This Entry Isn't Of Particular Interest

Warning: this entry gets long and boring fast, but you should read it anyway, because chances are, if you post on an Internet forum and actually go into the Blogs section of said forum, you have no life, or you are retired like George but are too dumb to retire to a nice hot warm place like Antarctica and chose to stay in Britain so you can't wear full-body beige and play golf all day because it rains too much.  But each to their own.

Since it's summer, and I have nothing to do other than make my daddy rid my computer of viruses and then uninstall and reinstall half the programs on it (which I did all by myself!!!  I'm so proud, except not), I decided to clean out my desk.

First, I found a picture of me performing "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira in front of my entire seventh grade class, which I would scan and show you, but I don't have a scanner.

Then, I found a folder!

Anyway, the folder has my karting stuff in it, from when I used to be a super awesome future star of motor vehicular contests of speed and money, except I really never was going to be one because I sucked, so anyway, here they are, just for you: Eric's Junior Karting League Memories!!!!!!!!!1111111

The first document was a nice little handout explaining the flags and signs and such that the officials would use.  I must say, in my entire racing experiece, this was the single-most helpful thing, ever.

Super Cool Printout said:

See, had I not known, I may have had to pull off the track and lose valuable time asking the officials what the bloody hell a warning meant.

My instructor was Porsche factory driver and 24 Hours of Le Mans, 24 Hours of Daytona, and 12 Hours of Sebring champion Patrick Long.....'s brother.

Pretty cool guy, actually.  His dad owns a Ferrari F430 and a Ford GT40, which my instructor drove to work.  Though I never saw it because it was winter and there was snow on the ground (indoor karting, so the snow wasn't an issue), so he wasn't dumb enough to drive it so I could see it.  Oh well.  He actually did test with Porsche but told them his brother Pat was better, hence Pat became the first US American Porsche factory driver ever.  Okay, fun story, I'll tell it again.

His dad owns a Ferrari F430 and a Ford GT40, which my instructor droveto work.  Though I never saw it because it was winter and there wassnow on the ground (indoor karting, so the snow wasn't an issue), so hewasn't dumb enough to drive it so I could see it.  Oh well.  Heactually did test with Porsche but told them his brother Pat wasbetter, hence Pat became the first US American Porsche factory driverever.

That's out of the way.  So then I actually raced.

My first race went well.  According to the nifty little printout that shows a graph of my positions over the course of the event, I started first and led all 13 laps in my little three-car heat race.   I was 12 years old at the time, for the record.  I was racing against an 8-year-old with ADHD who was legitimately convinced he WAS actually NASCAR champion Dale Jarrett.

Annoying Kid said:

I'm not sure if he ever actually said that, but he did think he was Dale Jarrett.  In the prerace meeting deal thingy, he did indicate he was Dale Jarrett.  I do recall, word-for-word, him saying this:

Dale Jarrett said:

I told him that was nice of him but I was not interested in being a NASCAR driver.

The other competitor I was up against was a girl who was probably 9 or 10.  She didn't want to be there 99.99% of the time.  Her brother also raced.  It's relevant.  You'll see why.

Back to the actual race, if you're still here, I winneded my firstest ever race!!!!!   YAAAY!  My best lap time was a 29.29.  NASCAR driver Bobby Santos had run a 24.20.  Yeah.  Even with a HUGE weight advantage (I was one small mofo...I probably weighed about 80 lbs back then), I was that slow.

My next super happy fun three-car heat race...I started third, and on lap three, used my super skills to make a brillaintly timed overtake to take second.  Dale Jarrett Kid won by...get this, 22.68 seconds in a 13 lap heat race.  I blame my chief designer.  The car is too slow.  Even though I had the same car as that silly little kid.  It's still their fault.  I had a 2008 spec rear wing, I'd know, and he had a 2009.

I did bring my lap time down to 28.95 that race.  As you can see, Ken Anderson already had me labelled as a Team US F1 prospect for the future.

My next super happy fun three-car heat race...I started second, and I made a beautiful move on lap two to take the LEAD.  I was going to be two-for-three.  However...I had to contend with lapped traffic in the 17 lap race.  I was coming to lap the girl, and decided I'd outbrake her in the hairpin, as she ran wide there most of the time.  So, I make my move to the inside, and she decides that as I go to the inside, she will also go to the inside.  Sadly, my car was already halfway past hers, and she went into the barriers.  I continued on.  But then they showed me the PENALTY sign for over-aggressive driving, so...yeah.  I finished second 1 lap down.

Now, after the race, her brother was none too pleased.  I went out of my way to apologize to them because I felt bad, even though it wasn't my fault, but I was a good kid.  He basically turned the other way and left.  So I told their father I was sorry and he accepted it.  Yay it all worked out in the end!

I ran a 21.80 (different track configuration), the record was 18.23.

Now I was serious.

So I went out and I won the next friggin' race by 0.017 seconds over that silly billy 8-year-old and was damn proud of it.

Then we did super fun 45 lap endurance races!

I was partnered with this really really really tubby tubsicle who reminded me of George.

The sad part was Tubby McTubster was about two seconds a lap quicker than me and we finished last because I missed my cue to come in to the pits for a driver change while in the lead and got raped.  To my credit, we had to use the kart with the big seat to accomidate George or whatever his name was, so Little 80-lb Eric was getting some mean nasty ouchies on his rib cage.

Then I did a big boy six-car race on the SUPERTRACK.  I scored a podium behind US F1 prospect J.R. (he's not really a US F1 prospect, but he could be, damn he was one quick child, he set the second fastest lap EVER at the track among adults, including NASCAR driver Bobby Santos, the only man faster) and some other kid.  I was pretty good, I have to say, coming from last on the grid to third.

Sort of.  It's a podium, but it's also midpack, but shhh.

In the next eight-car race, I finished fifth.  It was fairly uneventful.

The next race...is when the fireworks started.  I was running in the lead when the yellow came out.  On the restart, Tubby McTubster decided to stuff me in the barriers.  I lost a lot of time, and conciousness for a whole 3 seconds, but this is SUPER ULTRA COMPETITIVE JUNIOR LEAGUE RACING FOR 16 AND UNDERS IN 50 MPH INDOOR KARTS IN AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE SO PAIN IS ONLY WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY HERE.  I felt kind of dizzy so I drove extra slow, kind of like I do on public motorways these days, and everyone hates it, except my mommy, who thinks I'm a really good driver because I crap my pants if I go over 55 in a 65 zone and never ever leave the right lane on the highway, unless there's heavy merging traffic from on-ramps, or I'm behind a mean bad truck.

So.  As J.R. was coming around to lap me, I moved out of the way to let him go.  Now, this was on a straight, so I lifted to make it uber easy.  But instead of passing me, he decided "hmm, he's leaving the inside lane open, and is slowing in the outside lane, so I'll stay in the outside lane and RAM into the back of him!"

So stupid J.R. LOST his US F1 privileges because, you know Peter Windsor was there and all, and US F1 was hiring in 2005, and stuff.  And I went BOOM into the barriers.  With J.R.  And J.R. was stuck.  And no one was looking, so I decided I would flip J.R. off...

...except I didn't have the balls to do it so I just did it in my head.  And then punched him and ripped his internal organs out.  And it was very satisfying and I didn't go to prison because I didn't actually do it.

Then my daddy told his daddy that J.R. was a loose cannon and an idiot.

So I watched my last race from the sidelines and laughed as Dale Jarrett Kid decided to steer with his knees and flew into the barriers and lost his license.

Which DQed him and gave all those wins to me.

I ended up fourth in the final standings out of 12 competitors, though I never ran aganst all 11 others at the same time.

I learned a lot of life lessons.

I sucked, but I was VERY VERY good in the esses.  The instructor said so.  He told all the kids the following:

Instructor Guy said:

So, since we have roundabout racing, and hill climbs, and drag strips, and all sorts of types of tracks, I will invent S racing.  And I will win.  I will beat you, J.R., Tubsy Wubsy, and Dale Jarrett Kid!

I also learned never trust anyone who says they are Dale Jarrett because they aren't, unless they really are, but usually they aren't.

I also learned that people with ADHD should not operate motor vehicles.  In a few years, Dale Jarrett Kid's going to be on the motorway with me.  And take his hands off the wheel and steer with his knees.  And I'll be minding my own business in my boring unoffensive Japanese fuel efficient vehicle doing 15 mph in a 65 mph zone and he'll hit me and we'll both die and I won't even be able to flip him off in my head.

Though I never flipped him off in my head, only J.R.  Who will probably end up in NASCAR someday and then I will go to the track and say "Hi, J.R., I'm Eric.  You used to race against me.  I'm going to tell all your fans to read my blog on TF1 and they'll see how dumb you are and give me your salary."

And Tubby McTubster, well, he posts here as El Maestro so I can just vote his posts down.

Though he really doesn't, he's probably off somewhere doing something, I couldn't care less, since he was actually nice to me and stuff, I just hated that he was bigger than me cuz I hated driving his kart and I hated the bruises on my ribs because I was a crybaby 12 year old who couldn't handle a little beating because I was a pussy and a pansy, and I still am a pussy and a pansy, but I have much higher tolerance for pain than I used to.  I only cry and throw a hissyfit for 30 minutes when I stub my toe now.

Except not, but you knew I was kidding, I think, maybs.

And I'm still sorry for wrecking your sister, whatever your name was.  I think he was Jewish.

That's not relevant but if you wanted to know now you do.

And that concludes my one week long racign career, in this beautiful textual format.

Anyway, if you would like to pursue a sponsorship opportunity to get me back on track, too bad, I'm not interested.

Thanks and have a nice day and if you know where J.R. is rip out all of his teeth one by one and then stick them back in the wrong way so he'll not only have them digging into his gums, he also won't be able to chew on food.  Not like he hate food.  Because he's The Stig.  Or will be.  Or could be.  He really is the reason Hollie Steel forgot her words in the final, and his left testicle really is a full scale model of Juan Pablo Montoya, so he has to be The Stig.

Sort of.