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Category: racing

I Must Go, My Planet Needs Me

I Must Go, My Planet Needs Me

He got like, three feet of air that time — and then exploded. Now that’s how you finish a race. Actually crossing the finish line is so dull and predictable. Everyone crosses the finish line at one point or another. Even if you lose you get to cross the finish line and that’s bogus. Every car that doesn’t come in first, second, or third should have to do some kind of spectacular stunt if they ever want to race again. Crashing and burning counts as a stunt, so that’s always an option.

I’m not that surprised he crashed, just look at what one lap in an F1 car looks like. I can barely keep my car on the road going 45, let alone 414 hectares per hour, or whatever fake version of miles they use.

(Many thanks to Charles Schneider for sending this one along)

WOO, SPEED, LEFT TURNS, etc.

WOO, SPEED, LEFT TURNS, etc.

Going 200 miles an hour into a wall sounds like the worst way to scrape your knee, ever. Personally, I’d much rather insert large rocks into my skin from the comfort of my own home; like any normal person would.

I don’t really go for this whole dressing up in your pajamas, and making sweet, sweet, left turns. I’m all for the left turns, I just don’t think my wardrobe could handle any more jumpsuits. I mean, I’ve already got at least seven for casual wear,  and another seven for formal dinners. Adding another seven for racing would put me in quite the predicament. I wouldn’t have anywhere to store my collection of moon boots and snuggies.

If you look really closely you can see that every once and a while they make a right turn too. Weird.

1950: When Men Were Men, And Women Were Glad Of It

1950: When Men Were Men, And Women Were Glad Of It


Let’s compare an auto racing pit stop in 1950 to the modern variety. What do we notice?

First of all, in 1950 they’re driving a car, not a supercharged sewing machine. You could still burn your hand on the tailpipe. Now that’s a car. You’ll also notice that they used to severely limit the number of people that could work on the car in the pits, even though there aren’t any power tools being used on the car in 1950. The fellow changing the tires only has a mallet. The tires were held on solely by a “spinner,” a single lug in the middle of the wheel. It had a pinwheel shape, and he hammers it off and on to change the tire. If one of those came loose, you’d be turned into Messala in Ben Hur in a hurry when the wheel came off. I think the guy with the gasoline in 1950 just keeps it in a pail, which he sits on while he smokes unfiltered cigarettes between pit stops.

The lesson? Hmm. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a bunch of stuff that happened. Or maybe it demonstrates that the easier work gets, the more people you’re forced to hire to accomplish the same amount of labor because no one knows how to do much of anything anymore.

OK, now that we settled that, let’s go to lunch for four hours.

If You Have To Ask Why There’s A Video On This Blog Of A Semi That Goes 376 MPH, You’ve Come To The Wrong Place

If You Have To Ask Why There’s A Video On This Blog Of A Semi That Goes 376 MPH, You’ve Come To The Wrong Place


If you’re wondering what its carbon footprint is like, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you’re concerned about how noisy it might be, you’re lost. If you think its paint job is a tad gaudy, you’re out in left field around here. If you’re wondering why anyone would take a Peterbilt and strap jet engines on it, perhaps you’d be happier over at the Huffington Post.

If your first reaction is, “I wonder where I can get one of those?” please take a seat on the BSBFB bench.