how she could balance them, I wouldn't dare
'Cause they don't dance like Carmen nowhere

While some of us left high school and joined the army, or got jobs cleaning houses for Candlelight Homes, Jones went on to a lucrative career as a Carmen Miranda impersonator. When I say "lucrative," I mean he didn't make one stinkin' cent at it. We were never quite sure why he wasn't more successful. We all encouraged him, and he was really into it. Even the most cursory glance at the above photos leaves the viewer struck with the uncanny resemblance.(That's Jones on the right) (I think.)

Just between you and me, I think it was because, with the exception of Jimmy Buffett, no one under the age of 60 had a clue who the hell Carmen Miranda was.

But the lady's not with us, she died long ago
And they don't run her movies on late midnight shows
'Cause the kids would get restless, and the grown-ups would snore
'Cause they don't dance like Carmen no more.

"They Don't Dance Like Carmen No More," By Jimmy Buffett

The day the Musak died

Later I died and the whole town came out to pay their respects. Even that one kid who always laughed at me. They were all pretty sorry then that they'd hunted me down with pitchforks and torches.

Enh! But what are you gonna do?

Go to bed. That's what. I'm about to pass out from shear tiredness. And Benadryl. (Hey, I'm down with the "Pinks.")

More photos from the archive

My God. I'd almost forgotten that Martin was a penguin. He did grow out of it eventually because of his job with the airline.(Penguins can't fly.)

Family history

Here's a photo of our grandfathers in WWI, members of the Fightin' Heck-Kittens out of Texas.
As with their grandchildren, they went skipping merrily along until one day -- WHAM -- life in the form of a propeller blade came along and whacked 'em upside the head so's that they's just a little big tetched in the head.

Really old

I was going through the old family albums, and I came across this turn-of-the-century photo of me with the grandparents.

Actually, I don't think they're really my grandparents. I think they're either the gardeners, or the kidnappers.

Rick goes to Memphis: Part Two

I finally got the induction center. They fed me, tested me. Poked me. Prodded me. Et Cetera-ed me. That evening they put me and two other guys on a plane for Philadelphia. One of the guys was “in charge” and carried our records. At the time, in Tennessee, the drinking age was 18, so we sat in the bar and drank up what little money we had left. On the flight, a guy bought us drinks after he found out we were going in the Army. We were feeling like quite the men, I’ll tell you what.

In Philadelphia, we were supposed to catch a bus. We went to the bus counter, and all of a sudden these guys started yelling at us. It wasn’t like the movies, where there is a drill sergeant yelling at you to get on the bus and calling you maggot and shit like that. These were civilians. But they were older than us and bigger than us. When they had a full bus load, we set off, crossing the river into New Jersey, and into the country. After an hour, there was nothing to see out the window. We didn’t know where we were, which was the plan, I guess. Bring us in in the night and we wouldn’t know how to escape. All of us shared the private thought that, oh, shit; we’ve made a huge mistake.

Sometime in the middle of the night, we pulled into Ft. Dix, and up to the processing center. Here is where the Drill Sgt got on the bus and started yelling. We were all a bunch of scared little civilian kids. We got off the bus and they fed us – more yelling there – then gave us some blankets and, about 4 in the morning, sent us to bed. An hour and a half later, I woke up – more yelling and in a new twist, trash cans being thrown down the hall – to one of the longest days of my life. I was walking down the hall to take a leak. I accidentally brushed against a guy in the hall way. This guy was about 6 and half feet tall and black and he scared the shit out of me. “Why you touching me? You don’t know me! Don’t be touching me! Daaaaamn, motherfucker!” It seemed that the harder I tried to apologize, the more he yelled at me.

After breakfast, we were marched over to get haircuts. The drill sergeant was running around yelling at us about how we were all pussies and how he wouldn’t go into combat with a single one of us. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t go into combat with a single one of us either. We had barely been in the Army for 24 hours. What did we know? Not much, apparently, because they took us to get haircuts and we had to pay for them.

Rick goes to Memphis: Part One

So what happened between those entries in the Moonpie book? Between Me saying I was fucked because I had to go, and Vances entry that said I was fucked because I did go?

________________________________________
I’d known for several weeks, I guess, that the expedition was off. Vance had let me know he wasn’t going. As we’ve mentioned, I’d called my recruiter and had my records forwarded to Memphis. The trip was going to be my last hurrah, but now it was unraveling. You have to remember that this was back in the days before there was email, or FedEx. It took a week or more for things to get transferred around.

My fear was not so much “Oh. What will the Army do to me?” as it was “Oh. What will my dad do to me?” I had dicked up my leg while hiking a few months earlier, resulting in a full-leg cast. Dad thought I’d done it on purpose to get out of my enlistment—forgetting, of course, that I was the one who enlisted on my own.

It was a week before I was due to show up in Memphis. My mom was getting ready to walk out the door for work. My stomach was in knots. She walked out the door and I ran after her. I tried to tell her, but I just couldn’t get the words out and started crying. I don’t remember what it was she thought was wrong, but I think she found the truth to be a bit of a relief. The funny thing is that, after all the fear of my dad, I don’t remember his response at all.

June 21st, 1976 my parents put me on a plane to Memphis with a layover at Dallas-Ft. Worth. It was my first time flying alone. Making my connection in Dallas was a bit weird, that whole circular thing they got going on at DFW and all.

I got into Memphis late at night. Everything was closed. Dad had given me a twenty for cab fare and to get a bite to eat, but there was nothing available. The place was pretty well deserted. I sat down in a chair to wait it out. I drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I woke up to see that there were three black guys, about my age, sitting at the far end of the terminal. One of them was watching me. I fell asleep again and when I woke up, they were sitting a bit closer. The next time, they were even closer.

Now, I guess I need to say right here that Albuquerque is a very un-Black-folk city. They call them the invisible minority here. When I was in high school I knew three black kids. I was actually surprised one day when I walked into a meeting of the Black Student Union and saw about 30 kids. They always seemed pretty friendly to me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to think of these guys in the Memphis airport moving closer and closer.

Eventually the sun came up and I went to find a cab. Again, black kids coming up to try to help me. “You need a cab? I’ll get you a cab. Give me your money. I’ll go get the cab.” I guess at this point I should mention that Memphis is a very Black city. It was very different. I got a cab (on my own) and told the guy where I was going. He asked if I had money. I showed him the Twenty and he flipped. “Man. I ain’t got change for no damn twenny dollahs!” So we had to drive around to a couple of bars and find some. Finally I found one (packed full at 8:30 a.m.) that would break the bill. A whacked-out patron of the place came up to try and sell me some cocaine.

Ralley racing

Rick took this photo of the VW Rabbit hauling ass down from Sandia Crest, New Mexico. I was at the wheel and we had Rick take a position in the snow drifts. You see we used no tire chains and the snow was about a 3" packed surface. No snow tires, guardrails or brains....just the way Rick and I liked it.

40 years of racing history

While Daytona 500 was celebrating the 10th running of "The Great American Race" Vance was entering the race world sponsored by IGA. The International Grocerers Association saw promise in this lankey kid from Lincoln, Nebraska. Vance was using 200 mph tape years before Nascar even thought of using it. (see use of tape at the 'hood' line and around the sleeves on the T-shirt to reduce drag) This car was also lined with a Zebra print towel. I won my first heat but lost in the second round. I think it's because I forgot to tape the dimple on my chin. I did get a trophy for running. The white 1969 Camero, with the orange rally stripes behind me was also the model that was the Indy 500 pace car that year. I also had Rustys #2 as my number. *Again, click on photos to see more detail.

I mentioned before that I did a bit of hitchhiking in my day, and that now, my son is off in Washingon State trying to get a ride thirty miles away. I was thinking about this one trip I took, where I wound up mostly broke in Port Angeles, Washington. I walked a very good portion of the way back to Ft. Lewis. I was thinking that it was about 40 or 50 miles. Turns out it was more like 113. I did it in a day, too.

I'd thumbed up to Vancouver for the weekend, and gone out to see Victoria on the island. I decided to take the ferry back, not realizing how far Port Angeles was from where I needed to be.

On the ferry I met a girl that I went to school with at Eldorado. She was staying with an aunt in Sequim. They aunt gave me a ride that far, but wouldn't let me spend the night. I ended up sleeping in a fireworks booth.

I do remember one ride I got that took me from out on the Olympic penninsula and onto I-5 in Tacoma, but that was not too big a stretch. The whole point is that, in regards to hitchhiking to Memphis, this is the sort of thing I did without thinking it out. Memphis would probably have ended up being such a trip.

I just remembered I've got a photo of me on this trip. I'll track that down and post it.

THe new Rug

 

I was looking for pictures of this giant-ass rooster I used to own, and came across this photo from last summer. I was trying out a new toupee, but everyone said it made me look too distinguished.

It's like that sometimes.

Legends of Racing Food

 

Speaking of racing...
I came home one day to find these in the cupboard. They have pictures of cars, as well as trivia quizzes printed on the frosting.

Is there any more perfect combination of cars and food than NASCAR and Pop-Tarts? I submit to that there is not.