We get so much garbage PR mail at the Hooniverse inbox, but the announcements from The 24 Hours of LeMons are pure gold. Ironic, given that the series is dedicated to garbage. Anyway, they’ve topped themselves once again with the latest reminder about signing up for January’s Sonoma race (which reminds me…).
Anyway, here’s the first of several paragraphs; click through for the rest.
‘Twas the Sat. before Christmas, when signups
Chanukah was over, the menorah unlit,
No flaggers were stirring, nor one Tech eejit.
All the hoopties were idle, dismantled in sheds,
And the drivers they dawdl’d, and took to their beds.
But those apps were still due the 19th of December,
As spams bugged them again and again to remember…
When from the garage there arose such a ruckus,
That I sprang from the bed and cover’d my tuchas.
In the moonlight I saw my roof laden with clunkers,
And sought out the source of the noise ‘midst those junkers,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
With a bearded old driver so belchin’ and fartin’
More crappy than Chryslers, his hoopties they came,
As he whistl’d and shout’d and call’d them by name;
Screw up the apex, deflower the K-wall!
Now, limp away, limp away, limp away all!”
Then clearing his throat, he went on at length,
Of Nixon and Hoxha and such men of strength.
His eyes were quite bloodshot, his beard somewhat grisl’d,
With fries on the console, in ketchup he’d drizzl’d.
He suggested Romanian cars I should buy,
And a three-banger two-stroke he hoped I would try.
Or I’m sure a Trabant would race smoothly and swiftly!
Or by stuffing a flathead into a Miata?”
Having tempted me so to take on awful labors,
He laid down a patch and called out to the neighbors:
“The 19th of December, I’ll say it again,
So I thought of that race, still a full nine weeks hence,
As I watched his Corona plow straight through the fence,
And I heard him exclaim, whilst expounding on Watergate,